There are really two kinds of motorcyclists: people that are going down, and people that are going down again. I'm going to have to be lumped into the second group, because yesterday BJ and I had a pretty good wreck. In hindsight I can tell there were some crucial errors in judgment, but hey, you live and learn. With this lesson I got extremely lucky, but still had to learn it the very hard way.
It all began during the ascent to Huaraz. My bike was running pretty bad, so I fixed what I thought was the problem during our stay. But even after a clean air filter, I was experiencing the same trouble. My bike was struggling, and couldn't go above 45 miles per hour. It was damn frustrating when you're used to hitting 70 with no problem. After a little discussion, BJ and I decide to make it to the next big city in hopes that they would have parts for my bike. (Mistake number one.)
I head out of town and it's really slow going, the thin air is making my bike and I go miserably slow. So after about twenty miles, we decide to just tow my bike. I bust out my nice, unused tow strap, and we fix it to the bikes. Now we know how to attach it properly, so that in case of emergency the rider in back can easily let go of the rope, thus separating the two bikes. But my tow strap is made for cars, so it's not really possible to tie it up that way. So I just wrap it around the handle bars a few times and call it good. (Mistake number two.)
Things are going great, fifty miles later we awkwardly come to a stop for lunch. Afterwards, we head out again and find this is where the road is going to be steep and windy. After all, we are going to head down the damn Andes. So instead of stopping and having a quick chat, to discuss our plan of attack, we avoid the hassle of stopping both bikes together and just carry on down the road. (Mistake number three.)
When towing anything with a strap or chain, the goal for the least amount of damage, is to keep the strap taunt. To do this the person in the back does all the breaking. Can you see where this is going? It's so damn stupid and reckless to look back on it, but I was heading down the Andes riding the brakes for two bikes. (Final mistake number four.)
I've never had a more terrifying feeling then mashing the brakes with zero results. I'm speeding way out if control and it's looking pretty devastating. My only saving grace is that when I actually race past BJ, I know we're attached and not in a place where I can fly off the side of a hill. The moment when I'm in front of BJ, we both are thinking the same thing. This is going to hurt. Slingshot enganged. Of course the strap pulls taunt and rips the handle bars straight for the ground. All I could do is hold on, as I was going about 50 miles per hour. I'm thrown pretty quickly to the ground, and before I knew it, I was dragged to a stop, and though my heart was racing, I knew I was ok. BJ too was ok, even though I pretty much just launched the bike out from under him.
It's funny looking back at it, but the first thing I do is ask if BJ is ok. He said he's fine, and as I try to get up and survey the damage, I can't because my motorcycle is on top of my leg. You'd think I'd be more concerned about that. Ha. Anyhow, my bike is fucked, I ripped the left pannier off, broke a foot peg, broke the mirror off, bent the handle bars, but surprisingly my clutch lever is still intact. There's a silver lining to everything. And my motor is still broken. A little situation has arisen, screw the original plans for the day.
As with all situations like this, the goodness of people usually comes out. We happened to crash in a small village in front of what seemed like the entire damn town, so rapidly people were there to help and laugh at the stupid gringos. After they found out we were in fact fine, one truck driver offers to take us into town. What a guy, he patiently waited while BJ and finally calmed down, and got our heads around the situation. Next up, load the carcass of my bike into the back of a five foot high flatbed. With the help of about eight guys it was a breeze, and before I knew it I was chatting in the cab of a semi with Julio the truck driver.
I'll say it again, we got fucking lucky. As BJ and I were joking about it later; had we gone over one the steep mountain sides, whoever would have found us would have been like: oh no, that's so sad. Wait their bikes were strapped together? What the fuck were they thinking? They probably deserved to go off the side of a mountain for being such idiots. Luckily for us, that wasn't the case as it seriously could have been so much worse. After all, the only insurance policy I actually have worked out great. My boots, jacket, and helmet protected me pretty well. Thank goodness I'm at least smart enough to always gear up. I got off with some gnarly bruises and scrapes, but no broken bones or serious injuries.
This kind of shit happens when you're on the road constantly. The only thing to do is chalk it up to the whole scheme of the adventure, and get back to it. Whatever.
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