Funny stories while on your bikes

Well this might draw a few funny stories, what has happened to you or even your mates while riding your bikes, this has started from my thread on not much happening in the pub, Frank and Slick and myself have started, so any funny stories as we all need a a good laught about ourselfs and of course our unwilling mates, I will start with this one that was so funny for us but not the mate that it happened to.

In my early days of riding dirt bikes back in the mid 70s there was a old rife range that was used in the war, was a old RAAF air force base that became a old poeples home after the war but the old rife range was still there and unused, was a great place to ride the bikes, had hill climbs, trenches to ride through, we played there when we were kids, then later on when we all got into dirt bike, after a few years of riding there the GOVT, decided to cut a highway throught the old rife range, they made a cutting through the side of a hill, after they finished the cutting we all through it make a good hill climb very steep with its 3 cut levels and covered in nice fresh top soil, a mate of mine at the time had a 70s Indain motocross bike (75cc) it had a expansion chamber and was a very fast little bike, another mate who was learning to ride at the time took it for a ride around the rifey as we use to call the rife range, most of us where running up and down the hill climb from the highway cutting, so when the mate came back with the little Indian we told him to give the hill climb ago so off he went full throttle up the hill it was going so fast, maybe a bit to fast it flew up so high when he got to the top he was air born, it threw him off the foot pegs and before we knew it he was laying straight out the back but he was still hanging on the handle bars with the throttle still full bore by this stage, his legs where hanging right off the end of the bike in a straight line from the end of his arms to the end of his feet, his dangling bits (his nuts) were hanging between the rear gaurd and the knobby back wheel ( I bet you all know whats going to happen now) the bike came down with so much force with the rear knobby tier going full bore, dangly bits and rear gaurd and as soon as it landed it took off like a rocket till he fell off.
To all of use that was watching this happening was so funny, we were all pissing ourselfs, by the time we all got to him he was in teasers and grabbing his soar balls in so much pain, we asked him why he didn't let go of the handle bars when he was air born and he said he throught it be safer to keep with the bike, he suffered for over a week or 2 with brused and soar balls, couldn't sit down with out pain, had to vist the doctors and went through a lot of ice that week, a year later he finished school and joined the police force and ever time I run into him I always ask him "how your balls", well I still laught about it, that was over 42 years ago now, him and his wife never did have kids, I wonder, as for the old rife range it got leved, roads and house are now there and a main arterial road, but you can still see a bit of the old rifey on the other side of the highway where it meets the wet lands and mangroves, the old poeples home is still there and right on the edge of Moreten bay at Brighton.

Ashley

Ashley

Since I suggested the story telling, I guess I should contribute. Just hope this one is not too long. What follows is all true, best as I recall.

The year was 1966. I had ridden my 63 Atlas trans-con during summer vacation from grad school, and loving the mountains, rode the bike into the high Sierras until the pavement ended. How it happened that I got a job at a logging camp as a chainsaw mechanic is a story in itself, but not relevant except that as part of my logging camp duties (I quickly became promoted to unofficial third ramrod in command) I had to take a 12 foot tin boat with a 10 HP kicker down to Shaver Lake for some reason I cannot remember.

Some background re: Shaver Lake

Shaver is a man made lake, part of a hydroelectric system. That year, snow melt was minimal and the lake level was dropping about 2 inches per day as the power company pulled water off the lake. When I skirted the shoreline, the lake level was about 25 feet below peak. There is a small island, about 8-10 acres, near the north shore, separated from the lakeshore by a channel about 250 yards wide when the lake is full.

Now, as I putted the boat thru the channel between the lakeshore and the island, I noted the outboard "kick up", and out of curiosity, I circled back to see what underwater obstruction caused this. I found the bottom was only about 2 feet deep and that I was over a saddle that ran from the lakeshore to the island. I also noted a lightening struck broke off tree that marked the cusp of the saddle. It occurred to me that a man with knee high rubber boots could walk to the island in 3 or 4 days hence without getting wet.

Now the motorcycle part:

Little Bob (he was the unofficial second in command at the logging camp ... Big Bob was number one, and I became Middle Bob, the number three) and I were sucking them up at Shaver Lodge 3 or 4 days hence. Shaver Lodge was the jumpiest place in the mountains on a Saturday night where Loggers, tourists, bikers, cowboys, and plain folks could enjoy a live country band, hustle chicks, and get a beer bottle busted over your head. But it was NOT Saturday, and the place was dead .... I think Little Bob and I were the only ones in the place.

Little Bob slammed down the fifth or sixth empty glass and the following conversation ensued:

Little Bob: Damn! I'm not ready to call it a night. I want to do something exciting.
Middle Bob: We could ride the bikes over to Shaver Island.
Little Bob: We-could-ride-the-bikes-over-to-Shaver-Island ....
Middle Bob: Sure! You just have to know where the sand bar is.
Little Bob: I'll follow you.

So we paid the tab and went to the bikes. Little Bob cranked up Tinker Bell (so named for the little bell he hung under the headlight bucket). Tinker Bell was a 650 Bonnie. I cranked up the King (so named for being undefeated in the stoplight zero to ton competition) and we headed up the mountain to where the logging roads entered the National Forest. We knew the roads well from our work in the logging camp and I took us to a place where only a low ridge separated us from the lakeshore. There was a foot path winding up and over the ridge, and down to the lake. I charged up the footpath, and Little Bob as he promised closely followed. Now this was HIGHLY ILLEGAL as the Forest Service frowns on taking wheeled vehicles off established roads, but fortified by beer and the low probability of a Ranger lurking on the footpath at 10 PM on a pitch black moonless night, we climbed the ridge and descended to the lakeshore.

We rode abreast along the beach for about a 1/4 mile until I found the broke off tree. Then I made a left turn and drove straight into the lake. Little Bob, as he promised followed .... about 30 yards behind me. I took that as proof he was not all that drunk.

Soon water was hissing as it reached the lower part of the headers, then the exhaust note went to burbling as the silencers went submerged, then I had to raise my feet off the foot pegs, and I watched as the water slowly came higher. I figured I was OK until the water got up to the carburetors ... it never occurred to me, should the water get THAT high, the magneto would be submerged and the fire would go out. As it was, the water only got as high as the primary case top, held that level for a while, then began to recede.

When I was able to rest my feet on the foot pegs again, Little Bob knew we would make it, and he drew abreast of me. Side by side we emerged from the water and hit the beach.

Now, it is necessary to explain the topography of the island beach. The beach we saw before us in the beam of our headlights, was a gentle rise for about 30 yards, then it transitioned toward the vertical very abruptly, becoming about 60 degrees to the vertical, then it went abruptly horizontal about 25 feet above us, which was the normal island dry land surface. It was sort of like a ski jump, only going uphill rather than down.

Little Bob and I gave out the classic rebel yell and went WOT, charging up the hill still five feet abreast. When we hit the transition where the beach was becoming near vertical, our headlights were illuminating the tops of the pine trees on the island. When our momentum carried us over the point where the island's level surface began, we were airborne, still in a 60 degree to the vertical mode, headlights up in the tree tops, and the center of our mass was about 12 feet up.

I am sure we were at apogee for only 1/2 sec, but it seemed much longer at the time, and it occurred to me, while hanging up there, that I should scan the landing zone for a pile of rocks or brush debris. Admittedly, this was a poor time to be concerned about such things, but we were up there, could not take it back, so I looked down, not really expecting to see much, it being pitch black and the lights still in the tree tops.

What I saw shocked me! First thing I saw was a camp fire! Then a pup tent, then in the dim glow of the camp fire, I saw arms and legs everywhere. Little Bob saw it too, and I remember both of us wrestling our machines in mid-air, in some futile attempt to make them land somewhere else. The campfire was the bulls-eye in our trajectory, and we both knew a machine landing in the fire would scatter fire everywhere, .... not good.

Our rear wheels struck the ground first naturally, mine just to the left of the camp fire, but I watched in fascination as the Bonnie's wheel caught the end of a burning log in the fire on the right side where it hung off the edge of the rock circle making up the fire pit. The burning log was kicked high in the air, about as high as where we just came from, spinning end over end in a great shower of sparks and embers, like some sort of bizarre firework.

Then our front wheels were down and we sped off into the woods. Our speed was what it was, we were only concerned with avoiding the 3 to 4 foot diameter Sierra pines. We broke into the clearing on the far side of the island, killed the engines and dismounted.

I said to Little Bob, "How ludicrous! It's a pitch black night, you are camped on an island in the middle of a lake, strumming your guitar, singing Kum-By-Yah, and two motorcycles drop out of the sky! Can you get any more absurd and ludicrous!" Then we laughed until our sides hurt.

Then I was struck with another thought, and said, "Bob, this is serious, we could have killed someone back there. We need to go back and apologize and assure them we had no idea they were here."

Little Bob: Naw, we don't need to go back .... here they come!

I looked back where we came from and saw a swarm of flashlights coming thru the woods. Sort of looked like a swarm of fire flies, but I knew it would be more like a swarm of angry hornets, and I thought "God! I hope there isn't a big bubba in that bunch ... it is going to be difficult apologizing while trying to avoid getting nabbed and ripped in half."

Next thing, we were surrounded by a bunch of girls! We had landed in the camp of a Girl Scout troop! The kids were pre teen and teens, but the den mothers or camp counselors were two third year college gals, both easy on the eyes.

There was a lot of chatter, shouting, and yelling regarding our intelligence level, but our sincere apologies, and assurance that this was not a prank, or harassment, soon calmed everyone down. That is when I asked "Didn't you hear us yell, didn't you hear the engines?

Everyone denied hearing any sound. Then one kid said "We didn't hear a thing. We were singing Kum-By-Yah!"
Little Bob and I had all we could do to keep from bursting out in laughter again, but we stifled it.

Then I asked "Didn't you see our lights? They lit up the tree tops!" Someone said "Yes, we were all staring up with awe and wonder." Someone else said "I thought God was sending us a sign!" Then someone said "And then, two bright lights popped into the sky and I thought UFO's!!

Epilogue

That was not the only water crossing Little Bob and I made to the island. For the next five or six nights, until the scouts broke camp, we made the trip. We felt it our duty to offer the counselor girls comfort after they tucked their wards into their sleeping bags and bade them nitey- nite, and to protect them from the cougars and bears that lived in those mountains. There were wolves there too.

Slick

PS I don't know how the word got out (I supposed some of those kids were not sleeping and blabbed when they got back to their main camp), but Little Bob and I heard rumors the scouts called us the 'Shaver Island Night Riders'. We never quite determined what "riders" was in an allusion to.

So no ones got a funny motorcycle story thats happened to them or your mates or what you have seen while out and about :?: or is it just everyone is getting too serous with everything around them, I love a good laught whether it involves myself or my riding mates of 40+ years (but better when it involves my mates), I will put down some more good stories if the intrest is there.

Ashley

Just read a recent edition of Old Bikes Australasia which has the story of a couple of Sydneysiders who rode Harley WLA's from Aus to the UK back in the 70's. Somewhere in the back of beyond one was carrying the spare tubes etc and the other the spare petrol needed to get them to the next stop.
It had to happen, the one with the the fuel got a flat, the one with the tubes didn't notice until 30km down the road when he ran out of fuel...

This one did not happen to me, but my best BSA Buddy, Gil, was involved.

Gil was a local cop at the time, and one night he observed a lone biker doing something highly illegal. So he turned on the Christmas Lights, but the biker, instead of stopping, hit the head of a woods trail that wound thru the woods for about 2 miles.

The biker did not know Gil was a biker too, and knew the trail well. Gil drove the police cruiser around the roads to where the trail exited from the woods, parked the cruiser blocking the trail exit, turned off all the lights and waited. Soon he saw a headlight coming thru the woods. At the optimum moment he turned on the cruiser's headlights, then proceeded to arrest the biker.

It had to be a "What the f@@k??" moment for the biker.

Slick

In the 70's a mate of mine had a Bultaco motorcrosser that he ran around the streets to stir the local coppers up, one day he was out and the coppers where up his tail when he flew across a T section where there was a bush car track but unknown to the coppers there was a deep dich that goes through the track, the motorcrosser just jumped it, the coppers didn't know it was there till the last second, the cop car was still going at high knots when they finaly seen it but couldn't do nothing about it, it tore out the complete front end out of the cop car before coming to a sudden stop, my mate stopped up ahead and was laughting at them, but unknown to my mate one of the coppers knew him, when he got home with in a few seconds there were 3 cop cars in his drive way blocking his excape, they threw the book at him, he never did ride that bike back on the road again, hes one of those mates you have that does all the wrong things, doen't think about what could or can happen, his name was Steven John Keets and everyone that ever got asked for their names by the cops use to give them his name and one night he got asked his name by the cops and the copper said funny you are the second one tonight with that name and they threw him in the back of the cop car, well we were all young and silly in them days.

Ashley

Surely there must be more funny stories, have some fun and a good laught at ourselfs or our mates while on our bikes, there must be others out there with some good stories.

Ashley

One night, my buddy Jimmy on a G15 Matchbox and I were riding around and we came up to a stoplight with about eight 250 cc ring- dingers waiting for the light to change. There was a 650 Trumpet in the bunch, and the Brits muscled their way to the front, and when the light went green, everyone went WOT.

I had just hit top gear, still WOT and pulling for the ton, when I looked back to see where the competition was. The Triumph was about 30 yards behind me, and Jimmy was about 30 yards behind him. Then, I looked forward to see where I was going, and realized I was coming up fast on a slow moving car. I eased left to pass him, then realized it was a cop. He was cruising the road, about 40 mph, with his head turned 90 degrees right, checking out the local roadside businesses ..... just doing his job.

What could I do? I held WOT and went by him on his left, with the Atlas engine screaming at 6000 rpm, doing over twice his speed. The Doppler effect must have been awesome. I shot a look back and saw the cop's head spin around ... surely there was a "What the f@@k!" look on his face. Later, Jimmy told me he saw the cop's head spin again as the Triumph went around him, and a third time when he went by.

The road forked about a 1/2 mile ahead, Jimmy pulled abreast and yelled "Go left", we did and the Trumpet went right.

Our fork took a dip where it passed under an overpass. Jimmy yelled 'turn!" . Turn? I thought .... where? There was only a grassy hill on either side. Then I saw Jimmy's taillight going up the grassy slope and I followed. We got on top of the hill, parked behind a big bush, and turned off the lights.

Soon the cops lights could be seen. Naturally, he figured he would go for two, and he took our fork. We expected him to fly by us, but we were amazed when he began slowing, and he was going to stop right under the hill where we were.

I looked at Jimmy and said "How the hell does he know we are here?" Jimmy looked back at me and said "because you have your foot on your brake, you f@@king idiot!" I did not have my foot on the brake, but when I looked behind me, there was a huge red glow coming off my brake light! The Prince of Darkness's brake switch was giving the first indication it needed to be replaced by a Honeywell Microswitch.

We made our escape by passing thru the woods onto the road which overpassed where the cop was. Back in those days there were not fence lines along every major roadway. Running from the coppers is always fun .... providing you get away.

Slick

ashman said:

Surely there must be more funny stories, have some fun and a good laught at ourselfs or our mates while on our bikes, there must be others out there with some good stories.

Ashley

Click to expand...

Ashman, you and I must be the only hellions on this thread. If you and I were mates in our youth, we might not be here today.

Slick

Not sure about that Slick, I think we would have had a good time and having a laught with what ever happens around us is all part of life with me and my good mates that I still ride with after 40 years of riding, I have so many funny stories from our riding experances I am thinking about writting a book, but I am not that smart, I think I will just keep doing what I have been doing all my life, enjoying my motorcycles and not take life to serously, as well having a good laught at oneself and my mates and what happens around us.

A good laught a day keep the doc away.

Ashley

ashman said:

I have so many funny stories from our riding experiences I am thinking about writing a book...

Click to expand...

Actually, I've been working on my second book along those lines; not JUST funny stories, but all kinds of stories of (to date) 45 years and over 150 motorcycles.

One bit that sticks out-
Has anybody ever done this? I keep my bikes parked side-by side in a neat row, under the carport. One day I came home from the grocery store on the Conny and pulled it into it’s designated spot, on the far left at the end of the line, closest to the door of the house. The front fork seals leak, so at this particular time, the forks were “sacked” low and the bike stands almost straight upright on the side-stand. I put down the stand, get off the bike, and start up the steps when I hear “crunch, clunk, thud, crunch, clunk, crack”. The Conny fell on the Seca, denting the tank and putting a small tear in the seat, the Seca fell on a bicycle, scratching the tank, the bicycle fell on the RD, no problem, the RD fell on the KZ scratching the brand new paint job, and cracking the Tracy’s windscreen in two places. I want to scream or cry, but what can I do? It was my own durn fault….. The dreaded “domino” effect.

Here's one good one that many Britbike owners can relate to:
Time to kill a nagging problem; I pull apart the rear brakes on the ’78 Bonny and notice that the oversized rear tire the previous owner installed has been rubbing on the master cylinder, the rubbing caused heat which resulted in expansion, which caused the brakes to lock up all the more! I overhauled the master cylinder, reassembled everything, and checked to see that the alignment kept the tire clear of the M/C. Okey-dokey. I then proceeded to pull the bike out of the shop onto the gravel driveway, and fired it up. Two kicks and we’re in business! It was idling a bit high, so I cut off the choke, pulled in the clutch, dropped it into first gear and WHOA! I had forgotten about the sticky clutch! The bike took off on high idle and headed straight for a large orange tree in the back yard; I managed to miss the main trunk, but got a few good gashes from the large spikes in the braches, then it was a choice between hitting my wyfe’s parked car, or dropping the bike. I’m not THAT stupid. Result – both left turn signals broken, busted (Lucas) headlight, torn left footpeg & grip. Dang, I hate when that happens. I ended up having to pull the primary cover off, tear apart the clutch pack and un-stick each plate from the other, they were almost glued together! That cured it and I rode it a time or two before I noticed that the rear brakes were sticking again. Had to tear ‘em apart 2 more times trying to cure that problem, no go. One other time after I had rebuilt the brakes, I fired the bike up, dropped it in first and pulled another WHOA BABY! Ride due to the fully engaged clutch. This time I dumped it after trying to stop with non-functioning rear brakes (I panicked and couldn’t find the right-thumb-down kill switch). Another broken left signal, this time the whole stalk on the rear unit was busted. $50 later, all was well and I made it a point always to pull in the clutch and kick till the starter rolled through free of the clutch unit (which you can do on Bonnies).

My brother is a night owl, he used to work evenings and then relax after work by riding his bike at night, then sleep during the day.

He had bought a Yamaha SR500 which was a fine bike once it was started which was no easy task since it did not have an electric starter. Once you knew the drill, it wasn't so bad, at least that's what he said. Those familiar with the SR know you have a starting aid with a little window showing the crank's position which you position just after TDC with the compression release, even with this starting aid, getting it going is not easy.

One day, he calls me early in the morning saying his bike will not start and that he needed help to see what was wrong, sure I said, what do you need?

Then he tells me the bike is 50Km away, he went for a ride, parked the bike to get something from a convenience store and when he tried to start it, nothing!

He kicked the thing for hours, resting now and then, meditating, pondering and spent the night next to the bike until the busses started running in the early morning and he took the bus home which must have taken quite a bit of time in itself. He said he was going to sleep, go to work, get off early and then we could go together and see what was wrong.

He made it to my house at around 10PM, I had already packed a good sized tool kit, meters, fuses and anything I could think of that would help me find out what the problem was.

On the was, he told me everything that had happened as much as he remembered.

When we got to the convenience store, he was releived the bike was still there, no one had touched it even if he only had the forks locked.

When I got out of the car, I walked over to the bike, took a qwick look, unlocked the forks, put the key in the ignition, turned it on, clicked the kill switch to ON then head a big sigh followed by "oh no!"

I turned around and said "what?"

He said he never used the kill switch before, but that night, he had stopped the bike with the kill switch, but he never turned it back on!

Sure enough, the bike fired right up :mrgreen:

He said "never say anything about what happened, I don't want to look foolish"

I think it was and still is funny

Jean

Years ago a mate gave us all a laugh.
He owned a small 2 stroke, a Suzuki I think, and it was one where the forks were in line with the bike when the steering lock was used. Anyway, everyone was just messing about talking shite etc when a couple of fit looking young girls arrived, so Dave wanting to show off, jumped on the bike started it up and powered away forgetting to take the lock off. Ended up in a wall about 15 feet away with a bent front end , front wheel, and a what the F@@@ happened there expression. Still bring a smile to me now.
He wasn't hurt bad by the way !
sam

Some background re: Shaver Lake

Shaver is a man made lake, part of a hydroelectric system.....

Slick, thats one awesome tale... thanks for taking the time to put it in writing!

Cheers, Don

Not sure if this is funny, but FWIW .....

The Science and Engineering Campus was separated from the Main Campus by a small river. There were two bridges across, the main route was a 13 mile jaunt, but there was a little two lane bridge that hardly anyone knew about. and it was a direct shot from one campus to the other.

Now as it were, the county decided to do some repairs on the little bridge, and they put up the usual Bridge Closed signs and erected barricades across both ends. That stopped autos, but we bikers went around the barricades and used the little bridge all the happier there were no autos on it.

One day, Frank, my classmate, told me his tale. It seems the previous night, Frank went around the barricade and proceeded to wind the Honda up, overdriving his lights by a bunch, and why not? There was no traffic on the bridge, right? There, in the dark of the night, Frank sensed something was wrong and he shut down, then grabbed all the brake he could. When he stopped and peered over the front wheel, he saw the moonlight glinting on the river 20 feet below. The workmen had removed an entire section of bridge roadbed! Had he had two beers in him, (I am sure he was on a beer run to Main Campus side) Frank would have done an Evil Knieval jump into full hydro lockup.

Slick

In 1989 I moved from Seattle to NOLA, and regrettably sold my Mk3 beforehand. I packed most of my stuff – my leathers, helmet, a duffel of clothes and my camera and darkroom gear, a few Henkels knives and some Calphalon pots – into the back of my piss-yellow-with-wood-siding ’76 Pinto wagon and set sail for LA to pick up my friend Doug(E. Fresh).

He had an ’81 CB750F and we traded on/off riding duties for the rest of the trip. It was beautiful through AZ and NM, in Feb - ~70F.

We spent the night in Fort Stockton, TX and woke up the next morning it was 19F. No problem, I had handlebar covers – the big fleece kind the cops used to have, and a heated jump suit that got very hot at times. So, we rode all day with it on and off. When we got into Houston later that night, it was sleety rain and I was having my go on the bike when all of a sudden it lost all electrics and died. Yup, had slowly drained the battery down all day. Ooops.

Parked the bike by the side of the road and had this big thick chain which I attached it to one of the freeway signs so it would still be there when we got back, and pulled the battery. Got a cheap motel and the next morning we went to Sears, as that was the only credit card I had. Bought a battery charger and went to their donut shop, got a dozen and some coffee and found a booth with an outlet under the table and plugged it in. Sat there half the day reading books, talking. Returned the charger for a full refund.

Off we went to NOLA, and Mardi Gras. Going into the city was on the bike again, late, and a car was burning near the off ramp to our friends house.

Left NOLA about nine months later, and a car was burning in that same spot.

1973, I raced a Sherpa S out of a Triumph, Norton, Guzzi, and Bultaco dealer. Saturday mornings usually saw a dozen or so fellows hanging out there to bench race, swap lies, and wish well to the flattrack guys who were getting ready to load up for that weekends races. On this particular Saturday the discussion was about the Bultaco Rep that had visited earlier in the week. He had brought with him a trials rider who had put on a display of some of his talents. He would drive up on a Sherpa T, stop and kill the engine, swing his leg around to jamb his foot between the forks and the front tire, then bring his other leg around, so he was now standing on the front wheel facing backwards. He then swung around and returned to a normal riding position, started the bike and drove away. He had done all of this without putting down a foot or the sidestand. During all of this discussion I mentioned that I could come to a complete stop for a few seconds and drive away without touching a foot down. Of course I was challenged to prove it. At this time I was storing my Hodaka Super Rat in the back room so I got it out. I drove up to the crowd, came to a compete stop and then attempted to drive off. At exactly this moment my pants leg got caught in the countershaft sprocket and the bike choked off with my left leg securely fastened to the side of the transmission. As my luck would have it, I was leaning a little to the left so I could not get my foot down. I fell like a tree. Since they did not know what had happened, it looked pretty spectacular. This display was enjoyed immensely by everyone there other than me.

Years ago my mates and I were camping on a farm down in Cornwall we were about 10 miles from Penzance
So after an evening of light refreshment at a pub in Penzance my mate and his girlfriend decided to leave and head back to the campsite
Shortly after I too left the pub but not quite as sedately as my mate had done
As I sped past the police station I somehow attracted the attention of the local police ,they gave chase siren on lights flashing but soon disappeared in my mirror
As I crested the next hill I saw my mate and girlfriend on his bike as I overtook him he chased me all the way back to the campsite
As I pulled into the gate I laid flat on my tank behind the dry stone wall
he pulled in next to me and said wtf are you doing and with that blue flashing lights were coming up the road
Both he and his girlfriend were both trying to get down low enough so as not to be seen whilst shouting at me for getting them chased
All three of us down as low as we could quickly get
Luckily the police flew right past whilst all the shouting was going on

Its good to see a old thread reapear but hope we get a few more funny stories from our riding days, I have a few more to tell but when I get time to write them and there are few good police chases involved.

Ashley

I once was chased out of a pub by an irate husband and two of his buddies. I had enough advance warning to get outside and crank up the Atlas before they came charging out the door. I took the opportunity to pepper them with the parking lot gravel by spinning the rear wheel in their faces. Then I hit Harry Hines Blvd and went WOT.

I need to determine the Statute of Limitations for motor vehicle violations in Dallas before I confess to the police chase that soon followed.

Slick