A Plea to Bikers and Car Drivers Alike

Warning: Graphic content.  Not something for the kiddies, but anyone who has their driver’s license, please do read.  This is my life we’re talking about, here.

I may do a photography post later today.  I had originally planned to, but this has to be said.  It’s very long, but it’s important to me.  I hope you take the time.

But, You Didn’t See Me

By: Anonymous

I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line.
But, you didn’t see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk.
But, you didn’t see me playing Santa at the local mall.

I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant.
But, you didn’t see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.

I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by.
But, you didn’t see me driving behind you when you tossed your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children.
But, you didn’t see me when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless kids.

I saw you stare at my long hair.
But, you didn’t see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves.
But, you didn’t see me and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none.

I saw you look in fright at my tattoos.
But, you didn’t see me cry as my children where born and how I have their names written upon my heart.

I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere.
But, you didn’t see me going home to be with my family.

I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be.
But, you didn’t see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you yelling at your kids in the car.
But, you didn’t see me pat my child’s hands, knowing he was safe behind me.

I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road.
But, you didn’t see me squeeze my wife’s leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you race down the road in the rain.
But, you didn’t see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time.
But, you didn’t see me trying to turn right.

I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in.
But, you didn’t see me leave the road.

I saw you waiting impatiently for my friends to pass.
But, you didn’t see me…I wasn’t there.

I saw you go home to your family.
But, you didn’t see me…Because I died that day you cut me off.

I was just a biker…
A person with friends and a family.

But you didn’t see me.

I hate that poem.  I truly do.  Not the quality of it or the eloquence, but the fact that it has to exist.  That’s what I hate about it.

This past Friday, I was run off the freeway by some stupid lady in a tan Ford Fusion in Oakville, Ontario who wanted the spot I was in.  Because I was just coming out of a curve, I couldn’t change speed, so I laid on the horn, but she, without even looking, kept coming.  She even touched my foot as she pushed me right off of the road.  She never bothered looking over.

Needless to say, I was pissed.  Once I acknowledged that I was okay and my fear subsided, anger kicked in.  I spend the next few clicks letting her know just how pissed I was, and contemplating following her home.  That way, when she stopped, I could call the cops from her driveway.  I opted not to.  Frankly, I knew that I would be the one who would leave in handcuffs, not her.  With bikers, it usually ends up that way, innocent or not.

I can bet what happened on her end.  She went home and told her husband or whoever about some insane biker who was stalking her and how bikers are all psychotic.  She left out the key part about how she ran of them off of the road and could have killed him.

I know what many of you are thinking; “you need to relax.”  You get run off the road and see how you respond.  Hopefully, you never will.  Besides, when you’ve been almost killed before, PTSD does tend to have a bit of an effect on you.

Three years ago, a guy in Toronto cut me off at the last minute as I was coming through an intersection, and I wasn’t as lucky as I was last week.  Although it was in the city at low speed, this guy’s car became a steel wall that I went directly into (cops and court ruled it 100% his fault).  Here’s the graphic part…the results:


A friend of mine found this photo on Twitter. This was the scene of my crash.

And here was me in the ER:


This picture was taken by a friend of mine. My skull was fractured in three places. I’m a little nervous, as this is the first time I’ve publicly posted these pictures.

I still have physical, neurological and psychological repercussions from that crash, and have been told that I will most likely have them for life.  As a result of them, and the accompanying medications, I can’t drink anymore.  35 and I’m on the wagon.

This morning, I read in the newspaper that, just a few kilometers from where I was run off, another guy on a bike was in a crash and had to be airlifted to hospital.  There was no word on his condition.

What’s the point of all this?  It’s simple, and it’s two part:

Bikers – be careful out there.  Even you guys and gals in the southern states where lid laws aren’t as restrictive as they are up here, just because they say you don’t have to, it doesn’t mean you can’t.

Plus, there are plenty of sympathetic cagers out there.  There are also plenty who hate us.  And there are many more who just don’t care about us.  For our own safety, we have to follow a quote from The Matrix, “If you aren’t one of us, you are one of them.”

Car/Truck/Van Drivers – Bikers aren’t crazy, puppy-kicking people.  We’re just regular guys and gals who dress a little differently, have a few more tattoos, and have two wheels instead of four.  We still have wives and kids and dogs named Sparky and normal jobs and mortgages, just like everyone else.

We’re just trying to go to our jobs, do our work, and get home to our families.  All we ask from you is to give us a fair chance.  Please?  Next time you change lanes, just look.  That’s all I ask.

After all, this is my life we’re talking about, here.

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