Third Time's The Charm

The unthinkable at 85 mph

The laughably impossible scenario began with a tickle below my epiglottis.

The skies had cleared and it was warming when I left work in Scotts Valley last Thursday, making a beeline off CA-17/880 to Barnes & Noble on Stevens Creek Boulevard in San Jose. Quentin Tarantino’s paperback version of his first work of fiction — Once Upon A Time In Hollywood — was the perfect birthday gift for my friend Matt, who was getting on a plane for Texas the next afternoon. We discussed the book (which I was nearly finished with) just two nights prior over drinks and dinner.

Birthday gifting and wishing with Matt and his family complete, I piloted my BMW R1150RT toward CA-280 north and home.

That’s when the deep tickle began.

Eyes watering as I merged into heavy Bay Area commuter traffic, I realized my mistake but plodded on, making an animalistic hork that drives my wife to insanity. 

This time it all backfired — literally.

For those of you familiar with merging onto 280 near 17/880, it’s a frogger-esque effort to methodically and proactively switch lanes left against the flow of traffic wanting to go right. I’ve done it 100-plus times in the day, night, rain and fog. But I’ve never done it with a mouth full of bile.

Yep. The backfire I referenced two paragraphs ago was my body’s reaction to the overly forceful attempt to dislodge the tickle. Cool headed but curious as to the result of my next move, I did the only thing possible in this laughably impossible scenario: I swallowed.

Seconds later, my stomach disagreed with the foolish decision to deal with nature at 85 mph. This time there was too much bile to keep in my mouth, and after flipping open my visor and grabbing the chin bar on the full-face Bell helmet to make room for the spew (sorry motorist behind me!) I discovered it was all for naught. 

Well, now it was GAME ON. The scent and mental picture of what happened triggered my stomach to bring up another round of bile. The dolt that I am — with panic setting in — I made a second vain attempt to let it fly over my chin bar. 

No dice.

With 11 miles to roll until home, my eyes stopped watering as I got off the highway. My tank and windscreen looked like a Doberman’s delight after hanging out the backseat window in the summer breeze.

Routinely, I text Jean to let her know when I’ll be home. She gamely unlocks and opens the garage door. This time I snuck around and let myself in, hoping to shield her from the oral carnage. She bounced down the porch steps through the courtyard as I was taking off my helmet.

Poor dear.

What are some of the crazy things that happened to you while riding?