Insult to injury
To keep a longish story shortish:
My wonderful wife, Melinda, lowsided her beloved Triumph Bonnie SE at 50 mph on the next-to-last day of a 2500 mile moto vacation we took last week. After a solid week of riding over twisty, gravel-strewn roads through mountains and canyons in four states and BC, she grabbed a fistful of front brake pulling into a parking lot on a dead straightaway in front of a cafe. The bike might be totalled (we find out tomorrow), but she's OK, aside from some road rash on one calf and some amazingly livid bruises. She was fully geared, which saved her ass and maybe her life: every single part of her suit, from helmet to gloves, was toast, shredded to the point that you would feel guilty giving it to a street wino. But it did not breach through to her skin. That's the "injury" part.
The insult: Today I was riding to the various shops where we'd gotten her gear to pick up receipts for the insurance company. I was stopped at a stoplight. When it turned green, the cager behind me started rolling forward faster than I did and... BUMP. I kept the bike upright and pulled over, as did she. A cop was across the intersection, witnessed it all, and stuck around while we filed our insurance reports. My dealer estimated $700 in damage to the rear fender assembly (parts + labor), but no structural damage.
As my claims agent said, "She hit a guy wearing a white helmet and neon yellow jacket on an orange bike at noon on a sunny day. Wow."
Off to buy a lottery ticket. Careful out there, y'all!