Stupidest thing you've ever done to your bike?

Yes, that one's tough to beat. :lol: :lol: :lol:

Late '80s on a xl250 with passenger. Dropped the clutch at 10 grand to do one of my big burnouts but hadn't figured on the extra grip that Trevor,( the passenger), was putting on the rear tire. The bike shot straight into the air and I chased it down the street with the front tire just about on my nose. Realizing that it had to come down I let go after giving it a push towards the ditch. I looked back, Trevor was sitting on his ass and laughing.
Recently, bungied my kids helmet to seat to go pick him up on the bike. Helmet wasn't tight enough. It slid off the seat and melted on the pipe after the first Wheelie. Pipes mucked up, had to buy new helmet. Worked out all right because it was just the excuse to use on the old lady for new pipes.

Stupidest thing I've ever done? Used my dad's aluminum sail boat mast to straighten a bent footpeg on a dirtbike. No, the idea wasn't stupid, and it had a ton of leverage and worked well. Where the stupid came in was doing it where my goofy little brother could see me. Tattling little jerk!

Forgot one! Just finished putting the head back on along with all the peripherals and dropped something through the spark plug hole. Couldn't fish it out so had to pull the head again! :evil:

bmwbob said:

Forgot one! Just finished putting the head back on along with all the peripherals and dropped something through the spark plug hole. Couldn't fish it out so had to pull the head again! :evil:

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I recall seeing four guys holding a bike upside down and shaking it in the pits at Talladega raceway one year because of something like that.
It must have worked because it was on the track a little later. Jim

I pulled into a parking lot on the Commando and stopped, but forgot to put a foot down. Obviously the bike and I went down. Only damage was to my ego.

Leaving the pub one night (soberish) on my GT380 at max revs and letting the clutch go but forgetting to unlock the steering lock everything started to spin...

T'weren't me but John Magnar when asked about his time using a Drouin said at a rally in mid 70's with All eyes and ears upon him, he started up, rev'd it up to please crowd then eased out clutch lifted feet, to spin rear in place so fast on grass Cdo twisted around abit and fell right over. I want to learn to do that intentionally : )

I guess this story should be told...

My first Commando was a '74 Interstate. I bought it in 1976 when I was 18. At some point during my love affair with this bike it came to rest on the front of a VW in the middle of an intersection. The bug turned in front of me, realized he was gonna get hit and stopped...I almost made it stopped but ended up pretty much crushing the hood of the VW when I fell over on it. The result was the imprint of my knee in the left side of the tank.

I would have bought a new tank and moved on except I couldn't afford one, and the insurance company wouldn't pay out. Their excuse was that I was at fault for moving through the intersection on a green light. Yeah I never really understood it either, but I figure it had a lot to do with the fact that I was a teen on a motorcycle, a Norton at that. So I had to have been up to no good.

So I came up with the bright idea of using compressed air to push out the dent. I shoved the air nozzle in the gas fill and used shop rags stuffed around it to seal it up. I got a friend to help hold it in place and we started pumping air into the tank. Considering the year and my age, I can only assume that substance abuse may have also been involved. The dent was long but not very deep and much to our delight it started to pop out. More air! We could actually watch the dent pulse with the air pressure pushing on it. It's working! More air! Suddenly the air around us was filled with vaporized gasoline (no I hadn't even taken the tank off the bike, just shut of the petcocks)! The air pressure had split the seam in the center of the tank starting at the back lower edge and running straight up the center of the tank for about 3 inches.

JB Weld to the rescue. I puttied the seam as a temporary measure. Luckily it was hidden completely by the ample Interstate seat. I ended up riding that bike with dents (the one long dent had transformed through this process into two smaller ones) and putty for thousands of miles through the NW. For all I know it is still out there somewhere. If you come across it, let me know.

Russ

One day my brother called and he said he had gone for a ride, stopped for a while and his bike, a Yamaha SR500 single, would no start. He is a night owl so this happened at around 3 or 4 am. He tried kicking and kicking until he realised he needed help, so he took the bus back home when they went into service at 6 am, slept a bit and rang me up. I gathered a whole bunch of tools, meters and whatever I could think of, drove to his house, picked him up and drove to where he had left his bike. Fortunately, it was still there, the first thing I did was to flick the kill switch on and then I heard him let out a big "Oh no!" It started on the first kick :mrgreen:

Jean

After a long hard ride on a very hot summer day my 72 750 was making some bad loud rattling sounds, at 19 years old with more energy then brains I tore the engine apart to find out what was wrong. Found nothing but I rebuilt the head & put in new pistons/rings just because. After it was all back together it still sounded the same ! so I trucked it up to Bill Getty's old shop in Whittier ca where he promply laughed at me saying it was supposed to make that noise & sounded great. Boy did I feel stupid... Now I ASK first, wrench later.

1) Owned a Bonneville many years ago when they were, almost, new. Used to ride around with a sports bag bungeed to the rack. Riding home one night the bike felt a little "squirrely", but figured it was dark and I probably wouldn't be able to see what was wrong so I carried on. Going round a round-about (yes this was England) a car flashed its headlights at me so I knew that what ever it was was quite obvious. I looked back to see the sports bag being towed about 10 feet behind me having fallen but still connected to the rack by the bungee hooks.

2) Alcohol: Today this is embarrassing, as it should have been at the time. Returning home after having been out for a few drinks, I'd gone about 10 miles before I had to stop for a pee. Being modest, even when "rat arsed", I turned off the road onto a track that ran 100 yards or so to the English Civil War monument on eerie Towton Moor. I successfuly dismounted the trusty, much abused, Bonneville, got it on it's stand and took a leak, then I made numerous attempts to get back on the bike, but it kept falling over: blam!, blam! blam! Eventually I managed to climb aboard and make it home without further incident (as far as I remember).

3) On holiday in France, on my Ducati Darmah, near the summit of Mt Ventoux I engaged in conversation with a local on a Moto Guzzi. Feeling pretty cosmopolitan I attempted to compliment the French chap on his choice of machinery in his own language. He responded asking me, I thought, what were my feelings about the Darmah, "Ah Oui, Je t'aime!" I responded, immediately realising that I had just told the guy that I loved him, but lacking the vocabulary to correct myself.

4) Later, on the same holiday, the exhaust flange broke off one of the pipes and I had to try to arrange to get it welded back on. I figured the French word for weld must be "Fuse" pronounced fuse-hay as in to fuse metal together. I spent a day touring repair shops pointing at the bike and imploring "Fuse". Later on I discovered that Fuse is French for Rocket, those French guys must have thought I was bragging about the Darmah's performance.

Anonymous

Stood up on the seat to show off to some friends while there was a cop lurking in the shadows - nearly got me arrested.

I was wearing shorts while tweaking something many years ago and the last time I pulled up at home to make another adjustment (to what I can't remember) I stopped on the radius at the top of the hill I lived on where it ran to the level floor of my carport, and I parked sideways for an easier test run getaway. So standing on the downhill side I heaved her onto her centrestand and felt the (HOT!) exhaust touch my shin on the inside of my left leg. I had the option of either dropping the bike or finishing pulling her onto the centrestand and risking a more substantial burn. So I ended up with 6 inch long elongated purple teardrop on the inside of my shin that took about 6 years to fade.

Having my shoe laces come untied and wrapping around the pegs, binding both feet tightly to the bike... discovered at a stop light, in front of a cop... after leaving a bar...

This isn't a bike story, but a car one, it is too good to pass up.

Passed an unmarked state trooper on a double yellow line, country 2 lane 45mph limit, and saw the blue light in the rear window as I was going past him. Immediately said s**t, pulled off to the side of the road even before he turned on his blue lights. Believe it or not, he let me off and he started making excuses for me. Ask me how and I'll tell you.

Dave
69S

DogT said:

This isn't a bike story, but a car one, it is too good to pass up.

Passed an unmarked state trooper on a double yellow line, country 2 lane 45mph limit, and saw the blue light in the rear window as I was going past him. Immediately said s**t, pulled off to the side of the road even before he turned on his blue lights. Believe it or not, he let me off and he started making excuses for me. Ask me how and I'll tell you.

Dave
69S

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I'l bite, how.

I worked for the Postal Inspectors and would keep my drivers license in with my IS ID which had the Inspection Service logo on it. Even though I was not an agent, just a support person, they always let me off. I was careful not to abuse it though, I never asked for favors, they always offered.

Dave
69S

My favorite brother-in-law, Bill, had a friend who offered me his '75 Honda CB550 (now how could I pass that up - I already had the shop manual and everything!) and a '72 CB750 for only $250. The first thing I did when I got that 550 home was dump some oil into it, dropped in a battery, patched up the tires and poured about two gallons of gas into it. As soon as it would start up and idle, I hollered to my wife "let's go!" and no sooner had she hopped on the back then I noticed a small flame licking my thigh as I reached for the kickstand. Apparently the crankcase was blowing oil out the breather which had been eliminated, dumping oil all over the carbs and electrical area, a slight backfire or the hot exhaust set it off. "Get off!" I yelled as I pushed one way and jumped the other; the bike wooshed into full blaze as those two gallons of gas squirted out the double petcock like two torch-tips. My Dad heard the commotion and ran over to see what was going on as I yelled at Sally to get a fire extinguisher or hose or whatever.

Without the slightest hesitation she pulled off her skirt (she had on a slip, thank goodness) and proceeded to try to smother the flames until I told her it was too much for that method, so she pulled it back on still smoldering and took off for the hose. About that time my Dad showed up with the extinguisher from his truck (by now the flames were about 4 - 5 feet high) and popped the cap off, it gave one mighty squirt of yellow stuff and died. As Sally rushed over with the hose and started to spray the flames, Dad ran into the kitchen for another extinguisher. I took over the hose, (did you know that water doesn't do much for gas fires?) and hollered at Sally to get the extinguisher from our kitchen. About that time here came Dad again, this time with a slightly larger extinguisher that lasted about two squirts. Now the flames were fully 8 feet high and the gas tank had puffed out into a weird opened-up shape with those twin torches really blazing - I'm surprised that thing never blew up! Finally, Sally arrived with our industrial-sized extinguisher and within a minute or two, the fire was out. The seat was a crispy critter, along with all the electrics, brand new $30 battery, all the rubber and plastic associated with the carbs, and most of the back tire and foot pegs; the rest of the bike was a yellow, powdery mess. That bike was henceforth to be known as “Fireball”

grandpaul said:

That bike was henceforth to be known as “Fireball”

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Was it a he or she?

At least you still had the CB750...