I didn’t see you.

It was a beautiful Sunday. Perfect in every way. Hubby and I were doing a long motorcycle ride to the Eastern Shore – destination Sheet Harbour. Seven friends. 5 bikes. It was a perfect ride along the picturesque coastline of Nova Scotia. Shared moments of joy, friendship, gratitude, and breathtaking scenery. In total a 300 km round trip.

We said our goodbyes and shared some hugs – gratitude for the experience. For great friends. Another fun and safe ride together. We all parted ways at our friend’s place in Dartmouth. Hubby and I were on the final stretch home.

It was a perfect day.

Until it wasn’t.

A mere 4km from our home

And now a new image is burned in my retinas. Playing on a continuous loop. Haunting me. Over and over.

As a motorcyclist, we are acutely aware of the inherent dangers of riding. We understand the risk. We mitigate this risk with training, experience, skill development, proper clothing, a well-maintained bike, etc. We are constantly scanning our environment for hazards. It never ends. From the moment we leave the safety of our driveway until we return home. We are at attention. We anticipate.

Wildlife is one.

Human distraction is another.

Wildlife should scare me more. It doesn’t.

Humans do. Sadly. Other drivers. Distracted. For reasons that are incomprehensible to me.

Yes, accidents happen. I get that. I know that. No one needs to remind me of this. I know the dangers of ice and snow and water. I know this.

Human error because of distraction. A different story. A different ending.

We were on the final stretch of our ride, 4km until home. I was leading in front, as is often the default position when hubby and I ride together. We were on the final section of the Bedford Highway just before it meets the Highway exchange on the 102. For context and for readers who are not familiar with this area, Bedford Highway is not really a ‘highway. It used to be at one point, but now it is a heavily commercialized area with a speed limit of 50km/hr with roads intersecting into residential areas. The section of the Bedford Highway we were on has two lanes in both directions. I was leading. Hubby behind me. Both of us were positioned in the right lane.

I noticed an oncoming car that was in the inside lane on the other side. He veered left and started to turn into a residential street. This turn intersected with our path. We had the right away. We were going straight. Normally the car would stop and wait for oncoming traffic to pass through. I could tell he was not waiting. He was coming into our path. He was not slowing down. I speed up to clear him, anticipating that he may clip my back wheel. He did not. I watched in my rearview mirror, knowing that hubby was just a few seconds behind me and was now headed for a collision. I slowed and watched the car behind me in my side mirror. It kept moving. Turning left. I heard the impact. A sound that is now part of me. I watched the car keep moving. It was gone. What I saw in my side mirror was my husband on the ground. His motorcycle on the ground. An image I will never unsee. An image that is now part of me. I somehow managed to pull off the road, park on the shoulder, and ran faster than I ever have in my life. The sound of my breathing inside my helmet is a sound I will never unhear. It is now a part of me. Nothing prepares you for that. Nothing. My husband collided with a car. He was laying on the ground. Motionless. Nothing prepares the mind for that image.

My husband t-boned the car that cut across his path. There is nothing a motorcycle rider can do to avoid a collision when a car crosses your path at the precise moment. All the things that are going to happen are going to happen.

The gentleman driving the car was there. Other people were there. I don’t know how they got there so fast. I turned to the gentleman and screamed “what did you do?” He said he was sorry. Said he didn’t see us.

A nurse suddenly appeared. Offered to help. Another guy parked his car to block traffic in the lane to avoid further disaster. Strangers appeared. Helping. Evaluating. I called 911. Police, Paramedics, Fire all appeared within moments. Sirens. Lights. So many people.

Hubby was okay. Okay, meaning he did not hit his head. He was conscious. He was not bleeding. He did not break any bones. I will never forget his eyes looking at me. Another image I can never unsee.

The gentleman driving the car was in his late 80’s. He was gracious and compassionate. I apologized for yelling at him. He apologized for everything that had happened. I asked if he was on his way somewhere. I noticed he was dressed nicely. He had a kind face. A gentle demeanor. He told me that his wife had passed a month ago and that some friends were doing something for him. He was on his way there. I said I was sorry. I talked to him about his wife. His sons. His grandchildren. 55 years married. 3 sons. 8 grandchildren. His children worry about him. I told him Love shows up in disguise as Worry. I can relate.

We were all humans in a human moment. I was sad. Sad for all of it.

Relieved my husband was okay. He survived a motorcycle crash without serious injury. He is bruised and battered. The range of emotions cannot be put into words. It is too much. It is visceral. It runs deep. It is now part of me. Images and sounds. Forever part of me.

As a rider, we accept there are inherent risks. We do what we can to mitigate risks and ride safely and experience the pure joy that comes with being a rider. I am grateful for every ride. Every moment. Riding is a part of me now. There is no going back.

I share this experience as a reminder that it is possible for us all to coexist on the roads. It is possible to return home each night with a smile and a grateful heart. But it has become disheartening (and sometimes downright terrifying) to see how many distracted drivers are on the roads. I see them veering over the centre lane. Veering over the shoulder. Veering within inches of the centre medium on a highway. I see them running stop signs. I see them merging into a lane that is not empty and has no space for them. I see it in people driving inconsistent speeds. They are distracted. Their focus is elsewhere. For reasons, I could never comprehend. A driver’s license comes with significant responsibility. Every time someone gets behind the wheel, that car can easily become a lethal weapon. Changing lives in a split second. That gentleman, although very compassionate and remorseful for his actions, could have taken everything from me. Could have changed my husband’s life, and mine, and countless others forever. One split second of distraction was all it took. Something in his eye. He didn’t see us. I have compassion for his situation. He is grieving. But that does not discount or negate his obligation to drive his vehicle safely and with his full attention. It just doesn’t.

My purpose and plea in sharing this are for everyone to know that a motorcycle rider is a human being (whether you agree with the sport or not). A rider is a husband. A friend. A sister. A daughter. A brother.

We all just want to get home safe. Enjoy the beauty of the ride. And get home safe.

Please look twice. Put the phone down. Focus on the road. Pay attention.

You may save a life.

With much gratitude,