I have been riding street motorcycles on and off since I was
18 years old. For the past several years, riding has been an integral part of
my life. While the fifty thousand or so miles I have logged in the last five or
six years is not a huge total, it is more than the average “hobbyist” logs. And
those I ride with are not hobbyists. We know the risks; we accept the danger;
and when we ride we are responsible for predicting every stupid move unaware
drivers might make. This ability to predict and ride as though drivers don’t
know we are there does not come from a book and it cannot be taught in a
weekend “motorcycle safety” course, it comes from experience and riding with others
who have many miles under their belts. Even with this awareness and level of
concentration, the danger still exists. Lots of things are dangerous and riding
a motorcycle is one of them. The best we can do is to mitigate the risk so that
we can enjoy an activity that brings so much richness to life.
Once in a while, that risk we take becomes all too real.
Yesterday morning we lost one of our own doing what we love so much. The
community of riders I ride with in the Sacramento, Calif. area is rather large
and it is part of an even larger community that has nothing to do with
motorcycles. Mel Deaton was a core member of both, a man who was as active and
dedicated in this fellowship as he was to riding. I met Mel through this larger
community about eight years ago, before I got back into riding, but I got to
know him much better after I bought my first Harley about seven years ago.
Through service work to our fellowship and through frequent rides with those of
us who ride frequently, I gained a level of respect for Mel that I reserve for
only a very few. We were not close friends, but through intersecting circles of
friends, we had a relationship that transcended motorcycles.
While the details of the accident that took Mel out are not
readily available, by all accounts he was not at fault. This comes as no
surprise; I have ridden with him enough to know his level of skill on two
wheels. This might come as some comfort to those who were very close to Mel,
but it doesn’t change the outcome. The fact that he was doing something he
loved, however, might ease the pain a little. But it does point out that
even for someone as careful and skilled as Mel was, it still does not erase the danger
or enable any of us to fully predict the unpredictable, to fully anticipate the
scope and magnitude of inattention and stupidity some people drive with. I know
from personal experience. I can’t count the number of times a driver was
looking right at me approaching on my Harley and still pulled out right in
front of me like I was not even there.
But I do not want to go on a rant about stupid drivers – it
won’t help and it won’t change anything. The risk still remains the same as it
always has. I do want to honor Mel Deaton who so unexpectedly left us yesterday
morning. They say that as long as one’s memory survives, one is never really
gone – the spirit lives among us as long as the memory lives. If this is true,
Mel’s spirit will be with us for a very long time. He was a man who overcame
much and helped more people, directly and indirectly, than could ever be known.
Had Mel not done what he did years before I joined the fellowship, I would not
be where I am today. There are literally thousands who would say the same. Mel
left a lasting memory and, more importantly, a legacy. Mel’s spirit will live
among us at least until the end of my days because he is a man I will never
forget.
