Hearing about his friend’s accident made our senior writer swear off bikes forever.
UP until six months ago, I had an unfulfilled desire of owning a Triumph Speed Triple. Having tried a 400cc machine (overseas) and taken riding lessons here, I knew what these crotch rockets could do. All that changed when my friend told me about his terrible its equally horrid aftermath. He rear-ended an illegally parked pickup (which he failed to notice) at 40km/h.
What happened next sounded like a scene from a Hollywood action flick. Instead of flying off his 200cc scooter, my friend came to a dead stop and fell on his right side. As the pickup driver rushed out, fuel started leaking from his machine. The driver dragged my friend out from under the scooter just in time – the two-wheeler was soon engulfed in flames and was burnt to a crisp.
My friend suff ered serious injuries. His right leg was broken and his left hamstring was torn. His right arm was also broken, while his left arm had a minor fracture. He had cuts and bruises all over. Only his face was unscathed. During the next three weeks at the hospital, my buddy underwent two operations to fix his broken arm and leg. After this, he spent the next three months at a physical rehabilitation centre. Two more years would pass before the metal rod in his right leg was removed.
What really killed any remaining desire of riding a motorcycle was his recollection about how he wept from helplessness and shame each time he was bathed and cleaned by the nurses. He also mentioned needing a catheter in his urethra for a week because he was too weak to urinate. Before my jaw could drop, he added that when the catheter was removed, it sounded like “a champagne cork popping”, and that the sensation was the “greatest pain and pleasure he had ever felt”. As phantom pains coursed through my nether regions, I swore off motorcycles for good.
Jeremy won’t be sipping champagne on new year’s day, or on any other occasion, for that matter.
