Reading a blog entry on HarleyThoughts.com about a gruesome incident reminded me the day I came within inches of losing my right leg.

It was 1980. It was late on a Summer Saturday afternoon. I was 20 years old, full of the dumbass fearlessness that so often accompanies youth. I was riding a 1969 Harley Shovelhead. I accelerated quickly from an intersection on a busy main drag, leaving the rest of the cars behind. I wasn't racing, but I was moving along faster than the rest of traffic. I wasn't wearing a helmet—this was long before California eliminated that choice.