It was a beautiful day in the middle of nowheresville southern Oregon. I think it was 1996, but it could have been 1995... World Superbike was well on its way to being the Ducati cup and I was heading north after watching the races at Laguna Seca. This website didn't even exist.

I was on board my 1994 Ducati 900SS, a quarter faired oddity freshly smuggled into North America in carry on luggage by some people who knew that this cool ride couldn't be had on this side of the pond. At the races I'd stopped in and bought some EBC HH pads and installed them at the track. The change was instantaneous, noticeable - dramatic.

After riding a good 800 miles with the pads bedding in, I'd now grown accustomed to the extra braking force the EBC HH pads gave me, not thinking twice about what better brakes might mean on the street.

Riding in the twilight with the sun falling amongst the giant forests of the north west of America, we found ourselves on a long straight stretch of one lane road. Approaching in the distance was a big-rig, and behind me was PK. Immediately behind her was the local Sheriff who'd pulled out a few miles back hoping we'd slip up and need to make a donation to the local city council.

Keeping the speedo at a rock solid 65mph, we droned along. As the big-rig approached, from my right I spotted something.

It was a deer and her fawn, and they made the poor decision to jump out of the trees and directly in my path.

As though I'd sucked down an entire bottle of nitrous oxide, or I was suddenly an actor in any one of the Matrix movies, time suddenly stood still.

Nano-second clicked off one snicket at a time.

Frame by frame my life unraveled itself in front of me.

Panic filled my pants as I grabbed the biggest handful of front brake you can imagine. With only feet to spare, both the deer froze, staring me in the eyes. I saw the big-rig's driver's face light up with terror as he locked up all 18 wheels.

Smoke and shards of tire flew off the big rig as it now slid down the road towards me.

I glanced in my rear view mirror and could see PK panic as well.

Equally panicked was the Sheriff, who shot me an unusual look of "Nooooooo!!!!"

All the time I squeezed the trigger on my brakes and they grabbed and grabbed and then grabbed some more, rotating the Duc on its front wheel into a giant stoppie.

I was now close enough that I could reach out and touch the momma deer on its nose.

They turned instantly and bolted off the road.

I came to a thunking halt as my rear wheel smacked back down on the pavement.

As the bike had decelerated from 65 to zero in split seconds, my heart had raced to an adrenaline fueled pace as it pounded in my throat.

The semi let off the brakes and whizzed by.

The tire smoke cleared.

I was stopped, dead in the road, PK behind me, and behind her, stopped as well, the local Sheriff.

The constable jumped out of his car and ran to me, convinced I had actually hit the deer.

It was so close that even he thought we had collided.

I assured him that I hadn't, and that he could leave.

I needed a moment to myself. We pulled off to the side of the road and I removed my helmet. I sat there in silence for quite a while, contemplating life. I looked back at my bike and I said to myself jokingly, "I'd like to thank my sponsors - and especially EBC for making these wonderful brake pads", but I knew all joking aside that the pads had saved my life.

So with that out in the open I'd like to thank EBC for making such wonderful products.

We're glad to have them on board, and we hope all of you feel the same.

Source: Bikeland.org