Ben Roethlisberger, what the bloody hell were you thinking?

A good decade or so, I dated someone who drove a bike. A big 'ol honkin' late '70's Honda Gold Wing.

This was one monster machine, complete with hard sidebags on either side, the carrying case in the back, stereo system...the whole nine yards. And, as most top-end bikes do, there's a seat for the passenger behind the driver. It's called the "queen seat" and on this bike, it was a true seat with a padded back and armrests and not one of those little "buttpads" that you'll see on smaller bikes.

That "someone" always praised the helmet laws from his home state of Maine where helmets on both drivers and passengers were optional. "Imagine flying around on this with the wind ripping through your hair!"

Umm...no. We've already flown around Northeast Philly, dodging potholes on Roosevelt Boulevard, been intentionally cut off by drivers on both 95 North and South, have hit potholes on Bensalem Boulevard and you will never, ever, drive down the Schuykill towards Center City with me on the back of this bloody thing ever again. I've seen way too many things on the back of this bike since I'm potential roadkill if anyone hits us.

Even with helmets.

I'd like to say that Ben's accident was a bad judgement call on his behalf, and it probably was. I know all too well the lure of a gorgeous day when someone wants to "take the bike out" on country back roads. Say, to New Hope or up past there on Route 32.

But, that early morning "Need to get out on my bike!" jones just may have killed his young career.

What a waste.