If you’ve seen Michael Moore’s film Sicko you will likely be more motivated than ever to wear your protective gear, whether you’re motorcycling, bicycling, scuba diving, hang gliding — whatever sport you’re participating in. Sure, I have health insurance, but what I didn’t know was that the movie is a horror story about people like me who do have insurance! Before I go into the protective gear lecture, let me just say that "Sicko" is a must see. Don’t worry — it’s not just a Bush-bashing spree, but a Nixon- and Johnson- and Clinton-bashing fest as well. It’s both horrifying and hilarious, (I mean, really, boating 911 heroes to Guantanamo Bay?) and like all of Moore’s films, it’s a motivator to get off our butts and get this country back into our hands. I really didn’t have any idea that the USA is the only western country that does not have universal health care. How did it happen? Brainwashing? Complacency? Ignorance? Inattention? See it. It’s an eye-opener and good counter-spin to the mainstream media, who hasn’t reported, among other things, on the health insurance discrimination on motorcyclists. (More info and how to take action.)
While I’m on the topic of films, here’s another one, a new film narrated by Sean Penn called War Made Easy subtitled "How Presidents & Pundits Keep Spinning Us to Death." Paired with Moore’s "Sicko," you get a pretty clear picture of how much we are manipulated. As a journalist and world traveler, I thought I was pretty media literate and aware of just how much, but I realize that I need to pay more attention and also to take real action more often. (See end of this weblog entry for how to.) Our media is continually being absorbed by just a few corporations who are more interested in making money than keeping us informed — but you know that.
So back to the lecture about protective gear and spinning wheels: Ever since I got knocked off my motorcycle in India way back in 2000 — and lived to tell about it — I’ve been lecturing people to invest in, and use, protective gear. 
I was wearing leather boots and jeans and a light leather jacket, partially unizipped, and summer gloves and a full face helmet. A dog ran out between me and the car in front of me and I ran smack in to it, took a head dive onto the road, then I remember hearing my helmet hit the ground four times as I did somersaults toward the ditch, where I lost consciousness.
Okay . . . so if I hadn’t been wearing a helmet, I might have heard my head konk just once before my brains splushed out onto that hot asphalt headed down to Kanukamari, the pointy tip end of India, where the waters of the Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean, and Arabian Sea all meet. Some pilgrimage, huh? I woke because I was choking half to death from water that a well-meaning woman was pouring into my face, and stood up to find that I was okay, oops, except for that splursh splursh of blood ejecting in heartbeat pulse frequency from the rip in my jeans on my left knee. The Indian Christian missionaries who had been following me for miles — also on their way to Kanukamari — loaded me onto a pile of snow white cotton saris in the back of their van and took me to a nearby clinic where I was stitched up enough to ride the Enfield — which had been fixed at the shop next door for about the same price (a few dollars, as I remember) — to a hospital where I got proper knee surgery (for just another few bucks.) Had I been wearing proper motorcycle pants, I would have been able to skip that experience.
("Would you prefer general or local anesthesia," asked the doctor. I evaluated the situation. The nurses were fighting me as I attempted to remove my shirt to show the surgeon my gravel-filled shoulder wound — men apparently weren’t allowed to see shoulders — and the janitor was clearly delighted at the sight of a real live naked knee, and it looked like he might also be part of the surgery team. "Local," I replied, gritting my teeth.)
Why wasn’t I wearing protective gear? Because back then, in 2000, my only choice was leather, and I could barely stand to wear the gear I had on in the stifling humidity of Southern India. If Cordura or mesh gear was available, I didn’t know about it. Today I wear a Olympia Moto Sports outfit in hot weather. For cold, it’s the leather.
I’m also choosing my full-face helmet over my half helmet more and more often these days, even if it’s hot, even if I’m only riding a few miles. Having chosen a life focused on adventure travel — motorcycling, scuba diving, bicycling, trekking — few people get to accuse me of being overly cautious in my life. But I do want to live to experience the next adventure.
See Sicko. See War Made Easy. Take action: Convince your congressperson to become a cosponsor of the United States National Health Insurance Act (H.R. 676 text) today. It doesn’t matter if you’re left, right, center, or where you fit in the financial-social strata, you’re a human and chances are, even if you’re not a motorcyclist who gets whacked by some cellphone-yakking, latte-sipping SUV driver you’re gonna get hurt or sick, your mama’s gonna get sick, your kid’s gonna get sick, your friend’s gonna get sick, and you’re really gonna need better help than is available today. Yeah, it means higher taxes. You get what you pay for. So here you go:
If your congressperson isn’t on the list, click here and tell him or her that you want to support the United States National Health Insurance Act.
End of lecture.
It is not necessary to create a new national health care plan. We could simply broaden the elgiblity requirements for Medicade to include any individual who wants to buy into it, like an HMO. This would also create more competition in the marketplace. If it were free, however, then it would cost more than the war in Iraq.
I know government health care first hand; I belong to the VA system. It’s not free, and I have to carry health insurance. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad. I frequently end up going to a private walk-in clinic and paying out-of-pocket for the care I need.
Bikers from all over the country are pulling their motorcycles out of winter storage and cleaning up their leathers in anticipation of a another season of biker trips. While Daytona is definitely the place to be the week of March 5th we have chosen Twin Falls Idaho for a great spring ride.It’s probably best to wait until may or later for this one because of the weather