She was svelte and very attractive, I was in a hurry to take her to eat. This girl looked like Milla Jovovich and as the 1999 SV 650 motor purred on I could think of nothing else.

Then BAM I was hit, inverted and flying. My head pointed north, my feet south and as I flew through the air I could only see the clouds and sky the color of "Milla's" eyes.

But, I am getting ahead of the story here. This motorcycle education came fully into gear the spring of 2000. The SV had already been well broken in and painted flat black to cover the red which I had thought was just too visible. My friend Deborah Napier of the Motorcycle Industry Council called it "asphalt camo". And even though I understand her concern, I like the sound of that. I was working as an express delivery courier in Washington D.C., and living across the Potomac in my home state, Virginia.

Kristen worked at E&E Publishing, a small operation that produces an online energy and environmental information service used by the Clinton and current Bush administration to track policy. I was in a hurry that day coming up 14th street NW, very close to the White House, when I saw a cab on the right side of the road in front of the National Press Club. I geared down and slowed to about 20 miles per hour as I crossed the intersection.

Riding up 14th St., traffic was thick as thieves but on this sunny day it was moving properly until the cabbie decides to bang a U turn illegally. He comes through two lanes of traffic and turns in front of me sending me instantly airborne at 15-20 mph. I have no idea what kept the oncoming traffic into which I flew from running me over, but my first thought was to get to my feet.

Noises stopped, I was now in front of the cab motioning by cranking my hand in the air for the cabbie to roll down his window. Later witnesses (God Love 'Em) who came from all directions and walks of life would admit that they feared for the man's life as the "black clad leather demon" strode up that hill to his window...

Honestly, I was just happy to be alive. And, having gone through getting burned by one of these cage-pilots before: "Oh yeah sure, just send me the bill for the parts, I'll pay it and we can avoid dealing with insurance companies and the cops..." right - I just stuck my face in the cab and said calmly but with conviction: "Call an ambulance, call the cops, call your insurance company"

You always hear that you may have sustained injuries and because of all the endorphines and adrenaline in your blood at the time of an accident, often times will think you're o.k. I was going to handle this situation properly. The ambulance arrives, and I was o.k. The paramedics asked if I wanted to go in with them for further tests, I really did feel ok and my pupils checked out so I declined and stayed with DC finest to make sure the report was filed.

The Police Office on the scene was a mid-thirties sturdily built man with a very mellow demeanor. I asked if it would be ok to sit in the cruiser with him while he called everything in, he said it was fine. In the middle of all this the radio crackles on and I hear the dispatcher bark out some police jargon and numbers and then something like: "The suspect has pulled up his t-shirt to reveal a handgun and is gesturing to the clerk at the tie kiosk to open the cash register. Location: The National Press Building"

Without as much as a shrug the mellow cop says:
"Sorry, I am the first responder. We're going to have to finish this up when I get back. Wait here"

So, wow I'm thinking. Real drama. Of course a myriad other law enforcement vehicles show up and it just so happens that CNN has a film crew interviewing some bureaucrat. I could hear the journalist and the producer positioning the talking head and directing the cameraman to set the shot with "the smashed up motorcycle, and can we get the cop car in the frame too?" Lovely, my poor SV. Alright, so I had lost Milla for the moment and my favorite therapy in the world was looking out of commission, but dammit I am human so I decided to get a quick drink.

The liquor store by the press club had the little Captain Morgan bottles and I thought, one of those dumped into a 20oz coke would be just enough to calm me down. So, Kamel Red Light cigarette dangling from my maw I get comfortable back in the cop car rip open a bag of chips and tune back into to reality radio. "The suspect has left the Press Club" I about fell outta the car. I could not freaking believe that with all of the men on this creep that no one could pull him in. Unbelievable.

Officer mellow returns and he's still cool. This is just another day in the Nations Capitol. "Ok where were we, you said you had some written statements?" We finish up and before I realize it, I am standing by the SV all alone. Traffic has taken it's mid-afternoon break and it dawns on me that I had told all parties that I didn't need a tow truck.

I survey the bruised bike and come up with the usual: bent handle bars, broken mirrors, nice fat bonk in the gas tank and the worst: the shifter stuck in first. But when I press the starter, rbrrauuup she kicks to life and my heart rate quickens. Could this work? Could I limp the SV home through DC traffic, cross the fetid Potomac and make for Virginia? How fast could I go? How far?

These are the questions which started to swirl in my head as I eased out the clutch and went back into the fray...

-IN THE NEXT INSTALLMENT-
For how many miles can one stay at 10,000 rpm in first gear with a non-functioning radiator?
Also, more Milla. Advice from an old Harley rider, how to buy an SV from salvage for $500... and pocket $8,500 all without whining or suing.

Please check SVRIDER.COM for further Adventures at Ground Zero.