Passion, Experience & Growth

Writing Checks

June 24, 2022

By 2011, I was an experienced rider. I had tens of thousands of miles under my wheels. The suburban northern Virginia area was an ideal place to learn, with clean, well-maintained roads, controlled intersections, and wide medians dividing most roads.

One afternoon I returned from Washington, D.C. via the Dulles Toll Road. Headed west, I exited onto northbound Route 28.

As I rounded the curve in the exit, I literally heard a voice in my head. (This was not a usual occurrence for me—at any time.) The voice said:

“Your riding is writing checks your body can’t cash.”

I was at speed, my thoughts focused on riding safely—alert and aware. While the source of the voice was a curiosity, the meaning was what really caught my attention. I was perplexed; “What!?” I objected.

I merged with light traffic headed north on 28, extra cautious about looking over my shoulder to see traffic to my left. I merged gracefully, and accelerated into the far left lane.

Minutes later, ahead, a three-inch cube of styrofoam dropped off a pickup far ahead. It bounced…

Debris on the Virginia roads was rare, so this was a fairly new experience. My “spidey senses” weren’t working as well as they should have… or… perhaps, they had worked better than ever before, but I hadn’t listened.

The block continued to bounce lazily toward me. Improbably, it arced past my front tire and karate-chopped the top of my right boot.

The pain was searing. It wasn’t styrofoam; it was half of a white brick.

I was ten miles from home. With the pain, I briefly entertained images of blood seeping from the gash across the top of my foot, cut and broken tendons, upcoming surgeries and months of rehabilitation.

But I knew better, and instead, focused on relaxing—trusting that my boot had protected my foot—and riding the remainder of the miles home safely.

The pain ebbed and flowed as I rode. The miles stretched out interminably.

Home at last, I parked the bike, sat on the floor of the garage, and looked at my boot. No external damage was visible.

I moved to the front porch, sat down, and pulled off my boot. My thick sock was sweaty, but there was no sign of blood, or damage.

Pulling off my sock, my foot continued to ache—but, there was no visible damage—not even a bruise. The boot had done its job.

That afternoon, I shared the experience with my audience on Examiner.com.

Epilogue

In 2022, after seeing Top Gun: Maverick in the theater, I rewatched the original Top Gun. I’ve always been a big fan of the original. But not such a huge fan that I would have had any part of the script running through my head that day in 2011.

But, imagine my surprise when I heard the variation of "my little voice" echo the from the TV, when the Commander told Maverick:

“Your ego is writing checks your body can’t cash.” – Top Gun (14:03)