There are multiple crashes documented here and bike crashes have a certain measure of drama. You are warned. It's not gory but, dayum, that is one messed-up individual. I heard about some hip-hop guy cracking up his bike the other day and I think he wound up with a broken leg. You got off lucky, guy (laughs).
Be cool, stay not dead. The cagers don't care, they aren't the ones who die.
As to what was in those pipes ... nothin'. The pic shows a suburban nightmare and you can imagine the joy this bike brought to them when I left, sometimes around four in the morning.
She was my favorite and the crash wasn't her fault. The other car sneaked out of my blind side where I was too dumb ass to prepare to handle. WHACK ... on the floor again, albeit with quite a bit more busted, most pitifully the girl as she was totalled. Someone said even the motor was bent but I don't see how that's even possible. The whole front end was wrecked so maybe the frame bent or some such but I was too smashed-up to care much what happened. She was murdered and I didn't want to see her dead body.
From that into two Tilox every four hours and that continued for an extremely long time. After two Tilox, you will sleep. Multiple surgeries happened over the next year or two and I was carted around like the haul from the supermarket in the back of a van on my wheel chair. To this day I deeply appreciate the one who did that and it's not forgotten nor will it be.
This one really is a historical document
She wasn't looking so good that day. Me either, for that matter. First Biker Law: don't let the fuckers hit you. I did. I'm down.
The windshield is smashed because that's where I went into it. The entire event could only have lasted a few milliseconds but it plays out a lot longer in my head. This one ain't ever going to go away. The two angels to each side of me appeared out of nowhere. There's the proof that really happened. After they were packing me up to put me in the ambulance (i.e. cutting off my clothes in the street to find what's broken), the angels disappeared and I don't know their names.
There's no way I could talk or do much of anything as it felt like my balls were afire. I figured they must have hit the gas tank on the way over the handlebars so that must have broken it and now it's gasoline and I'm burning. Don't ever do that as any chance of impact with anything means get up on the pegs. I can't feel the pain now as our minds, affectionately, don't permit that but I clearly remember the thought.
Note: amazingly enough, the stones weren't damaged. They hurt like one human motherfucker for some while as they swelled as big as grapefruit and I was black and blue from one knee to the other and everywhere in-between. This was total technicolor.
This was also when the baby doctor came with the papa doctor when he did his rounds. One of them lifted the end of my sheet to verify the damage for himself. His only comment was, "Holy shit!"
If that would be your reaction, you may want to review bedside manner with the papa doctor.
Get a good tan for the pics after the crash. That's important. That is one seriously-drugged mofo.
Prior to that was a Honda 750. She had looked better than this particular moment. Check out the hands. How will this guy ever play again. This was not the ultra-big crash but rather the medium-big crash. Most of my back was left on I-71. This one was a bitch for Lotho as he saw it and I was doing just about 100 mph when the bike started to wobble. This is just a summary so the bike bounces up and down off the road while I spin around, leaving my back and, well, looks like most of my upper body on I-71.
Note: this is where I learned about getting a good tan before crashing.
The bitch for Lotho was my helmet came off when I hit the ground and it went shooting across the road in front of him. How does he know, he thinks my head is in it. There's another bandage on the back of my head where that was sliding too. Genius, it was.
As soon as he and Smooth Dave could turn their bikes around, Lotho came full-bore down the fast lane of the Interstate in the wrong direction so he could try to get oncoming cars to get out of it and hopefully not hit me. He could see I got up but I was stumbling about, completely dazed, and he was worried now I would walk in front of a car.
Only bros do stuff like that.
Note: I call him Smooth Dave because he had that likeability gene. Everybody liked him.
There was a Honda 500 in the mix but that one is the only bike no-one ever crashed. It was a big porker of a bike and the kickstand would hit the road if you cornered hard. That would make the rear wheel jump up and then there was a little tingle when it came back down again. Yahooooo!
The gift wrapping is not from crashing the Honda 500 but rather the Honda 750. This pic is only to show I have no sense whatsoever. Lotho was in on this pic and I'm not sure who else. Lotho rode it a lot too and neither of us ever crashed it. Hopefully no-one ever did.
There were others but, unfortunately, no pics. There is one grand collage, tho.
There was a Yamaha 250 but this one is not mine:
She was one hoot to ride and I'm sure there was a crash somewhere but it wasn't bad enough to make the book. She was stolen (sort of) and may well live on in scofflaw heaven somewhere.
And there was a Kawasaki 90, the first vehicle on which I ever broke a bone. This was after years of racing go-karts and all sorts of lunatic things in cars but, if you're really hankering for system damage, nothing really does it like motorcycles.
(not mine but same model)
This one was another example of why it is a Very Bad Idea to go over the handlebars. Fortunately, I was up on the pegs at the time and I went straight over the handlebars rather than leaving miscellaneous parts of me tangled up along the way.
Collarbone broken in two pieces, complete separation. I was in the Army at the time and this got me a two-month medical profile which meant zero work. So I didn't. There were two places I was supposed to report and each thought I was currently assigned to the other. Since they didn't know, I saw no reason to advise them and this may have spun out six months before anyone caught onto it.
(Ed: busted?)
Nope. They have no defense against stupid. I had no orders. I didn't know.
Note: no-one at Fort Bliss was headed for Vietnam. These were all the military scofflaws they couldn't put anywhere else.
Be cool, stay not dead. The cagers don't care, they aren't the ones who die.
As to what was in those pipes ... nothin'. The pic shows a suburban nightmare and you can imagine the joy this bike brought to them when I left, sometimes around four in the morning.
She was my favorite and the crash wasn't her fault. The other car sneaked out of my blind side where I was too dumb ass to prepare to handle. WHACK ... on the floor again, albeit with quite a bit more busted, most pitifully the girl as she was totalled. Someone said even the motor was bent but I don't see how that's even possible. The whole front end was wrecked so maybe the frame bent or some such but I was too smashed-up to care much what happened. She was murdered and I didn't want to see her dead body.
From that into two Tilox every four hours and that continued for an extremely long time. After two Tilox, you will sleep. Multiple surgeries happened over the next year or two and I was carted around like the haul from the supermarket in the back of a van on my wheel chair. To this day I deeply appreciate the one who did that and it's not forgotten nor will it be.
This one really is a historical document
She wasn't looking so good that day. Me either, for that matter. First Biker Law: don't let the fuckers hit you. I did. I'm down.
The windshield is smashed because that's where I went into it. The entire event could only have lasted a few milliseconds but it plays out a lot longer in my head. This one ain't ever going to go away. The two angels to each side of me appeared out of nowhere. There's the proof that really happened. After they were packing me up to put me in the ambulance (i.e. cutting off my clothes in the street to find what's broken), the angels disappeared and I don't know their names.
There's no way I could talk or do much of anything as it felt like my balls were afire. I figured they must have hit the gas tank on the way over the handlebars so that must have broken it and now it's gasoline and I'm burning. Don't ever do that as any chance of impact with anything means get up on the pegs. I can't feel the pain now as our minds, affectionately, don't permit that but I clearly remember the thought.
Note: amazingly enough, the stones weren't damaged. They hurt like one human motherfucker for some while as they swelled as big as grapefruit and I was black and blue from one knee to the other and everywhere in-between. This was total technicolor.
This was also when the baby doctor came with the papa doctor when he did his rounds. One of them lifted the end of my sheet to verify the damage for himself. His only comment was, "Holy shit!"
If that would be your reaction, you may want to review bedside manner with the papa doctor.
Get a good tan for the pics after the crash. That's important. That is one seriously-drugged mofo.
Prior to that was a Honda 750. She had looked better than this particular moment. Check out the hands. How will this guy ever play again. This was not the ultra-big crash but rather the medium-big crash. Most of my back was left on I-71. This one was a bitch for Lotho as he saw it and I was doing just about 100 mph when the bike started to wobble. This is just a summary so the bike bounces up and down off the road while I spin around, leaving my back and, well, looks like most of my upper body on I-71.
Note: this is where I learned about getting a good tan before crashing.
The bitch for Lotho was my helmet came off when I hit the ground and it went shooting across the road in front of him. How does he know, he thinks my head is in it. There's another bandage on the back of my head where that was sliding too. Genius, it was.
As soon as he and Smooth Dave could turn their bikes around, Lotho came full-bore down the fast lane of the Interstate in the wrong direction so he could try to get oncoming cars to get out of it and hopefully not hit me. He could see I got up but I was stumbling about, completely dazed, and he was worried now I would walk in front of a car.
Only bros do stuff like that.
Note: I call him Smooth Dave because he had that likeability gene. Everybody liked him.
There was a Honda 500 in the mix but that one is the only bike no-one ever crashed. It was a big porker of a bike and the kickstand would hit the road if you cornered hard. That would make the rear wheel jump up and then there was a little tingle when it came back down again. Yahooooo!
The gift wrapping is not from crashing the Honda 500 but rather the Honda 750. This pic is only to show I have no sense whatsoever. Lotho was in on this pic and I'm not sure who else. Lotho rode it a lot too and neither of us ever crashed it. Hopefully no-one ever did.
There were others but, unfortunately, no pics. There is one grand collage, tho.
There was a Yamaha 250 but this one is not mine:
She was one hoot to ride and I'm sure there was a crash somewhere but it wasn't bad enough to make the book. She was stolen (sort of) and may well live on in scofflaw heaven somewhere.
And there was a Kawasaki 90, the first vehicle on which I ever broke a bone. This was after years of racing go-karts and all sorts of lunatic things in cars but, if you're really hankering for system damage, nothing really does it like motorcycles.
This one was another example of why it is a Very Bad Idea to go over the handlebars. Fortunately, I was up on the pegs at the time and I went straight over the handlebars rather than leaving miscellaneous parts of me tangled up along the way.
Collarbone broken in two pieces, complete separation. I was in the Army at the time and this got me a two-month medical profile which meant zero work. So I didn't. There were two places I was supposed to report and each thought I was currently assigned to the other. Since they didn't know, I saw no reason to advise them and this may have spun out six months before anyone caught onto it.
(Ed: busted?)
Nope. They have no defense against stupid. I had no orders. I didn't know.
Note: no-one at Fort Bliss was headed for Vietnam. These were all the military scofflaws they couldn't put anywhere else.
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