Everyone has a tale of either a bike or something that happened to them while ridin. Some are funny, some sad and some are strange.
In 1984, I bought a repoed 82 Honda CB900 Custom off the showroom floor. It was the middle of winter, in Seattle and I wouldn't take it out in the rain.
So all winter long, I'd go out twice, three times a week and polish "JBR", while talking to her. Might say i gave her a personality.
With the Spring, came the road and the miles beneath the wheels. As I rode, I talked and sang the old songs to JBR; always patting her tank and keeping her spotless. About six years went by and I decided to sell her. A week later I bought her back from the widow of the guy who had died while riding her. I kept her another five years and once again, decided to sell her. This time it was a month before I bought her back, from the wife of the guy paralyzed from the motorcycle accident he'd had.
Four years after that, times were hard and I again sold her, with warning to a friend, about her past.
One day, as he got on, a mutual friend told him what a nice bike he had. He responded "Oh. this isn't my bike. It belongs to Jess and tells me so everytime I get on. I'm just keeping her for awhile."
The next morning, he took a curve too fast , clipped a car and went head first into a tree. I bought it back from his widow, disassembled it and sold it for parts.
Yeah, Joe. I can relate.
Back in my days as a outlaw, I was running about a step and a half in front of the law. (Didn't think that about old Bear, did yuh?) LOL
Well, I sneak into this rest area for a quick piddle and a quicker out. I park the bike alongside a car, where an old man is wheezing and clutching his chest. I asked him what was wrong and he said "heart attack".
That made for a problem. If I stayed there and attended him, until the ambulance I called arrived, I'd probably be caught (I was wanted)But I couldn't ride until he had someone with him. Walking up to this older couple, i explained what was wrong with the guy and tossed them a twenty to stay with him, until help got there.
When they asked me why I didn't stay, I mentioned something about being late for an appointment. As I was getting back on the highway, an ambulance and two state troopers were pullin in. A quick exit and a few backroads later, I was safe again.
I was ridin' back to Minnesota from LA. I was on Interstae 15 in Nevada, between Las Vegas and Mesquite. It was mid morning in June, and 110 degrees outside.
I was wearing a "wife beater" shirt and was just cruising, I had to get home. Not much baggage, just getting it over with.
I see a semi along side the road, no big deal, except when I got close, I could see a fella leaning on the front left fender of the old Peterbilt. I was in the right lane, a big truck went past me in the Monfort, (that's the left lane), as I was slowing a bit when I saw this guy.
The man gave a half-hearted wave, but the trucker sped by. Another and yet another truck, no-one stopped.
I sensed somethiong wrong, and I pulled over. It took me a couple hundred yards to stop. I was on the right shoulder and used my feet to back up and pull forward and do a three, (more like a 5) point turn around, then I drove back towards the trucker.
I got off the scooter and walked a few yards to the trucker still leaning on the fender. As I approached, I saw his knees go limp and he fell backwards right into my arms.
I gently lowered this man to the hot asphalt and laid him down. I looked at him. I knew he was dead.
His pants were wet from his body draining their fluids as the muscles didn't hold them inside anymore. Foam was about his mouth.
I went to the cab of his truck, which was still running, and tried his CB radio, calling for help. I got no answer. The seat was wet from persperation I guess. I shut down the diesel rig and went out into the road and took off my shirt. I waved it while standing in the right lane.
Finally someone stopped and used a cell pho* ne to call 911. We waited with the truck and driver. I used my sweatshirt, which was tied to my luggage rack, to put under his head. I wanted this man to be layinbg there with dignity, not with his head on the steamy highway.
The Moappa, Nevada volunteer fire department came in about 10 minutes. They took his pulse and covered him with a sheet. I asked for my sweatshirt back and they lifted his head and gave it to me.
They thought he died of heat stroke or a heart attack brought on by heat stroke. I asked if they wanted me to stick around and they said there was no reason to. I left and headed up the road.
I got to Mesquite and called Barb. I was shaken when I told her the story. I was told I was an angel that day.
After a while, i wondered. Should I have tried mouth-to-mouth? Should I have tried to revive him? What else could I have done?
God spoke to me and told me it was this man's time to go and that there was nothing more I could have done. A few weeks later, I was talking with a friend and she also told me I was an angel chosen by God to be with this man when he died.
Harleys1Angel write: About ten years ago I dated a guy who was the new "prospect" of an MC club....so of course we had to ride in the back....I don't remember how many bikes were in front of us...great ride! We came back to the local hang out afterward....I sat down took off my glasses and had a few drinks...I thought people were treating me kinda strange..finally, he told me to go to the bathroom as he was laughing...I had ALL the exhaust from the bikes in front of us on my face with a perfect outline of my glasses! I was the only one who forgot to wash up! Oh...to be the last one in the group....
Too bad that you didn't get a picture. : ) We coulda swapped in NY.
Years ago, in my badazz days, I carried one of those naked rubber chickens attached to my handbar by a bent wire coathanger. It came in handy for teaching the city gage drivers; "Thou shalt not cut a motorcycle off, in traffic". Yea Verily!
Anyway. I'm sitting at this stoplight in Berkley one evening, when this hippie dude, stoned outta his gourd, toddered across in front of me.
Seeing "Henrietta", he asked "Hey man, what's with the chicken?"
I gave him my meanest look and asked him "What f..king chicken? Man."
Turning, he went on toward the sidewalk and I heard him tell himself "I gotta slow down. That's some really bad sh*t."
You gave me chills!
I had a hot sports car named little dancer.
I sold her to buy a big 3/4 ton on the column shift, and within one month of my selling my mini-jag...
The girls boyfriend called to tell me the car had caught on fire while on the fwy. The girl was fine. Car wasn't.
Horrible , I know, but it poppped outta' my mouth before i could stop it, and said, mostly jokin': "It must have missed me."
They fixed it, got it back on the road, and it caught fire again.....
Car was hurt and the girl was again, fine.
Spoooky.... good halloween thread!