Well I’ve finally gone and done it. Crashed my Ural. Its not a total loss, mostly sheet metal damage but it will be getting a new sidecar body and sidecar fender. I wish I could blame the unfortunate mishap on some idiot in a Prius, Road debris, or even a blind goat escaped from a local farm and seeking to end its miserable existence by standing on the center line of a busy road and desperately hoping for the sweet embrace of death by automobile. But alas no. This accident was caused by one of the most infamous of all motorcycling hazards. The extreme unbridled stupidity of the the rider himself. Yep, you guessed it…Me.
It all started with a beautiful sunny day. The warrior goddess and I attended the Rat Patrol spring opener in Georgetown (an area south of downtown Seattle) where much fun was had checking out the classic cars and bikes lining the street along airport way, listening to great live music, and of course great food and drink. I even got the Tshirt. When we decided to leave we departed in classic Sidecar Mark fashion and flew the chair all the way down the block with my trusty monkey waving to the appreciative onlookers. I admit it. I’m a show off but dang if the people didn’t just love it.
We stopped for lunch at Local public house near home for a quick lunch al fresco and then it was time to head home to relax and reflect on a great day. This is where it went horribly wrong. On a road approaching our neighborhood I noticed some kids on the side of the road. As I approached I decided to do a bit more showing off. I pulled in the clutch, revved the engine and prepared to impress my new audience with my incredible sidecar driving skills. Too much throttle, too rapid of a clutch lever release and OH SHIT. Boris launched to the right so violently that it launched me out of the saddle like a Kevlar clad, helmeted, human cannonball. Of course since the goddess and I ride using a Sena communications system I was treated to the sound of my terrified wife screaming my name while she in turn was treated to the sound of my body bouncing and rolling across the pavement. All clearly heard on our helmet speakers in wonderful stereophonic sound.
After doing my best stuntman street roll and slide. I looked up and realized the most terrifying part of the ordeal was still playing out. The rig was still rolling merrily along with my wife sitting helpless in the sidecar. Holy fuckballs this was not good. I then began my sprint after the rig. I love my wife dearly so I’m pretty sure even Usain Bolt would have been impressed with the speed the middle aged retard achieved that day. I was like a fuckin Weight Watchers Cheetah running down that street.
Fortunately the Warrior Goddess is cool under pressure and reached up and grabbed the front brake to bring the bike to a stop. Pretty impressive for someone that doesn’t even ride. She walked away with nothing but a bruise on the leg. Thank god. I would rather dive head first in to a wood chipper than cause harm to my beautiful and brave wife. I walked away with bruises pretty much everywhere and a decent sized hunk of meat off of my left hand where my piece of shit Joe Rocket glove failed. Yes I said “failed” because it was a seam on the glove that failed not friction damage. We were lucky and are okay which is the most important part of this story.
Boris however made contact with the guard rail before coming to a stop. My insurance company wouldn’t let me do the work on the rig because I owe money on the loan the rig was purchased with so it was off to the shop with Boris to get a new sidecar body and fender. Which brings up another shitty aspect to this debacle. There are no olive drab sidecar bodies in the United States. This means it has to come from Russia, more accurately FUCKING SIBERIA! I was told by the dealer it would take two months to get here. My guess is some guy named Sergei has to hammer it together, then put it on a big ass six wheel drive truck across the Siberian tundra to an airport where it will be placed on a sketchy Russian aircraft which may or may not crash on its way to a port city where my Sidecar body will be placed on a Russian cargo ship which may or may not sink on its voyage to America (deep breath). Not to mention getting through customs. Side Car Mark is not a happy camper.
So looks like I will have some free time this summer to work on some two wheel projects that have been neglected in the garage and also some time to regain the trust of my beloved hack monkey who is probably still having some reservations about climbing back in to a Sidecar. Moral of this story…Don’t be an idiot. Especially when the life of someone you love is riding next to you or behind you.
Grow a pair and fly the chair