Leaving Liberty Tax Service Thursday night (we did them way early this year on account of our first child being due April 5), I told my wife Caroline to “Follow me.”

Opting to skip the rush hour traffic of State Route 305, we cut up to 10th and over to Lincoln in hopes of cutting the commute time to Hansville. Looking up the hill and down the hill, everything was clear. No cars to be seen. “Cars” being the operative word here.

I pulled out to turn up the hill when I heard a crunch and, looking out my driver’s side window, saw a black clad motorcyclist for the first time. His bike was down and he was down with it.

“Oh my God, are you OK?” I asked even before I was fully out of the car. “I’m so sorry. I totally didn’t see you.”

“Tell me you have insurance!” he growled, still getting up off the roadway.

“I do,” I assured.

The crews from Poulsbo Fire — about 150 yards or so down 10th Avenue — likely had one of their quickest response times ever and magically appeared on the scene. Lights flashing. Medics at the ready.

I was still shaken up a bit and glad to see Battalion Chief Chris Morrison, whom I had played a considerable amount of co-rec soccer with, at the scene. I relayed what happened to him as we waited for the police to arrive.

“You hit the guy?” he asked genuinely surprised.

As a former reporter, emergency crews get used to seeing folks like me at such incidents. Apparently, having a journalist actually being the causing party was a new one for my old friend.

Caroline had parked and checked on the motorist, who was up and “walking it off” as we say on the pitch.

Poulsbo Police Officer Troy Grossman was next on the scene and at this point I would like to commend him personally for being professional, thorough as well as human in his response to the accident. Like I said, I was pretty shaken up. Grossman put Caroline and me at ease.

“Everyone OK?” he asked before getting details for his report and requesting the necessary driver information. I asked Caroline to go to the car to look for the registration when an older officer arrived on the scene. Knowing him for years, I greeted him.

He practically snatched my insurance card out of my hand before yelling, “Where’s your license and registration?!” As I reached into my wallet to get the license and explained that my wife was getting the registration, I couldn’t help but think how out of line this guy’s attitude was. It was like he was perturbed at having to be there or as if I had caused the accident on purpose.

That shook me up even more.

Fortunately, Officer Grossman took over and the other officer left the scene.

The motorcyclist, who apologized for being gruff and explained that he had been hit twice before by uninsured motorists, had gotten his bike fired up and moved off the road.

The stream of gawking drivers had thinned out considerably as the scene was cleared and as Officer Grossman took our paperwork to PPD for processing.

Waiting for him in the Tacoma, which unlike the Tercel, has a working heater, Caroline and I replayed the incident and I came to grips once again with the fact that I’m human.

As someone who often touts the necessity of safe driving here in North Kitsap, my first car accident in 17 years was quite a scary wake up call. I began to calm down.

“I didn’t even see the guy,” I repeated. “I’m just glad he’s OK.”

“At least we have insurance,” Caroline reiterated, trying to buoy my sinking spirits. “It’s like one of the boards that some businesses have that read something like ‘500 days without an accident,’ well, you’re back to zero.”

I did the math yesterday, it was more like 6,205 days and now I’m back to zero. But who’s counting?

JOE IRWIN

Editor