Two close calls

Depending on how you interpret it, last weekend was (1) blind luck, (2) someone watching over me or (3) a warning that my luck is running out.

It began Saturday when I followed another biker out of the driveway of Roanoke Valley Harley-Davidson en route to a rally and fundraiser for the American Cancer Society at a nearby Texas Steakhouse. The biker ahead of me upshifted and both of his mufflers dropped off his Dyna. The pipes cascaded back towards me on Peters Creek Road. I swerved left and missed the tumbling mufflers.

The single bolt that held the mufflers in place came loose and allowed the pipes to drop off.  While we examined his bike for any damage, at least a dozen bikers came by but not one stopped to see if we needed any help. Times have changed on the road.

Sunday morning. 8:30 a.m.  I headed down Bent Mountain on U.S. 221, on my way to a breakfast in Roanoke. As I straightened the bike out between curves, a young deer darted out of the bushes and sprinted across the road, right in front my Sportster. With no time to brake or swerve, I hit the deer's right hindquarter with the front fire of the bike. The deer fell to the pavement, its right rear leg broken. The bike wobbled but I regained control and stopped just in time to see the deer run off on three legs, dragging its broken leg.

Surprisingly, the impact at about 45 miles per hour did not damage the Harley. I found deer fur in the treads of the front tire but nothing on the bike was bent or damaged.  I proceeded on to Roanoke and put a couple of hundred miles on the bike in an afternoon ride.

I was lucky to hit a deer with a motorcycle and walk away from the incident. I can't attribute the escape to any skill on my part, just blind luck...and possibly the intervention of a higher power.

Thanks.