Anyone who knows me will tell you style is not the first thing that comes to mind when my name is mentioned. That’s not to say there aren’t some style choices going on in my life. My choice of a modern Vespa was made in part because I liked the visual style. Beyond that I am beginning to have trouble. I wear jeans but more because of their utility than style. The riding clothes I wear were chosen for utility as well. I picked a bright yellow riding jacket because I wanted other members of the driving community to be able to see me and perhaps not run me down as readily. That bumblebee look has become of personal style now and I wouldn’t wear anything but black and yellow now. How would anyone know it’s me in pictures?

A helmet for many is a personal style choice, a safety choice, or a personal freedom choice. For me, like with the yellow riding jacket, it was a safety choice. The color of the helmet was a style choice.

So where the hell am I going with this?

Yesterday on the way to work I am riding into town on Atherton Street, a four-lane road with no center divider and many driveways and streets attaching themselves to it. I’m traveling in the right-hand lane at 50 MPH. A colleague from work, Chad, is behind me in his red BMW Z3. A Toyota Land Cruiser is passing on the left and just as it pulls even with me I see in my peripheral vision a large bird sweep out from in front of the Toyota’s windshield. This happens in an instant and my brain has time to acknowledge the flight path of the bird and tighten my neck muscles for impact.

The bird hits squarely in the center of my visor with startling force. It felt like someone took a swing at me with a baseball bat. The bird careens off to the right and I give my head a shake to make sure everything is still working. The Vespa GTS and I maintain a straight line on the road and continue on our merry way.

In the office Chad stops by to remark on the impact and how surprised he was by it. We both agree how nice it was to have a helmet — me so more damage wasn’t done, him because he didn’t have to run me over if I got knocked down.

At lunchtime I had to run an errand and as I was taking off my helmet in a parking lot a beautiful custom painted Harley Davidson Fatboy pulls in. The rider is in commonly seen style – T-shirt, jeans, boots, no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or glasses, no windshield. I can’t help but wonder what that bird impact would do. I remember my cousin was knocked off his Harley by an apple lofted from a passing car.

On the way home last evening I was aware of how little warning you really get for some things like a bird, a darting cat, dog, groundhog or deer. A rock thrown up by a passing truck. There is no time for evasive action in some of these cases. Just enough time to recognize the impending event.

I will have to seek some advice from those of you with more experience on what one actually does in these situations. All I can come up with is to brace myself for the collision and hope everything stays together and upright. And I suppose it is a reminder to slow down in certain situations and have some protective gear.

And there comes the personal decision. Style, safety, freedom. We each are responsible for ourselves.

UPDATE

Frank Armstrong aka pitchertaker posted a link in the comments section that deals with bird collisions of another sort. If you are a timid flier you may not want to watch this.

Mayday Thomson 757

I already had my earplugs in, helmet on, and ready to thumb the starter when I realized I still had my low work shoes on. Normally I ride with over-the-ankle leather Wolverine boots but I forgot to change before leaving my office. I sat a moment pondering what to do.

Riding home here in rush hour traffic is not the battle that urban commuters face on a daily basis. There is definitely more traffic but it only adds five minutes to the non-rush hour travel time.

I’ll also admit to not wearing the armored pants either. Haven’t been wearing them consistently since the weather warmed up. Even so I can’t say the heat is the reason since temperatures still hover in the low to mid 40’s in the morning. I’ve convinced myself I’m dressing for the ride. A reasonable thought. I might even believe it if it weren’t for the fact that I have been letting the pre-ride tire pressure checks slide to weekly ones. And let’s not talk about oil and fluid level checks. I suppose as my skill in manipulating the scooter have improved so much that there is really no need to put my feet down at stop signs. Perhaps the mental energy I am burning to consider these changes is merely a way to avoid thinking about more important topics. Or not.

On this ride home I feel unexpectedly exposed and vulnerable on the Vespa. I notice a tire-eating opening in the pavement that I hadn’t seen before. Waiting at a traffic light I see two T-short clad, tennis shoe wearing, sportbike riders scream around a Greyhound bus and I marvel at their faith in what might be in front of that bus.

Farther along I try to convince myself that riders competing in the Tour De France travel at speeds comparable to what I’m doing. A look in my rear-view mirror at a couple arguing in the cab of a Ford F250 truck two car lengths behind me highlighted one difference between Lance Armstrong and myself.

I did go back into my office to change shoes. I have consistently been wearing full-helmet, earplugs, armored jacket, gloves, long pants, and boots. But not wearing the armored pants has bugged me for some reason. Commuting in jeans and running errands without the Tourmaster Overpants feels nice. I’ve gotten down on my knees often enough in the driveway to do something and felt the electric pain when a sharp pebble drives itself into my knee to realize that armored pants offer more than skin protection.

On the way home I stopped to look at some trees in bloom at a local cemetery that claims to be the birthplace of Memorial Day.

There is a large bronze statue there of three women laying flowers at the grave of a soldier fallen during the Civil War. I arrived home safe but without resolution of my personal concerns.

This morning I road to work fully geared because it was raining. The ride home was even worse in a torrential downpour. I don’t know what the heck is up with my gear but by the time I got home I was drenched from the waist down. Time to look at some changes. Wet at 75 degrees on a short ride isn’t bad though. Just made me feel like I accomplished something!