I belonged to a tight knit group of friends who swapped vehicles around to meet our needs. My friends all had a lot more money than I. (Okay, let me rephrase.) My friends parents all had a lot more money than mine.
I drove a 1963 Econoline Van that was the Stepfather's Construction Company Work Van until the Slow down in the mid 70s for Construction in our area. Lowe's created a department for HIM, and made him the head. Custom Woodwork. I had worked all thru school Sophomore and Junior year at Minimum Wage, helping keep the company afloat. He gave me the van he no longer needed. IT needed, help. I fixed it up, and it turned out pretty nice. Windowless work van became a mini-mystery machine. Let's say it was Popular with my friends. They borrowed the van on the weekends, I drove their rides.
New Mid 70s Dodge Ram Crew Cab Truck
65 T-Bird
68 Formula Firebird with a Custom 396 V8.
68 Camaro.
and...
Custom KZ400 Race Bike...
I never took the KZ400 to town, only drove it out into horse country where the roads only had numbers, two lanes and no lines. Open 'er up and avoid traffic. I'd leave town hit the interstate, tool out into the country and ride a big loop out thru the horse and cow pastures on the lane and a half roads enjoying the weather. Stop for lunch then loop back and park the bike and wait to make the swap. What a way to spend a day.
I was tooling along a back country two lane, at about 85mph when I saw a flash of movement just ahead. I started to reach for the brake, and BAM, a pheasant flushed from the ditch on the right side of the road, made a hard left bank and struck me right between my nipples head on.
ALL the air left my body.
ALL
THE
AIR.
I felt my toenails pull in.
I couldn't breathe.
I felt like I had been hit by a major league fastball in the chest and I wasn't wearing pads.
My vision started to blur and I tried to slow but I realized I couldn't ...
... well, twist the throttle or work the brakes. I needed air.
I wiggled my fingers and the throttle spring pressure rolled the throttle back. The bike slowed and I dropped my feet.
We Came to a stop, and I leaned forward and put my head on the gauge cluster. I still hadn't drawn a full breath.
When it came, it was deep, long, and painful. I took off the full face helmet, and feathers flew everywhere. That bird had exploded. Every Breath Hurt. I was wearing an Exxon Racing overall with Tony The Tiger on the Chest, in heavy embroidery. Tony looked like he had slaughtered an ostritch, he had a mouth full of blood and feathers.
I had to sit on the side of the road for a half hour and practice breathing. To this day I say it was a large pheasant, others have said it was likely some other bird, best guess was a young vulture to have enough weight to do what it did. No ribs were broken, but I was bruised from nipple to nipple and diaphram to the center of my collar bone. I felt every breath for a couple months, and for a week, I took really shallow breaths.
Yeah, I can laugh about it now.
The bike didn't get a scratch.
When my buddy called to borrow the van, I'd tell him to bring the Tbird.
