..., do stupid things and win stupid prizes.
So, yesterday, I was on my way home from work minding my own business cruising along I-20 westbound between I-45 and I-35 in south Dallas. I was in the second lane from the right with the cruise control set at the speed limit plus or minus a skosh. Traffic was surprisingly light for the middle of rush hour with the nearest vehicle being a pickup in the far right lane about five car lengths back. Then, I heard the telltale sound of a crotch rocket in high revs. I was expecting him to come up on my left as those lanes were clear; however, he blows by at about 80 miles an hour on the right shoulder.
I thought to myself, "Self, that's odd."
I couldn't tell what make or model bike it was. It was all white with at least a 750cc engine (at a minimum based on the size and sound). The brain child in the saddle was wearing white shorts, dark athletic shoes, a t-shirt, backpack and matte black full face shield helmet with the goofy Mohawk ridge along the top.
The reason these details caught my attention was that the rider had gotten off the throttle as he passed me and was looking back over his shoulder in my direction making me think he was giving me the stink eye for some reason. I was contemplating what I might have done to offend him when things began to become clearer.
As we passed a highway on ramp, a Dallas County Sheriff's Deputy cruiser came charging onto the highway with lights flashing making a beeline for Mr. Motorcycle.
My first reaction was, "Awesome!! Nail his butt." Because, really, how many times has some idiot on a crotch rocket blown passed you at warp nine when there was no popo anywhere to be seen?
Then, the second DCSO cruiser flew passed on my left lights a blazin'. That was the moment that you just KNEW it was on like Donkey Kong. Just after I saw the second cruiser, I looked back to the scene ahead just in time to see Mr. Organ Donor depart from the I-35E southbound exit ramp for the supposedly greener pastures of the grassy median between shoulder and frontage road.
Big mistake. HUGE!.
The first cruiser was hot on Mr. Mensa's tail like white on rice. That's when the dust really started flying. I didn't have a clear view, but I am pretty sure that Mr. Offroad on Slick Tires gave the crotch rocket a little too much go juice resulting, predictably, in the travels of bike and rider becoming separated in what hopefully an epic Wile E. Coyote moment. I say this because there was some tumbling visible through the cloud of dirt and grass flying in the air, and when I finally passed by a few seconds later the bike was in several more pieces than one would expect for a gentle laying down amongst the hillside meadow.
Anyfelon, by this time Mr. Carl Lewis Wannabe was trying to beat the Olympic sprint record in all events at the same time while Deputy #1 had already bailed out of his cruiser and was closing ground fast like there was donuts and bacon in the rabbit's backpack.
Unfortunately, I did not get to see the end of the foot race as I was still driving along my merry way and my view was soon blocked by the traffic on the exit ramp, the ramp itself and the whole scene disappearing in the rear view. My money is on the deputy.
Total elapsed time from "what was that?" to out of sight, out of mind was less than a minute...maybe 30 seconds.