Squid stories

AndySlick wrote: The forum is a place for questions, not stories.

Read the guidelines again please

Umm, maybe you should read the forum description.

To save you the trouble of looking for it, and because I'm just such a nice guy, I'll post it here for you.

This is a place to discuss motorcycles and motorcycling in general. All things bike related that don't fit elsewhere and related topics like rides and personal experiences belongs in this forum. Everything posted here that isn't bike related will be deleted or moved.

And just in case you missed it, here's the pertinent part:

topics like rides and personal experiences belongs in this forum

Oh yeah, forgot to mention that I'm pretty familiar with the forum rules, since I wrote the originals. KZCSI later rewrote them in his own style after I retired as a Mod. Telling me to read the rules is pretty flippin funny though :laugh: :laugh:

My brother in law and I started out riding enduros in the valley and the more we drank the further the adventure began. We ended up drunker than hell, in the mountains lost as hell, anyway we thought we found a road out, when some people dressed in sheets flagged us down, Hare Krisna, they said we had trespassed on their land, we told em we got lost and they saw we wasnt a threat, so they invite us to their BBQ, when I asked what they was cooking they replied they were vegetarians, we said no thanks and got the hell out of there.

A vegetarian Bar-B-que!! Sir Paul was probably there.

I got to google that!

Back on topic.

When I was a lot younger (up to 25 or so) I almost made a profession out of doing stupid things, and usually getting hurt as a result.

Late 60's I believe, back when Honda was selling the SL90 bikes I had one I'd traded for. So, being 17 or so I was cruising around the back roads locally in mid summer when I came upon a winsome lass walking down the road. Being 17 and hypercharged with hormones I just had to do something to get her attention, so I drove the SL90 into the ditch and rode up beside her to initiate a conversation. Now since those hormones just flat eliminated any capability of thinking with the head on my shoulders, it just never occurred to me that farmers had driveways into their fields that had those corrugated pipes under them to let the water in the ditch pass through, and being mid summer the weeds were plenty high enough to hide them. So, as I come charging up alongside this girl while riding in the ditch, at the same time I caught up to her I hit one of those pipes head on, and the bike stopped instantly. Not much time for conversation as I flew by her sans bike. Some how or other, being only two inches tall at this point, I managed to get the bike up and walked it home with a bent front wheel and a flat tire, and I promptly parked it in the garage and tried to erase the whole thing from my memory.

Three years later after having joined the Air Force I rode my H1 triple from Little Rock AFB to my parents home in Indiana on leave prior to traveling to my next assignment at RAF Mildenhall UK, my buddy that's stationed at Grissom AFB (about 50 miles away) calls me and says he has a SL70 and I should come and visit and we'd beat on it. So I remember the SL90 that's in the garage with the flat tire and bent rim, and I decide it would be a great idea to fix it and haul it to Peru so we could beat on both bikes (plus I'd have the bigger one, you know how that goes). So I patch the tube and beat the rim back to a semi round condition, then throw it in the trunk of my brothers car and away we go. So I get to my buddies house and another of the old gang is there, and we decided to take him with us down the road to the old gravel pit where we'll run the bikes. Since there were three of us, and only two bikes, one of us was going to have to ride double, and since I had the bigger bike I was the one. Now, I don't know if you're familiar with Indiana summers, in July it flat gets hot and the tar on the back roads starts forming bubbles as it melts. So we're merrily riding down this back road towards the gravel pit, in Indiana, in July, with tar bubbling up everywhere on the road, wide screaming open, at something like 30 mph, and I'm wearing my usual denims, white T shirt, tennis shoes with no socks, and a helmet, and lard butt riding behind me holding on like we were going 150. And then that patch on the front tube decided it didn't want to be a patch anymore, so it let go, and since there was nothing to hold the air in that tube the air departed for greener pastures. So the bike, having a flat front tire, decides to jump to the left, and lard butt leaned to the right, then the bike jumped to the right, and lard butt leaned to the left, and then I was face down sliding down the road with the motorcycle on top of me, and lard butt on top of the motorcycle.
Remember Indiana in July and the tar bubbling on the road? And the T-shirt and jeans (with helmet, I always wear a helmet)? Now imagine, bare skin sliding down a road that's covered in melted tar with a motorcycle and lard butt on top of me, just to make sure I get the full effect. Ever hear of a tar baby? That was me.

So, I learned a few things that day.
(1) never ride a motorcycle with a patched tube on front
(2) Never let lard butt ride behind me ever again
(3) Jack Daniels, while an excellent pain killer if you drink it, has the opposite effect if you try to clean melted tar off your bruised body. burns like the Devil's own.
(4)There was a medic at Grissom AFB that was an absolute wizard with a straight razor, even managed to leave me with a lot of skin intact.
(5)Doing stupid things to impress girls can have long term ill effects, took me three marriages and three divorces before it finally sunk in though.



Postscript to this story.
Since I was going to the UK I gave that H1 triple to my brother, who was also in the USAF but stationed at Wurtsmith AFB in Michigan. About three months later he was hauling down the highway on his way back to the base when a pickup truck driven by a drunk pulled out of a bar directly in front of him. Busted my brother up pretty good, spent three months in the hospital, and teetotally demolished that bike.


And c'mon roy-b-boy-b you old fart, I know you got more stories than that in you :evil:



Good thing Koolade Kid don't post here much anymore, He'd tell you how I flipped his KZ750E over on top of myself attempting to load it in my truck in his driveway a few years ago. Awful glad he didn't have a digital video camera :woohoo:

A short one. One time someone tried to steal my 1979 CB750 supersport.

I had the front forks locked and all they could do was go around in circles. the bike wasn't even out of the yard before they gave up.

Next night i rode it to the watering hole and when I came out I couldn't get it unlocked.

You ought to have seen a bunch of drunks trying to pick that thing up to put it in a truck.

It only took two of us to unload it when we got home. :laugh:

Back when i had a CBR 600, i was a wheelie machine. Way too many reckless driving tickets later, ive retired that side of me, but one time i screamed by a lady cop in her squad car on one wheel. I obviously didnt see her but when she flipped on her lights and peeled after me i slowly brought the wheel down and pulled over. She comes flying out of her car and runs up to me bike loiterally screaming at me that what i was doing was the stupidest thing in the world and that i would def be receiving a reckless ticket for it. "Reckless?! i said, i was under complete control. I brought it down and pulled over before i even reached the next intersection, what was so reckless?"

She didnt answer but did write me a ticket. The annoying part of this whole story is that usually the reckless tickets got knocked down to something else in court, but this time when i went to court the cop had just gotten married and had a new name and on the docket it told me to find my cop of which it was impossible to find her. So then i got a ticket for missing my court date and it took even longer to explain my way out of that one.

Needless to say, i dont do wheelies anymore.

I had a run in with a police woman once.

I was riding my H2 equipped with wheelie bars. I met a cop car and was speeding and the car turned around. I decided I would out run them until I slid through a intersection. I just slid right on through and came to a stop in a filling station.

Every cop in town was there (6). This lady cop came stomping up to me and demanded my licence. I handed them over. She told me to take my helmet off and I unstrapped it and handed it to her. She held her hands out and i took off on foot.

This area was where I grew up and I knew the area well. 10 steps into my run the oldest cop there yelled,Don't run!!!

I hit the railroad tracks and got a goo 100 yards on them and dove into this old hobo camp that was over grown with weeds. I sat there blowing hard.

Several minutes later two cops came down the track sweeping thier flashlights from side to side. I kept still until they came back and then left.

I left and didn't stop until I was in Dallas Texas. Stayed there six months and then came home.

I learned that the cops couldn't prove you are drunk if you can out run them. :woohoo:

Cost me over 300 bucks to get my bike out of storage. The wrecker guy knew me as I was a good customer. :whistle:

Dude! You're an an inspiration to squids everywhere.

"I learned that the cops couldn't prove you are drunk if you can out run them."

I love it!

Sadly times have changed.

Bill

Some years ago, I was running South up Lave Butte grade at 70mph and cursing some twit in a honda cause she wouldn't yield, finally she moved to the right lane and I nailed it only to see a Stater coming the other way, I was probably at 80 when I saw the brake lights on the Stater. Thought about it a minute and decided that I could probably make it another half mile to a Forest Service road on the left. I ran wide open, nailed the brakes and stuffed a left hand between opposing downhill traffic. As I ran east I realized that I was raising so much dust that I was giving my position away. I slowed and spent the next three hours picking my way through a lava flow on a KZ900. I finally came out onto the main road and snuck home. Staters don't do LAVA!

Bill

I rode my first bike across the state when I knew I was having problems with my back wheel. The I baught the bike with suzuki wheels on it and the sprocket bolts kept coming out. I used lock nuts and safety wired them and took off with my buddy on the back. We were chasing some girls so at 19 you dont care about sprocket bolts you only care about one bolt guiding you on your mission. After running out of gas 10 miles from anywhere, we made it to the town we were heading to. The next day the bolts came out and chewed up the chain tensioners. Lucky for us there was a K mart about a block away and they let us use some tools. We got back on the road but half way home we got a flat and had to walk about 10 miles to a phone. My brother had to drive 4 hours in his truck to come and get us. That was the worst squid move ever.

Times have changed. Hearing stories like this make me wish at times I was born 20 yrs ealier! The 70's sounded like one hell of a time.

Ok i have another one from my ridiculous crotch rocket youth.

I had so many tickets directly related to my CBR 600, but i still had my license somehow. One time i passed a cop on the interstate going about 80ish in a 60 zone. For some reason, i just knew this fucker was going to pull out on me, it wass just the way my luck had been going lately. Any cop was pulling me over for any reason. I didnt want to chance it, i really believed one more minor ticket would get my license suspended. So, without hesitation, i decided to gun it and take an exit a few miles up. I didnt know if the cop pulled out on me or or not, to be honest, i never looked back to find out, but i did know i was going 120mph and flying around an exit ramp.

Well, as luck would have it, i passed ANOTHER different cop on the exit ramp. He took chase and i did stop for him. He asked me why i was taking the exit so hard, what am i thinking, blah blah. I basically just said i was speeding and i was sorry, but eventually he got on the radio and the magical cop social chatter put 2 and 2 together that i had alluded the first officer on the highway.

Many court dates and lawyers later, i did get slapped with a traffic felony, alluding an officer. I thought i was going to go to county for 60 days, but they gave me a year of probation instead. Luckily when i tell jobs i have a traffic felony they dont seem to give a shit. If it was a murder felony, well that would be a different story.

Moral of the story. If you allude one officer, you might as well throw shit tot he wind and allude the second one as well. I should have gotten back on the highway and high tailed it the hell out of there!