"...took a short ride to the cigar store-"
Don't you know smoking can kill you? If the person who hit you had insurance, make a claim with that company. They will do everything possible to be as slow as can be to pay out. Ask YOUR insurance company what to do. If you don't get an answer right away, talk to a supervisor. These insurance companies are trained to take as long as possible. Wait as long as possible to get a lawyer because they will take a full 3rd of any claim. Ask the police if they are prosecuting- if not, why not? You may have to press charges or they will just let it go. You must be pro-active and bug people a lot.
I've been whacked a bunch. First my left leg when an Impala went through a light. That night I watched Monty Python's Holy Grail for the first time and cried my eyes out because it hurt so bad to laugh. The more I cried the more I laughed- a deadly/funny circle. Back in '77 and remember it like it was last week. Wore a cast for 9 months. Hit a guys left front fender in '87 and landed on his hood. Didn't get hurt bad, but I landed so that I was looking right into his face- worth the price of admission. In 2002, a Jeep waited at a stop sign until I got right in front of him to hit the gas. If it wasn't for my RedWings I would have lost my foot. Wore an external fixator for 9 months. Those are just the sort of biggies...
For some reason, I never wondered if I would get back on. More a matter of how. I was scared this last time. A friend with a cuddly, non-threatening Guzzi Ambassador took me for a couple of rides with me on the back. Then, after my hardware came off, we went for a little ride with me on one of my less intimidating bikes. I was squeezing the blood out of my hands. He wanted me to go first so we could take it at my speed, but I was too scared to even go around a turn. I finally stopped and had him go in front. He took it easy, and it really helped to have a better idea of how fast I could go by watching him (remember- it had been a little over 9 months since I had ridden. Use it or lose it.). I still white-knuckle it when someone comes up to an intersection and doesn't stop fast enough to suit me.
I think the bottom line is- you either have little motorcycles running in your veins or you don't. There's no shame in being afraid. You're nuts if you aren't. Read that again as necessary. Being a motorcycle addict is a mixed blessing. If you have to do it, then you will. If you decide that your kazoobers are worth more than that, then you won't. Never try to keep up. Take your time to do what you want. Like spend your money on a really good humidor.
