Last Motorcycle Ride
Just when I think I have it all ready to go and can type my story out quick, “the pause” hits and I hesitate. Do I want to retell this again? And again? A month ago, two weeks ago and even last week I would have answered, “no” but today? I can do this. As many times as it takes if it helps resonate with even just one person out there thinking “no one gets me or this” because that was me: I was that same person thinking those same thoughts as i had no clue a website like this even existed. I was lost in a “system” that just considered me a patient number and never offered help. I’ll touch base on that too. Grab the popcorn as this is a little lengthy but only because I want you, the you who feels that nobody cares or understands your head space to know I care. This for anyone and for myself that I write this. So thank you for reading. My story starts on September 7, 2020 when I took my Kawasaki Ninja out for a ride on a beautiful Michigan day. I was there visiting my boyfriend for Labor Day and was anxious to get my bike out on the road and get some Michigan miles on her. I have been riding for nearly 25 years so if you’re a rider you know that excitement and thrill you feel and even just the therapy riding provides. There’s nothing like it. This bike was also very special to me as I just finished a remodel on her myself and after adding a Delkavic exhaust she sounded like no other sport bike around. A few hours in to my ride I was ready to head back and as I was rounding a curve to my next turn off, an F150 was in my lane and crashed right into me. Right. Into. Me. There was no time to do anything but get ready for impact and hope to god my helmet stayed on. Bare with me for the next few paragraphs as they are hard to write because I still see this young mans face as he realized what was happening. I still hear everything too which is something I desperately wish would go away. I remember screaming inside my helmet. I don’t remember what I said. I remember hearing my bones break and the smell of gasoline and the sounds of metal being crunched like tin foil. I do not remember my helmet bouncing off of his hood, but I do remember the thought that damn…my son. I didn’t get to see him graduate. Or get married; have kids. Or even say goodbye. It’s hard to describe how these thoughts played out because time no longer meant anything to me in those seconds and it still doesn’t resonate with me. I just remember very specific feelings, sounds, smells and then nothingness.
