How a Motorcycle Accident Changed My Life

Running head: HOW A MOTORCYLE ACCIDENT CHANGED MY LIFE 1

How A Motorcycle Accident Changed My Life

Victor Licata

Galen College of Nursing

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Growing up I had many friends who owned motorcycles. I felt riding

motorcycles must surely be exhilarating as I watched my friends blaze around town

on their sleek late model bikes. Though I longed to join them on these adventurous rides,

My dream of owning and riding a motorcycle would never come to fruition having parents as overprotective as the walls of a super-max prison. Fortunately, there were other pastimes and hobbies I shared with my biker buddies; fishing, playing ball, chasing girls,

and of course, drinking beer. However, there was a particular personal pastime which I was very passionate about, one that gave me and continues to provide me today with great satisfaction and soul soothing therapy, that passion is playing guitar.

After approximately a decade of shelving for my youthful desire to own and ride motorcycles, the biking bug stung hard one day at my place of employment. A co-worker

gracefully glided into the parking lot on a brand new, chrome-glistened, curvaceous, 2004' Harley Davidson Custom Softail. It was love at first site. I bee-lined to his parking space to learn more about this sexy beast; where he got it from, what options he had upgraded to, color availability, and of course if I may be able to strike a similar deal on one myself. By weeks end, as certain as the sun rises each morning in the East, I was the proud owner of a 2004' Inca Silver Harley Davidson Custom Softail.

Just like any new relationship the honeymoon period with my new toy was

exciting, adventurous, and full of prideful moments showing my new baby off to friends

and anyone else that caught her eye. The bliss seemed as though it would never fade,

but I found out all too well the truth in the old saying "all good things must come to an

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end" and to that end my love affair was over.

It was an idyllic fall day for a quick ride to grab a bite on my lunch break. No

jacket necessary on such a gorgeous day, just my cheap polyester work issued polo shirt

and some snazzy tan Dockers. I was always extra cautious whenever traversing East

Tampa's' mainline, Highway 60, a four lane thoroughfare seemingly employed as a

playground for games of motorized chicken. Upon turning south off Highway 60 onto

Kings Ave, I exhaled in relief. I was less than a mile to my favorite taco stand, Taco

Loco home of the gut busting, 'Super Loco'. There were two cars traveling south about a

hundred yards ahead of me, and a charcoal grey Jeep wrangler stopped with its left turn

signal on in the northbound lane, also a hundred yards or so ahead of me. I had a feeling

there was going to be trouble ahead, purely instinctual. There was nothing extraordinary

about another vehicle waiting for traffic to clear before turning left, but I had this

ominous feeling otherwise. As I had gravely suspected, immediately after the two cars

ahead of me had passed, the awaiting Jeep turned left directly in front of me. I was on a

collision course with no clear way to avoid a head on crash other than slam my brakes

and pray that I didn't become the day's road kill. The heavy braking maneuver sent me

into