A matter of when, not if.

There was an accident on the George Washington Parkway, a road we travel quite often, yesterday. A motorcycle went off one of the steep hills that leads down to the Potomac River. The Parkway is a beautiful drive pretty much from start to finish and was one of my favorite rides when I had my motorcycle.

The last ride I took on my motorcycle was with my friend David out by Skyline Drive. He had pulled me over before we got there (an action for which I will be forever grateful) to advise me about the risks of the ride and that I needed to be absolutely prepared -- and that, if I wasn't, it would be no big deal and we could turn back. I said I was ready and we went on.

A couple miles down the road we came upon the accident. A motorcyclist had taken a sharp turn a bit wide at the same time a minivan had shaded the turn close to the lane divide. It was no contest. The biker lay on his back, wracked in pain, desperately and loudly gasping for breath.

I thought to myself that I was about to see a man die.

I don't know how I overcame the fear that gripped me, but I parked my bike and ran over to him. He was wearing virtually the same high visibility 'Stich that I was, though his reflected far more many miles on two wheels. He was on his back. The suit hid the most severe of his injuries -- a broken back or broken ribs I suspected. His left wrist was visibly and badly broken.

All I could do was tell him that he was going to be ok and to try to calm down. His name was Willie and we waited for the paramedics to arrive. I held his helmet and head still as two teams of EMTs cut him out of his suit, strapped him to a backboard and airlifted him to the nearest hospital. I gave my information to the officers on the scene and David and I decided to go home. The only thing I remembered about the ride back was the smell. Ever since that day any time I smell the close fumes of motorcycle exhaust it is accompanied by the melted plastic of the fallen BMW sport-tourer -- and Willie's aftershave.

I tried to find a mention of the accident in the papers over the following days but I couldn't, although motorcycle accidents are so commonplace out there that it might not have been all that newsworthy. I believe he made it though. In fact I think he's probably ok.

They say (these people) that it's a matter of when, not if. Risk is part and parcel of riding a motorcycle. The risks can be mitigated through preparation, caution, and training. But you will never be able to control the weather, or the inattentive driver on a cell phone, or distracted parent with kids in the car, or the inexperienced teenager, or the fella who reckoned he was ok to drive after beer number 12, or the ordinarily careful driver who just glimpses away for a half second. You cannot but fully accept these risks. The day you can't -- the day the costs become to high and the equation can't be balanced -- you need to put the kickstand down.

That day - my birthday 2004 - was my day.