The ‘Biker’

Life With Kermie

25 June

Life with Kermie

The Black Spur is one of the most picturesque and dangerous stretches of road in Victoria. From Healesville to Narbethong, it winds up and over the Great Dividing Range. Narrow and without Armco fencing, it is a road that requires concentration.

One sunny Sunday, Rita and I headed off over the Spur to attend a music event. The rubbernecks were out in force this day with solid traffic heading in both directions. As we cruised along, a couple of motorbikes were sitting right behind me, waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic to get past. One of them eventually managed to do so, leaving his mate sitting up my arse.

As we came around a sweeping right-hander, a Suzuki Vitara heading in the opposite direction lost its near side rear wheel, its wheel nuts having sheared off.

The next thing we see is a wheel rolling directly towards us. With a line of traffic going the other way and a steep drop on the left, we have nowhere to go. All I can do is brake to lessen the impact. Problem is, I've got this 'biker' 6 inches behind my bumper.

Maybe it's because the brain has to think so quickly that things seem to happen in slow motion. Rather than tramp the brake pedal to the floor, I push on it progressively, in the hope that the bloke behind me will have time to see what's going on, and save his skin, as well as our boot.

Nope.

At the instant the wheel clobbers us front dead centre and bounces off into the gully, there is a thump from behind and I see a flash of baby-blue leather jacket rise up past the rear window and descend again. We leap out of the car to find the guy laying prostrate on the road.

"Are you okay, mate? Don't move," I say.

"Is my jacket ripped?" is his first comment. (What??) "Is my jacket ripped? Is my jacket torn?"

His bike, a Husquvarna that he reckoned cost him $35,000 (for that sort of money I'd be buying a Harley) is a bit twisted, but all he keeps asking about is his bloody, baby blue leather jacket.

He appears to be okay and we get him to his feet. The Vitara driver has obviously stopped and come over, full of apologies. Being the meat in the sandwich, we swap details with him as well as the dandy biker. The bike rider also wants the Vitara driver's details. "He was the cause of the accident," declares our bikie mate.

I try to explain that they are effectively two separate incidences and that we happen to be the victim of both. The damage inflicted to the rear of our car is because he was riding too close to us.

He is having none of it and is declaring that the Vitara owner will have to bear all the costs. The damage to the front of the car is minimal and I tell the Vitara guy not to worry about it. He had his home burn down in the 2009 bushfires and has struggled since. The last thing he needed was to pay out a $500 excess on a claim from us. Besides, he was a really nice, decent bloke and let's face it, sometimes shit just happens. Eventually everything is sorted and we head off to our various destinations.

Later that afternoon I get a phone call from a cop at a police station on the other side of Melbourne.

"I've had a guy in here who told me he has been involved in an accident with you, and his story seems a little weird. Can you tell me your version of events?"

I fill him in on the day's events and he replies, "That's pretty much in line with what he told me. I told him, as you did, that they were two separate incidents, but he kept going on and on about it being the Vitara drivers fault."

"So what do you do now?" I asked.

"I've already done it. He annoyed the hell out of me and as he had made admissions to driving up your bum, I booked him for dangerous driving."

Don't you just love it when, occasionally things work out and 'right' triumphs. The baby blue bikie took it all away to court and spent a lot of money losing. He also wasn't insured but the RACV took care of that for us.

Take care of You.

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