So how does slamming a suicidal rock, thus spewing hot juicy oil all over your rear tire, sound to you as you’re flying down your favorite mountain road? Sorta frightening, right? Because it is. Ask me how I know. Then ask me which of my favorite four-letter words I chose to spit out of my helmet were once I realized that this could have been really bad. Reeeeeealllly reeeeeaaalllly bad. I was thrilled to be climbing off my bike by choice as opposed to a sudden unplanned eviction over the side of a mountain. Guardian angel, this round’s on me.
I have a lovely Shoei Neotec I got about six months ago, which I have worn extensively and adore a little more every time I wear it. There aren’t many helmets I can wear for 12 hours at a stretch. It’s a beautiful cranberry sparkly color, but it didn’t take long for it to fall off my motorcycle seat onto the pavement, where the paint got gouged on the rear – a little ding. Dammit. I know there are people out there who would follow the rules and mail the thing to Shoei for inspection, like you’re supposed to do. I am not one of them.