By John Wolfe

It wasn’t my first time riding my ’93 HD Sportster 1200 Custom, but it was nearly my last. I can say that this trip was to be my first long-distance ride on the bike. I was going from Tampa to Miami, and decided to use the quickest route, I-75.

Previously, the Sportster and I had only in-town experience with each other. This trip was meant to solidify our relationship. A get to know you better kind of ride. A lets see what you can really do when you’re no longer constrained by traffic lights kind of ride. You know…the fun kind of ride. Nevertheless, riding a bike for the first time on a major Interstate is also known as a dangerous kind of ride. Yeah.

I tried to mitigate my risks by having two of my friends follow behind me (at a safe distance of course!) in my Dodge Durango. I thought this would at least cover my backside a little, my friends being conscious of (and focusing on) the presence of a biker in front of them, were less likely to bump me from behind.

So all I had to worry about was the rest of the traffic right? I mean: we entered onto the Interstate after Rush Hour was over, the evening sky was clear of precipitation the entire way down to Miami. Thank you Channel 9 Doppler Radar for that fabulous information! I was wearing my helmet and bright colored clothes. I was even wearing gloves so that sweat wouldn’t interfere in my braking, steering, etc. So I was as prepared as I could be. I had carefully planned the trip to be as safe as possible.

“Man plans, and God Laughs!”

About two hours into my trip, God laughed at me. I think he may have poked me a little too, just to see if I had been paying attention, not just to the road, and traffic, but to EVERYTHING I had ever learned in my lifetime of riding motorcycles.

It happened while crossing a bridge.

I was cruising at 70 MPH in the left lane. I had passed a sedan just before arriving at the bridge, and for the sake of safety, I didn’t want to switch lanes on the bridge if I didn’t have to. My friends in the Dodge were about six car lengths behind me and had the low beam headlights on.

My visibility was excellent; however, even the most eagle-eyed sniper couldn’t have seen the sudden wind gust that struck me on the port side, turning me and my bike into nothing more than a sail. The wind hit me so hard, I felt like I was lifted up off of the road and thrown sideways. Somehow, as the bike slid sidelong to the left, I remained upright. Glancing down and to my left all I could see was the lane I was in disappearing and the center divider (a large white concrete barrier) rushing closer. To top it off, loose gravel had accumulated near this obstruction. I recognized several of the small rocks as milk quartz.

It’s amazing what details you notice when death is approaching.

I leaned to the right (into the wind) with increasing weight. Throwing too much weight too fast would have killed me too. It was when I had thrown every ounce of weight I could while remaining seated, when an image of “Le Mans” popped into my head.