Every motorcyclist knows that - sooner or later - something is going to go seriously wrong. The safety margin is simply too slim and there are too many random factors beyond the rider's control. Those "random factors" include weather, debris, pavement conditions, other drivers, and critters. (Toss in controllable factors like speed, alcohol, and machismo and later becomes sooner.) Bad stuff happens, even to the most attentive and prepared rider.
After a dozen days and over 3400 miles on the road, I counted myself lucky for not having encountered any TRUE near misses. Sure there was that time I had been nose-to-nose with a herd of twenty bison. And yes, there had been hailstones and near-zero visibility on the continental divide in Yellowstone. And okay, my rear brake pedal turned to useless mush in the midst of descending from Guardsman Pass on a gravel switchback. But my gut reaction to those weren't the heart-pounding "Oh crap" sensation of a genuine near miss.
That feeling came Thursday morning.
I told the front desk at the hotel that I would like to keep the room a second night and headed for the Spearfish Canyon Road. I entered at the opposite end of the canyon going toward the town of Spearfish, SD. The ride was breathtaking: shear stone walls rising beside a beautiful mountain stream and a road that meanders, swoops, and dives its way through the gap.
This was as much fun as a person could have on a motorcycle ... with or without chaps. My bike and I had become one. You simply couldn't find the point of separation between us. After spending well over 7,000 miles in the saddle, I know my horse and she knows me. When I think left, we go left. When I think whoa, we slow down. There simply is no conscious activity involved any longer in starting, shifting, steering, braking ... they simply happen out of will. And so there was perfectly fluid motion, swaying deeply left then right then left again as a pendulum marking time. The feeling of free flight was there as I (we) breezed though the canyon.
But all good things must end and the canyon walls soon began to shrink from thousands of feet to mere hundreds. The canyon became a valley as the basin widened and the walls took on a less radical slope. Signs of civilization became more evident and I knew the town of Spearfish would appear around the next bend or two.
I slowed to under 40 mph thinking "Fun's over." But it was just about to begin. A doe appeared in the left lane about three seconds ahead. The bike and I gently gave up on power and coasted to the right side of my lane.
I watched the deer crouch to spring directly into my path.
That was the moment.
As my head was going down to brace for impact. I caught a glimpse of that doe catching herselp mid-leaf and turning to let me dash by unscathed. My heart pounded as I fully comprehended how close I had come to a serious collision.
In hindsight, I feel good about my instinctive reaction: No crazy avoidance maneuvers, just holding the line toward the right side shoulder while cutting the throttle and gently braking.
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