So, I mentioned in No Butts that Calvin’s motorcycle met with an unfortunate accident. Not, thankfully, while Calvin was on it. No, it happened in the dark, in the middle of the night, when no one was around.
If a motorcycle tips over in the middle of the night with no one around to see it, does it make a sound? Probably. GOD DAMMIT.
Somehow, sometime between Sunday evening at about 9:00, and Monday afternoon at 4:00, Calvin’s motorcycle tipped over in the garage. It took our two bicycles with it, and the mirror struck the side of the truck, breaking it off and leaving a dent in the driver’s door. I discovered this unfortunate scene as I was departing on Monday afternoon to return the camera lenses I rented for our vacation. I opened the garage door, and stood there for a good three minutes, just staggered. My brain couldn’t process what my eyes were looking at.
I stammered, “Calvin! Calvin, come here. Oh, hell, LOOK AT THIS.” He leaped from the couch and came hustling over to me. Then he, too, stood in the doorway, staring, dumbfounded. We took turns exclaiming to each other, “How the FUCK could this have happened?!?” We looked, we examined, we walked around and around the scene of the crime, we puzzed and we puzzed till our puzzlers were sore.
Because the thing is? It tipped over on the side opposite of the kickstand. So, somehow, it had to tip up, over, and past the gravity mid-point, to come crashing down on the right hand side. Nobody had been in the garage since the night before, when everything was safe and sound. The garage door was closed. Nobody has access except me and Calvin and Marie, and Marie had gone out the front door on Monday morning, not through the garage.
I forget, have I mentioned that Marie is living with us again? Anyway…
I was to the point of tears, I felt so bad for Calvin. The look on his face… he didn’t freak out, he didn’t curse or stomp, he just… looked. Ugh. It was heartbreaking. He’s OBSESSIVE about taking care of all his vehicles, but particularly his motorcycle. He’s been riding since he was, what, three? Four? And he’s NEVER LAID DOWN A BIKE (motocross doesn’t count). Not once.
Anyway. He muscled the thing back up (it weighs, what, 800 pounds? I was muy impressed) and conducted an examination. All told, the footboard is bent, the mirror is broken, and there’s a scratch on one of the pipes. Cosmetically, not too bad. When he started it up, though, it sounded very wrong. A pinging? Clicking? Something. He thinks that something leaked from some reservoir into the internal mechanics of the motor, while the bike was on its side (he can explain it, it’s beyond me). So the bike is going to the shop today to assess the situation.
Which, in turn, will cost us money. If it’s more than our deductible, we’re filing a claim (we took a bunch of pictures, but they’re on the camera, and I don’t want to depress you with images of the carnage). Homeowner’s or auto, we’re not sure. They’re with the same company, anyway. The dent in the truck is getting repaired tomorrow. Like Calvin said, “It’s like one of my favorite vehicles was smacked with another one of my favorite vehicles.” The Trailblazer is the nicest truck we’ve ever had, and the Vulcan is the nicest motorcycle Calvin has ever had. Fuckin’ figures, don’t it?
(Title blantantly stolen from Taoist Biker. I believe he would like me to apply his words to this entry, sympathetic as he will surely be to the whole motorcycle situation.)