It was a clean break from wanting to own a motorcycle to . . . not wanting to own one. It was also a clean break of my clavicle.
I went on Sunday to test ride the motorcycle a friend of a friend had for sale. After making it through a twisty dirt road, and a curved paved road dodging neighborhood dogs, I managed to turn wide from a stop and end up in a grassy ditch, tossed off the bike. In general I was only bruised up a bit, knocked my helmet hard, and this was the gentlest possible wreck scenario I could ever conceive of.
But the hit of my shoulder on the ground was enough to break my collarbone (left side, which is non-dominant for me).
The bike has almost no damage, but I’m going to cover all costs so that the owner can put a clean bike back on the market. I’m not buying anymore, although once I heal I may re-take a MSF course just because I can’t believe that I managed to do what I did, and I know that I am capable of operating a motorcycle. But I am over owning one for myself.
The break is displaced enough that I’m going to have surgery to put a plate on it. Fortunately it isn’t painful as long as I don’t move my arm the wrong way or hold anything with weight, but it feels really weird, with the bone in the wrong spot. I went this morning to the orthopedic surgeon and found that one of the doctors is driving this Ferrari:
Yeah, it’s a shooting brake!
And the practice has all the big sports affiliations, including auto race teams:
So there’s that. I’m officially going to stick with doing stupid motorized things on four wheels for the foreseeable future.
Which does please my wife, but she wishes I just listened to her, of course. She was not amused when I called her from urgent care.