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On March 8, 1999, at approximately 4:30 PM Raffy Bichara died instantly in a motorcycle accident. He was trying to catch up to Miguel and Joby, on the main road in Fort Bonifacio by the club complex. They had passed a car who was waiting to pull out of a side road. The Nissan Terrano, a SUV, suddenly stopped afterwards , blocking most of the road. Raffy had aimed his 916 at the rear of the vehicle, assuming that it would keep going. It was supposed to be a tight pass. This, by the way, is a reconstruction. He hit the rear part of the car. Either the spare tire hanging off the back or the concrete post support he came to a stop near hit him hard in the chest. His shattered ribcage punctured his lungs and heart.
I had ridden with Raffy, and although he did wild things like monster wheelies, he wasn't dumb. And he was a great rider, taking second pace in the first national roadrace series at Batangas, and fourth place last year on his stock 916. He might have lived if he had been wearing full leathers and a chest/back protector, although for sure he would have been severely injured. The only consolation for him was that there was no extended suffering. But I know that he, like me, would rather be paralyzed and scarred than dead, and although I know he's now enjoying the afterlife, there will be nothing to replace him here.
Raffy was universally liked, something of a rarity in the tight biking circle of Manila. I made friends with him within seconds of meeting him and we had some good times together, terrorizing teenagers at big rock concerts by just plain being too crazy, riding, working out at the gym, eating huge amounts of food, smoking cigars and watching sunsets. But I know I wasn't his best friend. His best friend was his brother Miguel. They were not just brothers - they were really tight brothers, and riding partners from the very beginning. Miguel is now legal guardian for Justin, Raffy's son.
When Raffy died, he already had tickets to go to Philip to go see the opening round of the Word Superbike series. He won't be going now and I won't be the only one thinking of him then, and maybe every time I see a grey Ducati or a Honda GB. And I'll think of him a lot more times, for as long as I live.
Raffy, I really miss you. Everyone will. I've never seen so many flowers at a funeral, and I think you would have liked your motorcade escort. Everyone was there.
If you want, you can read and sign Raffy's logbook, and if you want to write a lot more, just email it to me and I'll make a new page for this site.