puttin’ down the dogs
It was my first bike. A Yamaha Virago 750. I was a new rider. Hadn’t been riding maybe 3 months. I gradually worked my way farther and farther from home as I became more comfortable. My riding gear wasn’t much. I wore a helmet. My jacket was light denim. I had over the ankle hiking boots. This would do until I could afford more gear I told myself. On my day off rides I had an increasingly oppressive thought that I would have an accident. If you’re going to have an accident it is often during your first 6 months as a new rider or on a new bike. That was one 
that stuck in my mind from Basic Motorcycle Riding School. I couldn’t shake it.
I was maybe 20 miles away from home northeast of Smackover. A small replica oil derrick at the main crossroads marks the oil history of this little town. On a straight stretch I paid little attention to the pack of dogs on my first pass. They were in a narrow field on the right and safely out of harm’s way. Blue sky and summer heat pressed in. Pines towered above this straight stretch of South Arkansas road.
I decided I had gone far enough and turned around in the parking lot of the Pine Hills Country Club. As I accelerated I could hear children’s voices coming from the pool. I turned left to look. And when I turned back I was bearing down on those dogs. One long hair medium size dog, I don’t know it’s breed, with tail high in the air seemed to have no inkling a loud pipe motorcycle was trying to avoid contact on the right. He paid no heed and kept his same slow pace across the highway. My left footpeg caught his head. I lost control and the bike went into a sideways slide down the right shoulder and stopped at the entrance of a gravel driveway. I was sliding headfirst, or at least I think I was, stopping short of the bike.
I don’t remember anything about the slide. My glasses had gotten knocked into the middle of the road. The helmet visor was up. I took off my helmet. Gouges went from the left side of the chinbar up to the left ear. I was relieved that wasn’t my face. I had a hole in the right knee and a small scrape. My worst injury was my left forearm. Blood oozed from an elbow to wrist third degree burn. A woman came running out of the house and let me use her phone. She gave me some bandages to keep from making a mess. I called my wife. This was her worst fear. She took me to the hospital and I was given that magic burn salve. Within six weeks the skin was almost completely back to normal.
The bike was another matter. I borrowed a trailer and took a friend with me to retrieve the bike a few days later. I had dragged it part way up the drive. We righted it and laid it on its side on the trailer. The windshield was cracked and broken from its mounts. The handlebar was bent. The clutch lever was bent. Left mirror broken. Speedometer was smashed. It sat in the garage for a few weeks and I had to make a decision. Was I going to ride again? Was I going to fix the bike? It took me a while, but I decided I would ride again. I tracked down parts and slowly reassembled her into running shape. Never did fix the dent in the gas tank. The jacket was retired and replaced with cowhide. i have a lot more respect for dogs. RSMitchell 2008
