All of my life, I’ve loved motorcycles and the idea of riding. Years upon years of constant nagging and lecturing from my family on the dangers of accidents and crashing never dampened my fascination with the freedom and connectedness afforded by riding a bike on the open road.
So, when I was in my 20’s and was finally able to afford my own bike without the need to get a loan or have my parents sign off on some government-mandated note saying I could ride without supervision, I happily purchased an old cruiser. I was soon roaring down highways and backroads, bursting with pride at the acknowledgement given to me by my riding peers as they passed by.
Motorcycles and their riders thrive in much of our glorious country, and nowadays as I ride my bike through the highways connecting my compound in an UNDISCLOSED LOCATION to the larger interstate, I find it to be one of life’s simple pleasures. When you ride in the REAL America, there is nothing but you, the road, and the wind whistling past your ears.
Unfortunately for me, I was born in the overcrowded rat nest that is southern California. I soon realized that most rides would be filled with anxiety over the morons in wheeled cages around me that didn’t notice anything on the road except the chance to hop over into the next lane to get an extra 30 feet ahead in traffic.
The blissful rides in empty highways were reserved for early morning weekend rides into the hinterlands, bookended by terrifying forays into freeways and city streets packed with aggressive mongoloids with eyes glued to the sandwiches they were stuffing into their faces rather than the lane they were unknowingly invading.
This finally culminated into the first and only crash I would ever get into, and the last time I would ever ride in the state. As I passed an intersection, the car ahead of me pulled into my lane and screeched to a stop as it rushed to get into the entrance of a shopping center. Bracing myself, I hit both the front and rear brakes, and unfortunately the speed and force I put into hitting the rear brakes caused the bike to immediately fishtail and throw me off, skidding to a stop right before both myself and the bike hit the now slowly turning car.
I was lucky that day, as I got off with some ruined safety equipment, a few scrapes and a severely sprained wrist. I could have easily been going just a little bit faster or not been able to stop at all before hitting the stopped car, and that might have cost me a whole lot more than just a couple of scratches.
For those of us who have not been so lucky, the costs of medical attention and the subsequent loss of work or employment might have a much worse and long-lasting effect on our lives. For them, a good attorney might mean the difference between the crash being an inconvenience or a life-ruining event.
That’s why we’re spotlighting a local southern Californian attorney that can assist you in getting the appropriate recompense after a motorcycle accident caused by one of the many dopes driving around the state: Villasenor Law Offices. The firm has decades of experience navigating the complex landscape of personal injury law and the insurance system, and has secured a significant number of clients the compensation they deserve after such an accident, as attested to by a number of reviews on Yelp and Google:Read Christina T.‘s review of Villasenor Law Offices on Yelp
While I may be lucky to have not only survived my accident without much in the way of injury, many in southern California can’t say the same. If you or someone you know has gotten in a crash and are having difficulties with their or the responsible party’s insurance company, get them over to Villasenor.
Villasenor Law Offices
12396 World Trade Dr Suite 211, San Diego, CA 92128