Gored By The Horns Of Complacency
by David Gorham

[Comápla'cent. a. self-satisfied; pleased or gratified. ly adv. complacence, complacency n. self-satisfaction [Latin: complacere, to please greatly]].

You've heard it before: most road-going accidents happen within just a few miles from home. You're comfortable (complacent) with your surroundings, you've driven this stretch of road a million times. You know every ripple, every bump, every curve, and every traffic light. You also know the traffic patterns, and that nothing ever changes. You should also know that is exactly why most accidents happen close to home.r the other side of your neighborhood.

But are you off the hook when you are away from home? Not quite. Maybe the statistics are more on your side than they were back home, but you are far from off the hook. In fact, an accident away from your neighborhood and your oh-so-familiar roads is more likely to cost you a whole lot more money, time, and frustration. Consider: You'll be dealing with people you don't want to deal with (police, paramedics, tow truck drivers), and if you're badly injured you will have to deal with hospital stays, unfamiliar doctors, and the possibility of airfare for you and a truck or trailer for your bike. Sure, the odds say you are less likely to be in a wreck away from home, but if you are - and it happens all the time - you're screwed.

So there we were. Five of us in the middle of a desert in the in the middle of nowhere. Two ST-1100's (one two-up), one VFR-750, and one CBR-1000F. We were a couple thousand miles away from home, just past the mid-way point on our Texas-California-Texas USGP "Gorilla Tour". We were riding fast on an unfamiliar road in an unfamiliar area. And the roads were so great! Long predictable sweepers, tight little 2nd and 3rd gear see-throughs. Clean, clear and dry. The weather was spot-on perfect. We were enjoying the kind of road that most of us would ride halfway across the country to get to - which we did. And, we were complacent. What's that, you say? Complacent on unfamiliar roads, and at high speed? How could we be complacent? Easy, I say. Nothing had changed in the last hundred miles - though every corner was different, they were all the same. There had been no surprises, no traffic, and no pavement woes. It was fantastic, and we were having the time of our lives! Everything was going our way. Except the road.

It was the first tighter-than-expected, decreasing radius corner of the entire trip. It took us completely by surprise! In the lead and setting the pace, I had little time to react. It was turn or crash. Kill, or be killed, as they say. I threw my CBR over to the right as hard as I had ever thrown a bike before! Peg on the pavement, ankle jammed into the side cover, instruments turned at an angle to the horizon not many street bikes will ever see - and I didn't dare touch either brake for fear of upsetting the chassis! Of all things, I remember hoping my boot, scraping and burning along the pavement, might scrub off enough speed to help me through the corner - still on two wheels! My heart had stopped and I was waiting for the impact. Not with the guardrail on the outside of the oncoming lane, but with one of the three cars entering the corner not fifty yards away! Not a car all day, and now this.

My eyes targeted the exit of the corner (look where you want to go) and nothing else, but as time seemed to slow to a crawl it allowed my mind to wander. It was begging me to take my eyes off the road and look down, just for a second. Imagine the cool sight of my boot and foot peg on the ground - smoking leather and sparking metal on the double yellow line - an exciting blur of colors in a combination I might not see again. Cool, indeed. I kept my eyes on the exit of the corner, thank you very much. Also, in a distant place in the back of my mind, I hoped the other guys would make it.

Still upright, and back in my lane, I straightened the bike after the corner. I rolled off the throttle, took a deep breath, and forced myself to look in the mirror. What I hoped to see were a couple of headlights from the ST and VFR, upright and right behind me (the other ST was several miles behind this trio, and I was not concerned for him at this time). Instead, what I knew I would see were bodies flying over or through the hoods and roofs of the oncoming cars.

I saw headlights. I took another deep breath.

We continued on for about ten miles at just above the posted speed limit. It felt like we were walking. After what seemed like an eternity, we stopped at the outskirts of the next town for fuel. With our helmets off, we were all silent for a moment. Then we laughed and shrieked - happy to be alive! It was the closest any of us had come to a life-threatening crash on a motorcycle, and we were all very aware of this.

My CBR behaved admirably. Though I slammed down the right peg and scuffed the lower fairing, nothing else touched down. The Michelin tires stuck like glue. My boot was quite scuffed. No other damage; I was lucky. The ST behind me crossed the double yellow much more significantly than my CBR, dragging foot peg, muffler canister, fairing bits, and even the "tip-over wings" mounted higher on the fairing sides. The Avon tires didn't slide. The VFR touched nothing down, and the Bridgestone tires stuck like glue. But the VFR pilot had watched the ST - not the exit of the corner - and followed the ST well over the double yellow into oncoming traffic. None of the cars were touched, but as they dove for the shoulder I'm sure they saw parts of motorcycles not normally seen on bikes that are still upright on two wheels! Had they looked behind as they exited the corner, they might even have seen one ST passenger beating one ST pilot about the head and shoulders! We were not very good ambassadors for our sport that day in that corner.

Then, as if on cue, we all remembered the other ST. "Oh no! That corner! He won't make it!". Soon enough, the other ST motored up to the pumps; no scratches, no damage. To our frenzied questions he said, "Corner? What corner?". Sometimes, "complacent" can be used in a whole other context!

We continued the rest of our trip at a noticeably slower rate of speed.

Since that day in the middle of nowhere, I've noticed a heightened awareness of not only my speed, but also of the unexpected and of the fight against complacency. I strive to quickly learn as much about a curve before I enter it. If the corner is blind, I treat it as if the (almost) worst possible situation awaits me on the other side, and I try to leave enough skill and motorcycle to deal with it. What's that, you say? That's what you're supposed to do all the time. True enough. The four of us laugh today about that one corner in the middle of nowhere in that Nevada desert. And we all acknowledge our mistake. Not quite "gored by the horns of complacency", but certainly much closer than necessary.

Have you been gored? Or, are you about to be. Complacency is a constant riding companion. With you at every turn and every mile, as close as your tankbag or passenger. As a driver/rider in control, it is your responsibility to recognize your own complacency, fight it, and overcome it. As motorcyclists, there are many things we have no control over. Therefore, it is only right and fair that we control everything that we are capable of controlling. Complacency is controllable - whether you are on the other side of the country, or the other side of your neighborhood.

David Gorham