The devoir of a good son is to break the news of surviving a near-fatal miss to his mother softly. Fortune is on his side as it is dusk preventing her from seeing the numerous bandages stuck to his limbs and jaw, torn jeans flapping and a second chin from stitching together the long cut that neatly cleaved the existing one into two.  “Mom, I couldn’t finish my trip.” “What happened?” “My motorcycle got jammed.” “Oh, some engine trouble?” “Yeah, kind of.”  Revelation gets progressively tough as my jammed motorcycle