1st association to motorcycles is different for every individual. 1st association to motorcycles on daily news is however homogeneous - it’s always about accidents:
As a rider, you keep hearing advice on taking precaution, and this being the first weekend in a long time that we didn’t go touring, we thought it won’t bring too much danger.
However, weekend (as always) turned out to be busier than expected and as the night fell on Saturday evening, we realized that (once again) the wind blew items drying on the balcony to our neighbor’s roof. This time, it was our Dainese touring gloves, and the weather forecast threatened with heavy rain starting in about an hour. Kazuto, the Ninja of our household, already climbed our building’s staircase on the outer side that day, as I accidentally locked us out while we were maintaining bikes in front of the building that morning. This wasn’t the first time (but I truly but I hope it’s the last). As Kazuto rang next-door grandma’s bell (who is BTW the biggest fan of our motorcycles), she couldn’t stop laughing at a finally resolved mystery of slippers that appeared on her balcony this summer. Here's an image of that:
In Japan, removing shoes is sometimes a practice before committing a suicide, therefore it’s rather puzzling to find slippers without an owner around your property...
From grandma’s balcony, it should be a little bit easier to climb up on the roof (that doesn’t allow normal access), but the house is very old and unsecured, and getting up there requires a lot of skill, power and luck. False grip would be fatal. As Kazuto risked his life for our 2 pairs of Dainese riding gloves, the little old lady tried to be helpful, running in and out of apartment bringing a non-functional torch and worrying if he’s alright. As he held on to the half-destructed tin roof with one hand, trying to put his body mass up, the grandma kept interrogating about his state, which was cute, but dangerous.
At pretty much similar time, I stopped my little weekend sewing project (made new inner top for riding), and wanted to clear my sewing supplies. Being in a hurry and super clumsy, I forgot I’m holding small scissors in my hands (along with some other things) and making a very sudden movement, I stabbed my hip. All the way. The scissors were tiny, so they made a narrow (but very deep wound), and it was the weirdest feeling ever, feeling the puncture of a sharp object that you have endorsed on your own body.
As Kazuto brought the gloves up and my hip stopped bleeding, we ran down to a ramen shop and wondered:
If Kazuto slipped from the roof, and if my scissors were bigger, what would the police report of this domestic massacre read?
After all, staying at home turned out more dangerous than taking the curves of cold roads in Japan. Next weekend, we’ll put safety first, and choose going for a ride before dangerous laundry drying and hobbyist sewing. Nobody warns you about those:
Better be safe & on the road than fallen or stabbed in vicinity of your home...