General

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.

Took my wife's Suzuki GZ 250 down to Roanoke for service Monday. Thick fog blanketed the area at 7:45 a.m., delaying my departure until shortly after 8. Even with the sun in the sky, fog remained a problem until I hit the bottom of Bent Mountain on 221.

Amy's bike is sized right for her (5-foot-2, 105 pounds) which means I look like a Shriner on a miniture bike in a parade when I ride it. The 250-cc single cylinder engine has problems pulling a hill in fifth when I'm aboard so I spend a lot of time downshifting an upshifting on the hills and valleys of 221 between Floyd and Bent Mountain.

Still, it's a fun bike that's easy to dial into a turn and lean as far as you need to make the tightest of curves. Turning off Virginia 419 into the clovereleaf turn for U.S. 220 North I was able to maintain 55 through the sweeping curve and quickly zoom up to 65 on I-581 to Peters Creek Road.

On the return trip, I had to drop it into third for the climb up Bent Mountain but still managed to maintain a steady 45 through the turns. My Sportster 1200 Low will pull Bent Mountain easily in fourth and I handles the dips and hills of Floyd County in fifth without any problems. My left ankle hurt from the constant shifting of the Suzuki by the time I pulled into the garage of home late Monday afternoon but it was still an enjoyable ride.

Deer pose a constant threat to motorcycle riders here in Southwestern Virginia (and to cars as well). Robert Pauley, a veteran biker, was killed last year when he hit a deer near Riner. I know others who have had close encounters with the four-footed road blocks and I've had to break or swerve more than once in recent weeks.

But Saturday night brought my closest call yet. Heading home after listening to music at the Floyd County Store, I had just passed over the bridge near Ray's Restaurant on U.S. 221 north of Floyd when I saw a doe standing on the side of the road right across from the entrance to Great Oaks Country Club. I braked and slowed from 50 miles per hour to about 20.  As I neared the intersection, the doe darted into the road. I swerved to the right and into the entrance road to the golf club.

Everything went fine until I hit the grass that surrounds the planter in the center of the entrance road. The wheels lost traction on the wet grass and the bike went down, trapping me between the bike and the planter. At the time, I had slowed to maybe five miles per hour but my left leg was pinned beneath the bike with my ankle caught between the left side foot peg and the shifter.

Several cars passed as I tried to free myself from the downed bike but I was mostly hidden behind the planter on the entrance road. I was reaching for my cell phone to call for help when a couple in a pickup truck stopped. They had spotted me while driving northbound on U.S. 221 and turned around and also called the State Police for help. They managed to lift the bike off my leg and I crawled free.

We righted the bike on the kickstand as Trooper Keith Gregory arrived. My ankle and knee throbbed from being pinned but I was able to walk it off. Gregory and I inspected the bike and nothing appeared bent or broken. He followed me the short distance to Ray's and I used their rest room to clean up before climbing back on the bike and heading home. Once in the garage, I checked the bike over and found nothing bent, scratched or broken. My only injury was a scrape on my left leg, caused either by a rock in the grass or the edge of the planter. My leg may brushed it when the bike went down.

Unfotunately, I did not get the name of the couple who stopped. I wish I had.

I was lucky. Others who have encountered deer or other animals on the highway have not been so.

Let's be careful out there.

My father rode motorcycles. So did my mother (left, pictured on their Harley-Davidson just after the end of World War II). They were bikers. I was born into a biker family in 1947.

Three's a lot of debate these days on what does or does not constitute a "biker." To some, bikers are the one-percenters, those who belong to "outlaw" motorcycle gangs like Hell's Angels or the Pagans. To others, bikers are middle-aged accountants and retired senior citizens who dress up on leathers and ride mostly on weekends. And to others, bikes are a daily form of transportation that provide fun and save gas.

Does it really matter? To some, it does. To others, like myself, it doesn't. I got back into riding because I realized how much fun I was missing. Riding is fun, it's therapy and it clears my head of the issues of the day...both important and mundane. No radio, no conversation, not cell phones, no distractions...just be, the bike and the open road.

Does that make me a biker? Yeah, it does. I came by it naturally. It's part of my family heritage.

The more I ride the 2008 Sportster Low, the more I appreciate what Harley Davidson has done with the closest thing they make to a "sport" bike.

I rode Honda sport bikes 40 years ago before moving to heavier Harley cruisers and tourers. Over time, I forgot what a joy a light, nimble bike can be, especially on a twisting road in the mountains. I can flog the Sporty around the turns and switchbacks that surround my Blue Ridge Mountain home and then put on a windshield, touring seat and bags and cruise down the wide Super Slabs.

In other words, lots and lots of fun.

I'm often asked: Why did you buy a Sportster instead of a Softtail or a touring bike?

The answer is simple: Because I liked it.

The Sporty is a nimble bike with a lot of power and great handling for the twisty roads that surround my home in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

Yeah, I know: Some "real" bikers sneer at Sportys and call it a chick bike.

They said the same thing to actor Bill Macy, who rode a Sportser in the movie "Wild Hogs."

Said Macy:

"If this is a girl's bike, I'd sure hate to meet the girl who rides one."

Enough said.

Welcome to Road Kill Diaries, a blog about motorcycling and re-discovering America. I'm a 60-year-old semi-retired journalist and photographer who returning to riding after a hiatus that went on far too long, buying a 2008 Harley Sportster 1200 Low 105th Anniversary edition in June.

What makes a 60-year-old man with bum knees, a questionable hip and too many pins and screws holding his ankles together climb back on a motorcycle after all these years? Good question and one I hope to answer over the coming weeks, months and years.

More later. Gotta ride.