I ride a trials motorcycle. It is a low speed sport and generally very safe. It is catagorized as an
extreme sport in the same sense as skiing. Something anyone can do, or that with the same equipment and slope can be taken to a psychotic level. (Here is a short
video my son put together after the world round in Tennessee this last summer. It's a great sport and growing and should really catch on here in the States as off road riding land disappears because you don't need much space to do it.) But the bikes are EXTREMELY powerful and can be dangerous to the uninitiated. Especially my 300cc two-stroke with 14:1 compression. I didn't appreciate this when I was trying to get a close friend interested in the sport. A guy I've been friends with since college. About 20 years. Family guy, great dad, etc.
Well I get him on the bike, didn't have to force him, and he's doing great. Low speed. Safe. Right? Next thing I know I hear the motor screaming and turn around. He's got the throttle pinned and is hanging on for dear life, doing a wheelstand across a parking lot straight toward my Expedition. It's like slow motion. You can't believe it's happening. That sort of thing. He hits the rear of my SUV doing about 17 mph, caves in the back tail gate, the window explodes, he slams into the bike, and just drops to the ground like a limp rag. Blood everywhere. I just knew he was dead as I sat there on the ground holding his head in my hands telling him he was going to be okay. At that point I was amazingly calm.
EMT's, ambulance, the works. After that, I'm no longer calm, when my wife finds me sitting in a dark store room crying.
ICU. Surgery. Facing his family. Etc.
Well he's pretty much fine today except for the titanium and polyethylene plates in his face. He looks a little different. Not worse, just different. And he doesn't blame me.
But I'll carry the guilt of that day to my grave. I haven't quit the sport but I did sell the bike and get another one since every time the engine spooled up the whole scene flashed through my head.
And I don't let
anybody on my Montesa unless I
know they are an experienced motorcycle pilot and have
mastered clutch use and know to let the bike go if things go south.
So while it wasn't my fault,
it was my fault. I should have understood the danger posed by the machine to someone who wasn't experienced in its operation.