I was hit by a car. No, it’s okay, really. I wasn’t hurt and no real damage was done.

It was my neighbor, Heather, that did it. My garage empties into a little court leading to the public street. I had rolled my motorcycle out, preparing to run some errands. I saw her car, motionless, and she was talking to another neighbor. I had my back to them as I wrapped some bungies around the sissy bar.

Suddenly, the rear of her car was pushing me against the motorcycle, my leg sandwiched between her plastic bumper and my license plate holder. I hollered, cursing, and she stopped immediately. She had been moving slowly and reacted quickly. The car halted less than an inch from the sheet metal of my rear fender.

There was no damage, really. A slight bend was visible in the chromed barbed-wire plate holder where my leg had been pressed against it. My arm got scratched a bit – I must have hit something as I spun to turn my attention to the car.

“I didn’t see you!” she apologized, after seeing that disaster had been averted and everything was basically alright. Those very words are heard by bikers WAY too often.

I delivered the lecture and went about my business.

I often have business near the neighborhood where I grew up. It’s one of the older neighborhoods in the township. Before the surrounding area was developed it existed solely as two roads crossing to form an L with a few one-block cross streets on one leg, no major traffic.

Come summer, back in the day, the neighborhood was absolutely bursting with action. Ball games, kids on bikes, skateboards, you name it – kids everywhere, and the sounds of play could be heard from dawn to dusk.

Today things are different. The streets are largely deserted. I guess everyone’s busy. Kids just don’t recreate outside anymore, the way we used to do so long ago. Instead, what I see most of all in the old streets are marauding bands of fat girls.

I was motorcycling through, my son on the pillion, returning from an event at the high school. There, ahead, were a group of them. About eight bodies. All girls. All fat. All Black. Arrogantly sauntering, occupying most of the street, apparently deliberately oblivious to any traffic that may come along. Some were using their cell phones.

Now my scoot ain’t exactly quiet if you know what I mean. They had to have heard us approaching for blocks as we slowly cruised at perhaps 15 MPH, dead-center down the middle of the street. My throttle hand was rock-steady, keeping characteristic sound of the V-twin even and unwavering.

They waited until the last possible second to make a hole for us.

I signaled my turn at the end of the block, dabbed my left foot to the pavement briefly in deference to the stop sign, and accelerated.

It was a nice day for motorcycling. I was riding through Manville, on the main drag, just minding my own business on my way to Costco for a bottle of vitamin E. There was a bit of movement immediately to my right at the curb line, movement that shouldn’t have been occurring. It was the occupied beat-up car I had noticed a moment earlier! The dopey girl was still yacking on her mobile phone as she lurched into traffic. ‘Traffic’, at this particular time, meant ME.

The car behind me hit their brakes – hard, I heard the screech of rubber on pavement. The next traffic light, half a block or so ahead, had opened a nice gap in the oncoming traffic. My escape path!

I jabbed the left handlebar forward. The motorcycle obediently fell off to the left in a hard lean. Simultaneously I dropped to the next lower gear and grabbed some throttle. The sound next to her open window must have shocked the yacker, she fell back some while I surged ahead and moved back into the correct lane. Mishap averted!

Two lights ahead I caught the red. She was behind me but she stopped about three car lengths back, leaving a gap. I turned and glared, shook my head, mouthed “asshole”, turned back to the business at hand. The light went green. I eased off the clutch and continued on my way. I was thankful that my wife or son wasn’t with me. The added weight may have turned success into failure.

Please, don’t drive distracted!