On The Road

So for the most part, life and work went on through the winter, with some adjustments. We figured out how to ride in snow, sleet and slush, and got accustomed to dropping the bike every now and then when we hit patches of ice. But one event on a snowy January day in 1982 stands out in particular.

It had snowed all morning and although we were able to handle a couple of inches with our motorcycles, by early afternoon the snow was heavy enough that we were called back to base to finish the final deliveries while teamed up in cars. Nick and I were by the Potomac River on Independence Avenue when our radio came alive with an urgency we had not heard before. Our dispatcher told us that there were reports of an airplane going down in the weather and crashing into the 14th Street Bridge. We were the closest couriers to the Bridge so he asked us to scope it out and if possible find any photographers and retrieve their film from them. We made it to 14th Street when we realized that traffic was at a complete standstill and we weren’t going to be driving across the bridge. So Nick abandoned his car in a snowbank near the engraving and printing building and in our light Speed Service jackets we started to run towards the Virginia side.

Partway across we saw crowds of people leaning over the rail, but passed them all because we felt a sense of urgency that would not let us stop. Now, for those not familiar with the area, it is actually a full mile from where we parked to the far shore. Thankfully we did not know that at the time although I told Nick later that I was glad he was there because otherwise I would have given up – and he said the same about me. When we finally saw the tail of an airplane sticking out of the water and heard the thrum of a helicopter we began to realize that not only were there going to be no photographers for a while, but that the rescue, what there was of it, was taking place right before us.

We reached the other side of the Bridge, legs aching from running in boots through four inches of snow and slush, and ran to the water’s edge, where we joined a small but growing group of rescuers. Our uniforms may have prevented us from being stopped by authorities but I am not sure anyone really cared with all that was going on. Somehow I got separated from Nick and found myself at the place where the helicopter landed on the shore after a run to pick up what few survivors remained, and saw it had deposited a woman.

I believe the paramedics there got her onto a stretcher and I grabbed one corner and together about five of us started towards the few ambulances that had made it down from the road. But we were told they were full from the initial survivors, so we found an idling Metrobus, and laid the woman down in the aisle where the paramedics started treatment. I was told the best was for me to help was to stay in contact with her so I told her she was going to be ok, asked her name and heard “Pat”. It turned out that this was the last person rescued, Patricia “Nikki” Felch, who had been in the water for almost 30 minutes, and who would thankfully end up surviving.

There was not much to do after that so after helping stage blankets and the like near the water (a hopeless gesture as we all knew but it was something to keep us busy) I started really feeling the cold as we had been dressed for quick dashes into buildings from a car and not for a couple hours outdoors in the snow. I eventually found Nick and we made it back to his car and back to the office, although our uniforms were ruined—to this day I will never forget the smell of the aviation fuel that had soaked everything. As a coda to this story Nick and I were flown to Boston the following week or so to appear on a talk show and tell of our experience. As luck would have it there was also heavy snow that day and we had some uncomfortable moments on takeoff but the flight went off without a hitch.

Winter passed and the weather grew nicer but more change than just spring was on the air. One thing Pete and I had not given much thought to was the incredible stress we put on our motorcycles riding them all day, five days a week in all types of weather. Eventually we got tired of spending every Saturday riding to the parts store and every Sunday fixing things—cables, brake pads, tires, chains and sprockets, etc.—and started envying the riders from Metropolitan Messenger, the other elite messenger service besides Speed Service, who rode company BMWs from a fleet of old R50/5s, R60/6s and the even older R69/2s with their odd Earles front forks, all painted a bright yellow, with large yellow fairings and a headlight that was set up to flash on and off during the day, like the one I had seen passing me while I was still learning the ropes. We tried a brief experiment with still riding for Speed Service but on commission instead of salary and while that improved our finances it could not compensate us for our lost weekends spent fixing things.

So with mixed emotions Pete and I made the decision to move to Metro Messenger, sad to leave our close companions and friends but hopeful for the chance to ride a bike we didn’t have to care for. We quickly adapted to the new company, learned the new clients and their addresses, the rhythm and cadence of Metro’s (very, very good) dispatchers, and got used to the quirks of the new-to-us motorcycles.

We learned that all the Beemers had a tendency to roll a little to one side when gassed—from the torque of their twin cylinders which were mounted low on the engine, opposite each other, and sticking out both sides in front of the rider’s feet. That the R50/5s had to be ridden more carefully in the rain as their front drum brake was prone to being grabby when it got wet. Even though it was the most challenging to ride, I loved the R69/2 as they were low-slung and had excellent handling, even though the unusual configuration of the front end caused it to rise up when applying the front brake, and contrary to what I had learned earlier, the best braking consisted of generous use of the rear brake as well. Best of all was reporting a problem to the mechanics at the end of the day and having a decent chance to it getting fixed by the next day.

I loved riding for Metro. I was assigned the Hill channel, spending my days running back and forth from downtown to the Capitol and other Government buildings around Capitol Hill and Southwest DC. But I would sometimes fill in for the main channel, which meant lots of intense downtown riding but the possibility of some rides farther outside of the city. Every now and then I might even get a delivery far away as Rockville, or to Vienna out the new Dulles Access Road which was a treat, and a chance to see just how fast the old motorbike could go.

But as all good things come to an end so did my motorcycle messenger career when one day I missed seeing a truck coming fast to my left as I made a turn, and was fortunate in the resulting accident that, although the left cylinder of the motorcycle was rolling around in the road, I was unhurt, the truck having missed my leg by inches. I had already been getting uneasy feelings about just how long I wanted to be zooming down crowded streets where someone running a red light could mean my death. The accident was the factor that made me decide to make a change and switch to a bicycle.

Much to my surprise I found myself enjoying being a bicycle messenger even more. I loved the physicality of the job and the increased feeling of freedom riding a much smaller vehicle that could go places a motorcycle could not. And even though it came with its own risks, I felt they were easier to manage on a bicycle. In the end I ended up riding a bicycle for Metro for several more years, and for another company, Washington Express for years after that in an on-again-off-again fashion in between other ventures. It was something I always knew I could work at for a while to make money while I figured out my next steps. And as I mentioned, I even met my current wife, one of the few female messengers, through bicycling at Metro…

…but that story needs to wait for another time.

 

Addendum

I have had this story rattling around in my head for many years now, and out of curiosity a few years ago I decided to see what was out there on the web about DC messengers. I ran across a superb article on motorcycle couriers and made initial contact with the author. The article really spurred me to write my story as it mentioned Speed Service, where I started, and is in my view truly excellent writing—good enough to have been published in a magazine.

Hey’s the kicker: I received a comment on my New Orleans article from a Balloon-Juice citizen who goes by “Booger” mentioning he had ridden bicycles from Metro Messenger. We connected and it turns out he is the author of the blog post that had so inspired me earlier. With his permission I present a link to his article and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

https://rlymi.blogspot.com/2008/10/few-words-about-motorcycle-couriers.html

BretH, Turning PointsPost + Comments (30)