Gents,
Some of you know that I got back last week from a 4400 mile trip - the European Posse Ride - round Europe. On one of the days, in the mountains of Italy, we were waved to slow down by oncoming traffic, and a few bends later, came upon a tragic scene. A wrecked sports bike, and its rider in the centre of the road, covered by a blanket, only his feet showing. A lot of his blood on the highway.
It was a very sobering reminder of how fragile life is, and how dangerous our hobby is. My wife was in tears, and we - and I'm sure others in our group - passed many sombre miles in silence. We were very saddened.
We may not know his name, but this guy was a brother, and he was some mother's son, perhaps somebody's wife, perhaps somebody's father. That night, when we were enjoying ourselves, many of us had our thoughts turn to a home that would know only sadness and despair that night.
So I suggest that for this poor guy, and the countless others to whom fate deals a bad hand, next time we all raise a glass, we drink to fallen brothers, because it could be us as easily as them, any time we ride.
Jim
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Topic: An unknown rider (Read 1853 times)