Crazy Experiences

In the early 80's I was living in Lancaster Pa and working in Clarksburg WV. A 5 hour ride. I left on a Sunday night at dark in December in pouring rain heading to Clarksburg. I was on my wife's Yamaha 650, my wing safe in the garage. Got down to Cumberland Md and headed west on I 68. I should of known better as 68 heads straight up a mountain. Two miles west it turns to snow, ten more miles at Frostburg it is 4" deep. Here is my chance to get smart but no I keep on. Another 30 miles and I realize I am all alone, no cars no plows nothing. The snow is over my boots but I am chugging along in third gear at 10 mph. Now I'm scared. Fall down break my leg and I'll be dead. At the Grantsville exit was a building that from the highway I always thought was an abandoned garage. So the plan was to break in start a fire and wait for daylight. So I come down the exit and around the front of the building and there in blazing neon are the most beautiful words I ever saw. PABST BLUE RIBBON BEER, and there are people inside! When I went in wearing my riding suit they asked how the snowmobile was running in this soft snow. I said I don't know as I'm on a bike. Everyone had to go out to see. Well they started buying me shots and beer, and as I watched the sun come up in a drunken blur I realized that this was probably the best ride I had ever had.

Quite a few years ago, me and a buddy were riding rented motorcycles in Cypress, and had commenced to ride all over the Island. We were also riding on the left side of the road, which was a total new experience for me. After a couple near head on collisions, I started to get the hang of it. We began to really explore the inner most parts of the island and really were seeing some beautiful country. On the outskirts of some small little village out in the middle of a desolate road with no traffic on it, my bike ran out of gas, and my buddies bike was also sucking fumes. The engine on the Suzuiki dies and so I coasted down the mountain into the village in the valley bellow. There were no stores or anything in the village, just a collection of about 10 houses and a church. We didn't see anyone in sight and there weren't even any cars around, and it appeared that it was almost a ghost town. We stumbled around a bit trying to figure out what to do, and an old priest came out of the church in a tattered robe. Of course, he spoke no English, so we couldn't communicate, but we were able to convey our dillema by pointing at the gas tanks and showing him they were empty. He led us to the back of the church where he apparently had an emergency stash of gas in a glass jug, which he let us have. We split it between the two bikes and thanked him and went on our way, marveling at our luck of being able to find gas at all. We kept going down the road some more in hopes of finding a larger town to fill up at. We began to notice tall towers all around with men in them. Then I noticed something sticking out of each tower, and as we would approach the tower it would move, appearing to be pointing in our direction. We got close enough to one of the towers that I was able to make out soldiers in them with guns, and the things pointed at us were rifles. We had inadvertently ridden into the UN buffer zone between the Greek and Turkish sides of the Island. Once we realized what was going on we stopped (my buddy nearly dumped his bike he stopped so fast) and looked at the map we had and quickly came to the conclusion that we needed to turn around, right now. We made it back to a populated town and got gas, but I will never forget the feeling of having guns trained on us as we rode away. The soldiers in the towers probably all had a good laugh as we nearly wiped out when we looked up at them watching us through the scopes of their rifles. Dumb American Tourists.

I was fortunate to grow up in a small town that had one of the few municipal swimming pools in the area. It had been constructed around 1924 and, like my father, I learned to swim and later worked as a lifeguard there. This very unique pool, shown below, was the epicenter of our summer lives in that small town and major part of our development. When you weren't working, it was swimming and riding and riding to swimming.



Some decades later, I was riding the back roads home from visiting my father when, out in the back roads of either Indiana or Ohio, I ran across the very same pool sitting deserted in a field - seemingly out in the middle of nowhere (I think it was west of Indianapolis in the area of Greenfield IN) After all those childhood years of riding to the pool, riding up to the same thing in a deserted field in another state 40 years later was a weird experience.

I later asked my father who said the original architects built several other of the same type but the original was in our home town and dedicated by Johnny Weissmuller (olympic gold medalist and future movie actor) and the USA Olympic swimming team.

I was riding alone on US-221 and noticed some ominous clouds up ahead. No doubt they were rain clouds. I had to take a wiz, so I decided to stop, relieve myself and don my raingear.

This particular stretch of US-221 had no shoulder and the few driveways offered no cover for the eminent nature call. Up ahead, I noticed a sign indicating Linville Caverns. When I got to the entrance at the highway, I parked the Wing and climbed over the parapet and climb down the steep rocky incline to give me cover during my nature call.

Just as I had finished, the huge rock that I had perched myself on gave way tumbling down the steep escarpment taking me along with it. I managed to slide along other big boulders and keeping my butt on the ground, but was unable to stop my momentum no matter how I tried to brace myself, with my feet, against other big rocks. When I finally saw a tree in my path, I grabbed it as if I was tackling a football player with my upper body. This stopped my downward slide and the huge rock on which I was originally perched missed me by mere inches continuing down the ravine.

As I stayed laying there, wondering what had just happened, I made an assessment of all my body parts and realized that I only had a small cut on my right middle finger. When I looked up, I noticed that now I had approximately a 100 foot steep climb to where I had left my Wing with the key in the ignition and the raingear on the seat, and my Personal Locator Beacon in the trunk.

Much good that would've done me had I not been able to climb back up. I had a cell phone on my belt, but there was no cell service.

I often think of that accident and wonder what would've happen to me had I not been able to climb back up? How long would've taken visitors to the caverns to say something, or even investigate about this parked Wing, at the entrance, with the key in the ignition?

The Lady Upstairs had me in the palm of Her hand that day!

Mike

I was riding my '85 Magna V65 in Buck's County, PA on March 5th, 2000. The speed limit was 45 and I was traveling at approximately 50. I past this horse farm and noticed a stallion ready to mount a mare that was perhaps in heat. Without giving any details, as this is a family oriented board, but.............. has anyone ever seen a horny stallion and the package that it carries? :22yikes:

Holy chit! And continued gazing at the love scene until I looked forward again and noticed a 20 mph left turn. Short story, I couldn't stop on the blacktop and went into a ditch and stopped on the subsequent embankment.

No, my board name isn't because of this accident. It was given to me when I served in the Army in the early 70s by my roomates after seeing me nacked in the shower. Long before Sylvester Stallone and the 24 Rocky movies.

Mike

In the spring of 1970 I was racing for Jawa CZ Canada. Being their top rider in Canada they paid for me to travel to Czechoslovakia as a guest of the company for a two week training and riding course. It was the fiftieth year of Leninism and Communism and to mark the anniversary there were propaganda centres everywhere. Wherever we looked there was a Czech flag flying alongside a Russian flag to celebrate the occasion. Every window of the hotel we stayed at had two small flags outside each window. A Czech flag on one side and a Russian flag on the other. It was a warm spring day I had the window of my room open so I reached up and removed the little Russian flag. I had never seen one up close before and after I was done with it I placed it on the mirror in my room. The next morning we were all told to come to the factory board room for a meeting. Once there we were confronted by the communist representative for the town of Strakonice. We were all asked who had removed the flags from the hotel windows. I and two Americans raised our hands. Without our passports gone and inside an eastern block country we began to worry a bit. We were fined a few crowns which amounted to a couple of American dollars but we were told to not get in trouble again during our stay because our names were now on record. Should we get in trouble again, it would have much more serious consequences. We collectively breathed a great sigh of relief and left the room realizing how lucky

we were to have been born in a free country. When I got back home I almost got down to kiss the ground.

My story probably pales in comparison to some of these but.... at least you might laugh

Since i was a child i have had a morbid fear of wasps and bees, and this one particular sunday on a warm days trip to North Wales and back, i am sat in the outside lane hitting a gentle 70 mph and i get a visitor, he more shocked than me i reckon as he didnt die from the impact... somehow, a ruddy great bee that looked 10 times bigger than it actually was, had hit my soft neck wrap and bounced up into the bottom of my full face helmet, first i notice is his flight to the left and right across the inside of my visor (its about now that my sphyncta msucle starts to twitch), i have no clear run to the hard shoulder and a bloomin great bee in my helmet. I can only imagine what went through the heads of other drivers as i ride along trying to find a suitable position to free my captive but the more i try it seems the more the wind keeps him there. In the end (and after a few farts) he gets his chance as i lower to around 50 and catch a nice blank spot behing an HGV and the wind stops.
I have never been so worried or so lucky on a bike, and both parties seem unhurt

Back in the early mid 70's me and a friend decided to take a Sunday day ride to a Scenic area (Galena) about a 150 miles from home. I had a 550 and my buddy had a 500 Honda. We got as far as 20 miles from our destination,(early afternoon on a Sunday, remember),into a small town when his rear tire goes flat. We stop at a gas station, removed the tire and patched the tube with a patch supplied from the gas station. We noticed that the band that protects the tube from the spoke ends was broken. We glued the band together as best we could, put everything back together, and headed back out towards our destination. 5 miles down the road, the band let loose, and the tire went flat again, and this time we were in the middle of nowhere.Pushed the bike a couple hundred yds to a farm house, knocked on the door, and asked the farmer if we could leave the bike for the night as there were no dealers around, and we decided we'd get a trailer the following day to retrieve the bike. Should have seen 2- 220 lb guys riding all the way home together on my poor little 550! Ended up being one of the longest(lol) bike rides of my life!

Back in 1975 we were on our way back from a Moto Guzzi rally in Kansas and passing through Denver. I was riding Guzzi with a Ural sidecar, with my wife (ex) and 10 year old son in the sidecar. We needed to stop in Denver at a Moto Guzzi dealer for a mechanical problem and were lost. It was late but I wanted to locate the dealer and then find the nearest motel to stay the night. We finally found the dealer and immediately went looking for the nearest motel. Now I am a cop and should have been paying attention to where we were, but I was tired. We found a motel and I went inside to inquire about a room. The clerk looked at me and stated that they normally only rented rooms by the hour. Then I looked around and discovered what part of town we were in. I found another motel out of the area.
But wait, it gets better.
The next day we take care of the things at the dealer and continue on our trip back to Washington state. As we travel along all of a sudden the cars ahead start slowing down, some stopping on the shoulder. The next thing I see on the right side of the road is four or five horse back riders riding along side the road, ridden by naked adult looking gals. Things were really bouncing around, if you get my meaning. I wanted to stop and take pictures, forgetting about my 10 year old son who's neck is about to break from whipping around so much. My wife sitting behind me starts hitting me on the head to keep going and then yelling at our son to stop looking.
That was all he talked about the rest of the summer.

Late 60's and just out of high school I put down my Honda 90 on a downtown street and tore the clutch lever off. My dad picked me up and took me to work then called the Honda dealer to pick up the bike and fix the clutch. When I get home that evening my Mom is sitting on the steps near the bike in the back yard and laughing quite a bit. She could hardly get the words out between tears telling how my dad thought he would take my bike for a short ride after the dealer had delivered it. What he didn't know was that they had locked the front wheel. So, after a couple circles around the tree in the yard and nearly taking out the neighbors brick barbecue he also put the bike down and.........tore the clutch lever off. Called the dealer, had them come get it and put another one on. Two clutch levers installed in one day.

I am a Chicago Police Officer and have been for almost 35 years.

Well, I was kind of new to the job, and was riding on the back of my brother-in-laws motorcycle to get parts for mine. We had stopped at a light when all of a sudden I heard a card door open behind me. I looked over to my right and there was an unmarked squad car with a policeman with his gun out the window right at me.

A voice from behind said "don't move". All I could think of was I was about to get shot.

I yelled "don't shoot me, I'm a policeman."

I was told to get off the bike and keep my hands up. After they checked my id they told me that someone had flagged them down and said a couple of motorcyclists had guns. It seems that the wind was flapping my shirt and someone saw my gun. Of course, not knowing I was the police they couldn't take any chances.

Scared the bejesus out of me.

Burt

They call me.... roadkill

OK... I'm not a good story teller but here it goes.

Gary and I had just finished a chapter scavenger hunt and were heading home. We're traveling about 70 MPH on a 2 lane highway. I see road kill in the right part of the lane, so I point to it with my right foot. Well, I forgot to take into consideration two things 1) I had lowered the suspension on my bike earlier that day and 2) the road kill was bloated from the summer heat. Yes, I kicked the roadkill at 70. After what seemed like an eternity I decided to see if I still had my foot, yes, it was still there. About that time Gary's calling me on the CB, asking if I want to stop. I tell him no, let's just head home. I propped my right foot on the highway peg as high as I can get it and rode home. Once there, Gary had to help me off the bike and into the house.

Monday morning my doc tells me I've fractured my foot. My doc then tells me he looks forward to my visits, as I always bring him something interesting. I'm in a walking cast for a few weeks.

That's not the worst part of it. We had planned on visiting Gary's brother in Galveston the next weekend and we had planned on taking the bikes. OK, I'm thinking I'll ride on the back of Gary's bike, no big thing. However, Gary had to take his bike in for the frame recall inspection - of which his bike did not pass - so the dealer was required to keep it. That meant I got to ride "b***h" on my own bike.


Now if you want some entertaining stories, Gary needs to share a couple of stories from his youth.

Way back in the mid-to-late 70's a guy where I work decided he needed to take one last road trip on a motorcycle before he got married and asked me if I'd like to go along. I said sure, why not. I'd never rode with this guy before and if I'd have known how bad of a rider he was I would have declined his invitation. Anyway, with me on my KZ650 and he on his Yamaha 650 we set off for the Black Hills by taking the back roads. (Hiway 20 through northern Nebraska) He also had this insane habit of putting his bike in neutral *and* parking on an incline so that his bike was always falling over. About the second or third time it fell over it finally broke off his clutch lever. Out in the middle of nowhere, at least a days ride to the nearest town he had no clutch lever! He then had to jamb it in gear to start and after he got rolling a bit it was pretty easy to shift without a clutch. A few more "fall-overs" later the choak got turned on somehow - and he never noticed it. Now it was really pretty funny watching this noob try to get going from a start with no clutch all the while blowing black smoke out the back. We were still a fair distance from the nearest town and all of a sudden he stops and turns around. I'm thinking, great, he's finally giving up and going home. But no. I turn around and catch up to him and he says to me that he saw a Yamaha sign on a driveway about a mile or so back and wanted to see if they had a clutch lever for his bike. I'm thinking "not in a million years". We reach the driveway and follow a dirt road for a ways and finally came to a small wooden shack in the middle of this forest just south of the Black Hills. We went in and the place was deserted, but by looking around it appears as if the owner of this shack was self employed as a chain saw wrench. We found him out back putting a shoe on an old plow horse. My buddy explained his problem and asked if he had a clutch lever that would fit a '77 Yamaha 650 Special. He stopped for a minute and looked up into the trees as if searching the branches for a clutch lever, then went back to the horse shoe task. Then said if we'd wait till he was done he would take a look. I'm thinking that we are burning daylight and should be headed for town. Well, he gets done, wipes his hands on an old greasy rag in his back pocket, then his forehead and starts for the shack. He walks over behind the counter and two seconds later throws a clutch lever - still in the shrink wrap - on the counter. We are both still in shock when my buddy asked if he had another, in case he broke this one too. He reaches back under the counter and tosses yet another clutch lever up there, just like the first one! Totally amazed now, he pays the man and goes outside to install it. The old guy comes out to watch and to see if we needed any help. I say something like, "All you need now is to figure out why this is running so badly and you'd be all set". Then the old guy, without even looking at it says, "If you turned off the choak it would run a lot better". We looked at each other and then at the choak lever - and then at each other again - and then started laughing. You really had to have been there. It was the funniest thing! I'll bet that old guy told and re-told the story of the two noobs from the city that he rescued that day.