TT3D
When the loosely organized local vintage motorcycle community, of which I am a loosely organized member, got word that the critically acclaimed British documentary TT3D: Closer to the Edge about the infamous Isle of Man Tourist Trophy motorcycle races was going to have a short run at a Manhattan movie theater, the group made plans to see it. When, for some reason, the theater pulled the movie from its schedule, Corinna, who runs the weekly moto-themed movie night Cine Meccanica at Otto's Shrunken Head, took it upon herself to make it happen anyway, DIY style.
After sorting out the logistics, Corinna sent an email confirming that the movie would be shown at Matchless, a motorcycle-friendly bar in Brooklyn that has a projector and screen and often shows motorcycle races on Monday nights.
I arranged to meet my friend Wade for dinner ahead of time. Wade, like me, is currently underemployed, and so dinner at 5 o'clock wasn't a problem for either of us. Although Matchless is a couple of miles from my apartment, it lies directly in the path of my local bus route. The bus schedule, being as it is — for entertainment purposes only — makes it impossible to predict how long a ride will take. Twenty minutes? An hour? I gave myself a little extra time, but the ride was quick and I was early. Wade, however, came from Manhattan and, after a few connections, had to walk a few blocks from the subway. He was soggy and wet, shook off the rain, and took a seat.
Wade is a photographer, and he had recently hired me to assist on a photo shoot. It was an admittedly boring tabletop shoot for a cosmetics company, but he was happy to have work, and he was hoping to get more of it. So was I.
"Thanks again for hiring me to assist," I said as he settled in. "You didn't need two assistants."
After the shoot, Wade's other assistant, Kiritin, told me she was glad I was there to keep her from falling asleep. But, of course, if I hadn't been there, she would've had more to do.
"I think I actually did need two assistants," said Wade. "We ran late even as it was."
"True," I said. "Either way, I was happy to have the work. Things are starting to feel desperate. I wish I had something I could sell on eBay."
"It's barely worth it," said Wade. Wade has an impressive collection of vintage motorcycles -- four BSAs and a Triumph-- along with a variety of spare parts to go with them. Although he's determined not to sell any of the bikes, he's been cleaning gas tanks, wheels, carburetors, etc, and putting them up for auction. "By the time you clean, photograph, and ship everything, it's hardly worth the trouble." In addition to motorcycles, he also collects fine art photography, and he told me about some signed prints he recently sold on eBay for half of what they're worth.
We had a couple of beers and ate some food, then got our check and prepared to leave. "Shit," I said, pulling out an insufficient wad of bills from my wallet, "Speaking of low funds, I'm a little short."
"I can cover it if you want to go find an ATM. I'll meet you at the bar."
The rain was coming down hard, and by the time I got cash at an outdoor machine and walked to the bar, I was soaked. A couple of guys followed me inside, carrying motorcycle helmets. "Not a very nice night for riding," said Wade, nodding toward the guys.
"Not a very nice night for walking, either," I said, shaking out my hat.
For the most part, the people featured in the movie are from the UK, and some of the accents would have been difficult to understand even under the best of circumstances, but with the added din of the bar, it became nearly impossible. "They should turn on the closed captioning," I said.
Regardless, despite the noise and the distractions of people bumping into me from all sides, ordering beer and food, and asking, "Where's the toilet?" the movie was -- in movie-critic parlance — spellbinding. It really was.
Tourist Trophy motorcycle racing at the Isle of Man began in 1907, and since then, there have been over 240 deaths. The movie focuses on the 2010 season, and statistics being what they are, it's not surprising that a racer dies in one of the 2010 races. The racer's surviving wife is philosophical about it and said that people can die any day at any minute from any number of things. It's something you hear people say all the time. It’s a cliché, and often said with a shrug. "You can get killed just walking down the street." The point is: do what you love and live life to the fullest.
After the movie, I called Deborah to tell her I was on my way home. "Just waiting for the bus," I said.
The bus was nearly empty, and it didn't make many stops. By the time it hit Driggs Avenue and Broadway, I was the only passenger. The bus idled at the intersection for a long time. Siren lights lit up the bus’s foggy windows. The bus driver got off. I walked to the front and poked my head out the door to see what was happening. The intersection was cordoned off with police tape.
When the bus driver returned, I asked him, "What's the story? Are we going to be moving soon?"
"The police marking off the ground with chalk," he said in broken Polish. "Like a…a…a…fatality."
The driver gave me a few alternative bus options, all of which involved multiple transfers. I was still a mile and a half from home, but I decided to walk. Standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change, I couldn't see much. A garbage truck, a few police cars, siren lights reflecting on the slick pavement, rain catching the light of the street lamps. I didn't see an ambulance, I didn't see any chalk.
The cold rain got under my collar and began to trickle down my back. I pulled my coat's zipper tight around my neck and walked home. Within minutes, I was utterly drenched, but I didn't mind. I was going home to a warm bed, a hot cup of tea, and a wife who loves me. I was alive.
The following day, Deborah sent me a link to a newspaper story with details of the accident. Katharine Yun, NYU Grad, Struck And Killed By Sanitation Truck In Williamsburg.
It might be a cliché, but it’s true: You really can get killed just crossing the street.
