Smelly helmet tells rider when it’s damaged

Here’s a beaut bit of news from The Sunday Times in Britain.

Coming off a motorbike is painful enough, but having to then scrap an expensive helmet leaves a bruise in the wallet as well. The need to take this precaution could soon be over with the development of helmets that let you know when they need replacing.

Researchers have made microcapsules that give off a pungent smell when they break open. These are put into the helmet’s foam and crack during any serious impact that could damage the interior of the helmet.

“If cracks form, smelly substances are released,” says Christof Koplin, a scientist at the Fraunhofer Institute for Mechanics of Materials in Germany.

Koplin says the technology can also be used for cycle helmets. “Cyclists often replace helmets unnecessarily because they cannot tell if they are damaged,” says Koplin. “The capsules eliminate this problem.”

The foam in helmets is designed to compress and crack in an accident, absorbing the impact before it reaches the rider’s skull. Once it has compressed, it loses its impact-absorbing capability, so manufacturers advise riders to replace their headgear after any serious crash — even if the helmet appears undamaged.

I offered this item to some friends for comment, and got responses neatly sorted by sex.

“Sounds good,” said the males.

“Urrgh! Smelly hair!” said the females.

What do you think?

Peter “The Bear” Thoeming

Last night, the rainblasted rider surfing through horrendous torrents that intermittently flooded the road and trying to see through horizontal rain, had no idea he had a guardian angel following him. He was probably glad the tailgaters had gone, and grateful for the car following at a respectful distance, unlike the 4WD that had barrelled up behind him drenching him in its wake as it rushed past. He needed a mate.

I only just noticed him at traffic lights. He was virtually invisible in the terrible conditions – black helmet, black jacket and a small, single rear light. I thought it a miracle he’d gotten this far on such a windscreen fogging, wiper blade challenging, side-pillar obstructing night.

I decided to follow at a respectful distance. A friend on his tail as he negotiated slippery roundabouts and pothole cratered roads. Ten kays later he turned off into his side-street. Safe. Good luck, buddy.

Have you ever done that? Have you ever shepherded another rider, either in your tin-top or on your bike?

I’ve done it many times with L- and P-platers that I catch up to on the road – most of them women, I have to admit. If they look comfortable, I give them the wave as I pass. If I sense anxiety, notice rigid neck, stiff arms, tight fingers and jerky lines, I sometimes just stay back and follow along behind, giving them a buffer by keeping impatient traffic off their pillion seats.

On freeways, when I anticipate a new rider will change lanes, I do so first to clear the way and wave them over. They soon get used to the manoeuvre and the thanks you get is to see their death grip relax and the posture subside into the regulation slump.

The secret, when following along, is not to make the rider feel they have to hurry up or compete. Two’s company.

I love riding in groups that have a designated sweep rider. And I’m grateful because it’s inevitably the fastest riders that volunteer and they sacrifice their usual smooth rhythm in exchange for protecting riders who can’t seem to stay at a set speed for more than ten metres. Following behind slower riders keeps you on your toes when corners are transformed into jerky tacks by riders who suddenly brake in the wrong places. But even though it’s a thankless task, everyone is grateful for the wingman (or woman)behind.

I ride solo a lot. On long rides I often come up on another rider and decide to settle in behind. Like half-distance in a MotoGP. Two of us now, in tune, making more of a statement to the traffic and connected by an invisible thread of comradeship. We might ride that way for hours, until the next servo when we’ll briefly, respectfully acknowledge each other and go our separate ways. We don’t have to talk. We just share the ride.

Did you ever stop to help a stranded rider? You don’t see breakdowns so often these days, and the incidents you do come across the rider is already on his mobile calling for help. But it’s worth stopping to check. They might just need fuel you can bring back for them. Or, some duct tape, zip ties or, once, my mini hacksaw was the exact tool needed to fix a Ducati’s fuel filter.

Make it a point of honour not to pass a stranded biker. One day it could be you.

Once, when my trusty bike’s battery shat itself on the Bells Line of Road, four hours from home and 30ks between towns, a rider towed me all the way to the next hamlet. We left the bike in a nice person’s garden.

His buddy pillioned me all the way to his home in Sydney where he exchanged the bike for tray-truck and we drove all the way back – four hours – to the garden where the forlorn bike had been left. We loaded it and he drove me home. It was part of biker Bushido, the biker code, which I repay every time I can. Like I did last night.

Terri.