Not all the stories are bike and/or dumba$$ stories but worth to read.
Maybe this site will help you to avoid something or at least you'll have a good laugh.
Not all of them comes from Marc, but you'll find them out *LOL*
Since I was off Tuesday, I had planned to ride from Reno to San
Francisco, spend the day shooting some pictures and come home, all
doable in a 12 hour time frame, or at least I thought it was.
So I rode from Reno to Colfax California, made a stop for gas and filled up, and after doing so, realized I had to use the mens room. I walked to the back of the building, ducked under a fence when I heard a load ripping sound, There went the pants. fortunately I had a spare pair in my saddlebags. So with an intact pair of Levis I went back to the bike and looked at the updated GPS to see what my arrival time in SFO would be. Apparently I had not left early enough and my arrival in Frisco was going to be about 13:15. I did some quick calculations and figured, that if I wanted to get home around eight PM I would have to leave SFO just about the time I got there, if I wanted to avoid traffic in the Bay Area and Sacramento area on the return trip. Not a very long time to stay in the city by the Bay. So, I decided to leave Colfax and head over to Nevada city instead, pick up Highway 20, and take the scenic route back to interstate 80 and home, leaving SFO for another day.
It was a nice ride over to Nevada city, but when I got onto Highway 20, I ended up on a two-lane stretch of blacktop behind three double decker cattle carrying Semis, that were moving about 35 mph. Did I say that these were full cattle carrying vehicles, the smell was horrible. Unfortunately, there was no place to pass, so mile after mile I followed these three vehicles. Finally after about 20 minutes of smell, I saw a break in the double lines on my side of the road and decided to go for it. I dropped the bike down a gear cracked the throttle tore out from the number three vehicle and raced up the side of the road only to see some idiot pull out into the oncoming lane, which forced me to get behind the lead vehicle. I at least thought this was okay and would plan my escape as soon as possible. I set the bike to cruise at about 35 mph and waited for the next break in the road. I had been following the lead vehicle for about 5 min. when I casually looked up to see a huge spray of brown liquid come out the back side of the cattle carrier from the top deck. You can use your imagination as to where this went. I was covered in a combination of feces and urine. It hit my windshield and sprayed off to the sides, some of it coming over the top and hitting my helmet. The funny thing was, it all seemed to happen in slow motion, I looked up, brown liquid comes out the back, travels through air, I see it coming, mutter, oh shit to myself, then splash. The driver of the truck behind me saw what happened and was surely laughing his ass off.
I pulled over to the side of the road, wiped off as much crap, as I could, pun intended. Found a friendly gas station when Highway 20 joined Interstate 80 and cleaned up a bit. I made it back to Reno albeit a bit smelly, drove into the first car wash I could find and hosed the bike off and myself as well.
I made it home, ditched the cloths, took a shower, recounted the story to my wife Katie, who proceeded to laugh her ass off. Went to work the following day, told my fellow employees, who proceeded to laugh their asses off. Unfortunately, I still can't see the humor in this. But I'm glad I could make somebody else's day a little brighter.
One of my daily tasks in the machine shop I work at is to be the sudo
building / machine maintenance person. Yesterday I noticed an air leak
in the supply line that runs into our inspection deptment which runs the
floating functions of the measuring machines.
So today I decided that since I had a few minutes that I would change out the facilities A/C filters on the roof units and fix that air leak. Once back off the roof I grabbed my step ladder and climbed up to inspect this leak.
The air line is 3/4 pvc and the line runs down from the rafters and makes a 90* left turn along the out side of the wall to inspection about 10 feet up the wall and runs about 8 feet horizontally then goes into and through the wall into inspection. Yep its leaking and the leak is not at a joint but on the inside of a 90* elbow. Thats weird for it to crack there. Oh well! I go grab my fittings and saw and glue and what not.
So this leak is about 10 inches down line from the shut off valve. Cool. Easy fix. I cut off the valve and cut out the bad elbow and installed a little longer piece of pvc and a few couplers. Done deal in 10 minutes. So I step back and admire my work and I see that from a ways back that the line running down the wall has a slight bow to it. It does not run straight down the wall over to the new elbow. So at some point the horizontal pvc must have been longer or someone just did a shit job of it in the first place and I duplicated it. HAhahaaaaaa. Probably caused the fitting to crack due to the little bit of force applied to the elbow from this pre load or tension.
So I have an easy fix! I go get my hand held propane torch and I am gonna heat up the pvc a little to soften it up so I can just put a slight bend in the pvc to releive the tension on the elbow. We have all bent pvc with heat before right? HAHhahaaa. Easy deal right?
So here I am standing on my 3 foot step stool heating up the pvc. Its kinda taking longer than I thought it should but I was into it. HAhahaaaa. Well the pvc started to brown up a little from the heat, no big deal when all of a sudden THE PVC STARTS TO SWELL UP and this HUGE BUBBLE FORMS about 2 inch in dia. and this fat bastard said, SHIT! and as I was jumping off the stool backwards with this damn lit propane bottle the PVC BLOWS OUT due to the 130 PSI air pressure thats STILL in the line because the cut off was BELOW where I was heating up the PVC! HAhahaaaaaaa. POW SPISSSHHHHEEEEEESHSHSHSSSSSSSssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
You talk about freakin LOUD! Sounded like a 12 ga. shotgun and then a space shuttle taking off! Not only did it blow the side of the PVC out but now everything thats been in that air line for the last 35 years came out the hole along with the air. Oil, rust, shit of all kinds made this nice big 3 foot long and 2 foot wide nasty on the wall. So I take off looking for the cut off to the line thats upstream from the hole. I thought it was accros the shop but it wasn't. Pishhshshshshssssssssssssssss still going strong because the screw compressor we have is bad ass. I take off to the other side of the shop and grab a ladder that will reach the rafters. Spissshshshshssssssssssssssssssssss. HAhhaaaaaaaa. SHIT!
So by now the whole shop, all 44 CNC machines have dropped off line because of low air pressure. SHIT! I now have 20 people watching me running down the asile of the shop with a 12 foot extension ladder dodging carts with parts and the machines and now the on lookers. I am sure it was a sight! SPishshshshshsssssssssssssssss. I spot the valve up in the rafters and set the ladder and scamper up to cut off the line. YE HAW success! HAhahaaaaaaaa. SHIT!
So after a 20 minute re repair and a febal attempt at cleaning the shit off the wall the 10 minute now 30 minute job was complete and done right this time since I had to cut the shit out of the lines at both runs. You would not BELIEVE the shit that had compacted into the line down from the burst. It packed the pvc with rust and greasy crap from hell! HAhahaaaaaa.
So while I was cleaning up my mess I noticed that I had apperently just dropped the propane torch on top of some measuring blocks in wooden cases which were on a shelf below where I was working. Nice re entry burn look to it now! HAhahaaaaaa. SHIT!
So I survived and had to hear DUMBASS all day long from EVERYONE in the shop. Many were surprised at just how fast a fat old man with a ladder can run an obsticle corse! HAhahaaaaaaa. All is good now sept for the big stain on the wall which I painted over with some spray paint after cleaning off all the crap. Now it looks like a sign had been hanging there for years and was removed leaving a big rectangle of a slightly different color! HAhahaaaaaaa. WHAT? HAhahaaaaaaaa.
I Love Mustard. (If you have
children you will probably relate to this.)
I get to visit truck dealers as part of my work and am newly assigned a
territory I have covered before, 20 years ago. Well to make a long story
short, I hadn't seen this dealer principal in 20 years so I waltz in the
showroom and ask for the sales manager, so they call over the P.A.:
"Rebecca is asked for in the showroom please".
This lady walks in and says: yes, can I help you? I'm standing there, looking at this man-like body and thinking can this be Raymond's daughter? She sure does look like him. So we walk into her office and discuss business for half an hour until my dumbass mouth has to say: "Are you Raymond's daughter by the way?" She looks at me right in the eye and says:"I am formerly known as Raymond"
Sh*t... I didn't know what to say... I was just completely tilted. He/she felt my discomfort and said: "don't worry, it used to happen all the time"
What a gentleman/woman.
I'm still tilted but getting better with every glass of wine I drink tonight.
Unknown Source, but good for a laugh.
I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're definitely going to $h!t yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both of your ***** cheeks WILL fall off. Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No "Watson's Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. Mistake.
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped down", if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my *** is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of "Shock and Awe". He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, "Sonofa*****!", then quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem."
That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!", then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store..
Hey all, Its been a bit since I have had a dumbass event to post about
but today I had one. Me and the Boyzzzzz I ride with and my old man
always meet at a local coffee shop on tuesday nights about 6:30 or so.
Its been raining for 2 or 3 days now on and off. Well I said screw it
and planned on a ride to coffee rain or shine. I got home from work
about 4:30 and had the usual crap to do around the house which took me
till 4:35 to complete! HAHahaaaaa.
I figgered I had plenty of time to whip up an easy meal before the meet. So I am rummaging around the fridge and grab some 2 day old cold BBQ sausage, burnt black and coated with peeper and a thick, sticky sauce, Emmmmmmmmm, and a cold baked potatoe. I set the stuff on the counter and dive in for more. Ahhhhh haaaa, some grated cheeze for the spud. The silveware drawer is next to the fridge so I grab a fork while in the area. So what next? Well I figgered I had enough to start with so I closed the fridge door, bag of grated cheeze in my left hand and the fork in the other.
So I wheel around 180 to get started and in mid turn I decide I need a plate to start out with. So I stick the fork in my mouth and grab the cabinet door above the counter where the dishes are stored all while in the turning motion. I fling the door open and guess what? YEP! I slam the damn cabinet door right into the handle end of the fork which is sticking 8 inches out of this dumbasses mouth. WHAMMMMMM! The bag of cheeze goes flying straight up in the air and lands in the sink where there is about 3 inches of nasty ass dish water and dirty dishes. The fork has now just about knocked the punching bag thingy in my throat down to my navel and just about knocked out my one good crown on the left side of my jaw and there is now only about 1/2 inch of fork sticking out of my pie hole! DAMNIT! COUGH! COUGH! SHIT! HAhhaaaaaaaaa.
Well the fork came out on the second cough as my fat ass bounced off the front of the fridge behind me with enough force to make half the ice in the icemaker fly all over the inside of the freezer. Half the crap on the fridge shelves fell over and the fridge wound up 6 inches left of where it use to set! HAHaaaa. DAMNIT!
SO, I composed myself and just stud there for a minute wondering where my cheeze wound up? Then I had this feeling that I was being watched. I look out into the living room and see my 3 cats peering at me from under the end table with looks of WHAT THE HELL all over their faces! AHhahaaaaaaaa. I had a hell of a laugh. Then I saw my wet and now nasty bag of cheeze floating in the swamp! DAMNIT!
I cackel a few more times and finish the task at hand. Had a great meal and all the salt I added made the punchered punching bag feel better as the food went down. DAMN, next time I'm gonna grab a burger out. Now I remember why I hate leftovers. What a dumbass.
Been awhile since I posted a DUMBASS event in my life so today I did TWO
to make up for lost time.
1st DUMBASS thing was I got up. No thats not it. HAhahaaaaa. I got up and got the DL, Strom all baged up with all the weather and so on stuff in them. I leave out at 5:15 am as usual bundled up in a pullover sweater and my riding jacket, cold weather gloves since it was 47 out and pulled out and went on my way to work. Well I didn't get to the first stop light when I see another bike comming towards me as I make my left turn onto the same road going the same direction. Not alot of cars out this early as usual.
I pull up to the light in the left lane on this 6 lane divided road because there is a car in the center lane and this bike pulls up in the far right lane. Did I mention its 47 degrees out? Well here is this kid on a beat up RC 51 Honda sport bike dressed in dockers or cargo shorts, tennis shoes with no socks, a tank top and his ball cap on backwards. No helmet, why? HAHahaaaaaaaaaa. Almost a full blown SQUID sept he had a shirt on.
So I look over at him and he is looking the DL over trying to figger out what the hell it is and whats on it! AHhahaaaaaaaa. I look back and nod. He then does what is so predictable and expected and I would have been disapointed if he hadn't, he REVVVED THE PISS out of the bike. Lets off and flames shoot out the bent up slip on's! COOL! HAHahaaaaaaa. Well ya know me right? HAHhaaaaaaaaa. I see the light changing in the opposing direction so I get cocked and locked. My temp gauge was still sittin on ZERO BARS, the motor had been fired up like less than 2 minutes. Its warm enough I say to myself! HAhahaaaaaaa.
The light changes and I slip the shit out of the DL's clutch and take off with the front wheel about 12 inches off the ground all the way through 1st and just as I hit 2nd the front wheel just touches and up it comes again but I nurse the throttle and just touch the rear brake and the front settles in so I can get my fat ass leaned forward for more down force on the front end and I take a look in my right mirror and see the whole bottom side of that RC 51 with its front light shinnin at the moon! HAHahaaa. He was about 100 feet behind me in his lane and he was fightin to get that thing going straight and level. I thought for a tenth of a second I had kilt him! I shift into 3rd and I am still in it and look back again and here he comes!!!!!! He finally got the bike headed down stream and was commin like a rocket. I grab 4th at look down and we are doing about 120 mph in a 45 mph speed zone and it's 5:17 in the morning and I have been up less than a half hour? OH SHIT! Whats the rest of the day gonna be like? Hhahaaaaaaa.
Well we are well past the 1/4 mile and the road is starting to get into a slight S weave and about now this SQUID passes me like I am standing still. I bet he was doing every bit of 150 mph when he went buy and deployed his shoot. That would be massive brakes and backing out of the throttle 100% and he was shooting blue fire 5 feet into the air behind him. HAHahaaaaaa, Cool shit! So he blew me away as he should have but I pounded his ass in the 1/4 mile! An RC 51 will do what, 185 or so? HAhahaaaaaaa. Oh, that car in the middle lane was still back at the stop light! Hhahaaaaaaaa.
So this SQUID pulled into the left lane at the next light a ways up and aways ahead of me. I pull up next to him in the center lane and flip up my visor. This kid is all of 16 or 18 years old if that! He looks me over and looks at the DL and grins. I am smiling from ear to ear. I ask him, ain't it a bit cool out? He said, its damn cold when your going 160! AHhahaaaaaaaa. I thought to myself, Man O Man if I had of had those balls back then. I laughed out loud! HAhahaaaaaaaaa. We then looked at the cross traffic and there to our left in a white Chevy Tahoe, front windows down, antenna and lights just bristlin all over it was two of our cities finest. Yep! The kid looks at me and says, 5 O, 5-O!!! I tapped my helmet on top and he grinned. There sat two cops with there starbucks coffee's in their hands and as they drive past us on the cross street they both looked and nodded. Now that was a shock! They had to of seen, herd or whtever us comming? HAhhaaaaaaaaa.
The Squid turned off into a neighbor hood just past the light. What the hell were we doing anyway? I am one big DUMBASS! HAHahaaaaaaaaaa. The rest of the trip to work was kinda boring!
# 2 DUMBASS thing was after making some runs in the company truck in heavy traffic for about 3 hours I returned to the shop right at break. So I go to get a DR Pepper and the machine will not take my money. I punched it 2 or 3 times in its controls and it took half my money. I said screw it and took a few steps to the right of the machine and was gonna just forget it but for some stupid reason I decide to do a back spin kick and try to catch the money box with my heal. WRONG! All I managed to do was put my right heel and foot right through the front plex and right into the floresent bulbs that light the face. BOOM! GLASS SOUNDS! Smoke! DAMMIT!
Yep. Smashed the plex into the guts of the machine. The 3 guys sittin at the break table went running wondering what the hell just happend! HAHahaaaaaaaa. Of corse then about 20 people show up to see my handy work! SHIT! So I spent the next hour on my time cleaning up the mess. Poping the plex face back in which now has 50% of the art work bashed off, sucking up glass out of the change return and the guts. I then removed all the loose paint off the back side of the plex face and painted over it with some black spray paint. WAH LAH! looks almost new. Well sept for the areas the paint flaked off when I closed the machine up. DAMN IT MAN! I gotta stop this stupid DUMBASS SHIT!
Went for Tuesday night coffee with a few of the Boyz I ride with and my
old man. Took the LC since its been 3 or 4 weeks since we last bonded.
Weather was just wonderful. Low 70's and clear, almost no wind, so I
left the full face helmet at home. I was just going for a cup and not
planning on any hauling ass. Around 8:00pm, after a few hours of lies
and tails from WWII to todays BS while in traffic we break camp and head
So here I am, minding my own bizz just puttin along about 35mph in 5th gear. BADA BADA BADA BADAaaaaaa. Nice and slow just taking in the wonderful weather. Well I pull up to a Red light and I am the only motorized thing around. After a minute at the light a car pulls up just behind and to my right. Minding my own bizz looking ahead I start seeing a woft of smoke from cigerettes or what I thought was ciggs from the car. Then it hits me, this MAJOR wiff of HASH or POT? So I glance over my right shoulder and see a nice gold colored older Lexus 300 coupe with two younger looking middle eastern guys dressed up like the dudes in Raiders of the lost ark! Turbins, drapes for clothes, the whole nine yards. Now I am not knoking this just splannin. HAhaaaaaaaaaa.
SO I guess these guys are just out smokin some shit and havin a good ole time when the light changes and they smoke the tires and fly right past me rolling away in a slow manner. WELL NOW! I can't let that happen now can I? HAhaaaaaaa. Off I go in pursuit. We run up to about 50 or 60 mph in this 40 mph area which is a major street with a median and 3 lanes each direction. Straight for the most part.
So I pull along side and these guys are just a starrin at me. I can read their minds. WHATS UP OLD FAT DUDE ON A BIKE. HAhaaaaaaa. Ya wanna run or what. Well the window comes all the way down and I get this ROMP ROMP ROMP action from the Lexus. OH? You do want to play huh? HAhaaaaaaaaaa. So what do I do? YEP! Drop from 5th to 2nd in about 2 tenths of a second an WHACK IT! They were caught off gaurd I guess because they didn't make a very big effort to get it on. So I slow down to the speed limit and they cruise by and then hit it! WAaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Then they slow. Well we are now at the next red light. Very light traffic still. As we roll away from the light we play cat and mouse, one gettin it on and then the other. Sizing each other up. I know this road we are on because its 2 blocks from my house. I drive it EVERY DAY and have for the last 19 years.
Well we finally pull along side each other at about 30 mph and HIT IT! I grabed 1st, shift as the limiter is just comming on and launch ahead a few yards. Then they come on strong. I grab 3rd at 6000 rpm and we are side by side and coming up on a slight bend in the road. It bends to the left and is a little off camber to the right side. OH, and there is a little choppy area or a bump in the bend. I know this why? Because I drive this road every day. Every day at 40 mph. Well just about 50 feet before this bend in the road I hit 4th gear at about 6000 rpm. I am doing just about 100 mph I would guess. We enter this section of road and I am in the inside of the left lane, The Lexus is in the middle lane. I slam the LC over on the left board right as the bump comes! The LC starts to do a wicked ossilation like a person with terrets syndroms head bobs and wobbles and was shottin sparks for 50 feet! The Lexus hits the same bump and bounces violently and skips over about half way into the far right lane and was making some awfull sounding groans and poping noises. I entered this bend on the inside of my lane and when I was through doing my shake and shimmy I was still in my lane but just about on the lane buttons. Did I let off? HELL NO! I just kept in the gas and kept the shower of sparks flowing till all was right again and we were going straight, STARIGHT AT A RED LIGHT 50 yards away! Whooooooooo hoooooooooooo! The LC does still have some brakes after the last dragon trip. HAhaaaaaaaaaa. The Lexus must have some damn good brakes because he stopped after reacting a good 2 seconds after I did.
Well who won? The hell if I know. All I know is we got stopped before we ran the light. I was still in my lane and they were back in theirs. We rolled up along side each other. I looked over and the kid in the passengers seat was white as I am and slumped low in his seat. The driver was also very pail and his head wrap was all pushed up to one side and part of it was hangng off like a head bandage in an old western movie. HAhaaaaaaaa. I don't have a clue why unless he smacked his head on the roof when he went bouncing along. HAHaaaaaaaaaa. I looked at them and they were both just looking right back at me. They looked like they had just seen a ghost! EYES WIDE OPEN! HAhaaaaaaaa. I then caught the light about to change green for us seeing the light for the cross traffic go yellow. I grabbed the front brake lever and whacked the throttle and did the first burn out on the current Pirelli tire, The light goes green and I take off still spinning and leave those kids in my smoke. HAhaaaaaaaaa. It feels good to be almost 50 years old and still be able to act like a freaking kid! Hhaahaaaaaaaa.
So to end it, I am still one dumb somebitch. Here I am acting like a total idiot, HAULIN ASS on a city street playing with kids who I have no idea of or about there skills or lack of them, NO HELMET, AT NIGHT, POOR ROAD CODITIONS, ON A 700 pound no handlin bike. What a DUMBASS. So I would say I got lucky again. Whats the pot up to now? HAHaaaaaaaaaaaa
Well its time for a short story to air the forums stail motorcycle BS.
HAhaaaaa. Its not a dumbass tail but its amusing.
I have this cabin in the deep thick woods of east texas. Well there has been a real tall tree that has been rotting for years now and when it was gonna fall, it was gonna squash my cabin. The tree was a split tree. One half had broken and fallen away many years ago. So many years that there is no more dead wood left from it. We have been going to take it down for the past few years but just never have because its probably gonna fall right on the cabin when we try. Sometime in the past few months a LARGE upper limb fell off and landed next to the cabin right where I usually park my pickup. YIKES! The limb would probably make a 1/2 cord of wood. A big limb. It would have totaled my truck.
So myself, Billy the guy who crashed a year or so back I told about and Pete, Ranger1179 on here went and attacked the tree. We got a long rope up about 30 feet into this old oak tree that is about 80 feet tall. We wraped a chain around a tree off to the left of the tree and attached a comealong. We cleared a lot of under brush away in case we needed to haul ass if the tree didn't fall where we wanted it to. SO I crank and crank a lot of tension on the tree with the comealong. Billy cuts a nice wedge from the tree on the side away from the cabin. Surprise surprise the tree is rotten and hollow. So I crank in a few more cranks and Billy goes to the back side of the tree to cut.
Its about this time when I start to think to myself, HOW THE HELL DID I GET THE JOB OF BEING WHERE THIS TREE MAY FALL TO? HAHaaaaaaaaa. I had made plans already on where I was running to when the tree came down. Billy starts to cut and after about 20 seconds of cutting and a few more cranks on the comealong, SNAP CRACKEL POP! Here comes the tree. Wooooooooo Hoooooooooooo I take off through the woods at a 90 degree angle to where I was. I could hear this tree comming down and it was smashing through the canopy of the forrest with a deafining roar! Maybe it was my feet spinning and churrning up the ground below my slim 330 lbs? HAhaaaaaaaaa. All I know is I was running for all I had and the tree kept falling and then BOOM! Silence. Then I hear Billy, WHERE IS MARC! I think he thought I was a gonner! HAhaaaaaaaa. I waited a few seconds to build the moment and then replied from my position about 50 yards away deep in the woods! HAhaaaaaaaaa.
The tree fell in the second best spot we were trying for. It fell about 20 feet to the side of the cabin about where the big limb had fallen before. It missed the shit house and fell aside of the fire pit made of cinderblocks. The tree will probably make 4 or 5 cords of good wood once its split. Plenty of wood for the cabin and the boyz houses. The tree probably weighed 8000 lbs or more.
I counted the rings of the tree which was about 4 feet across with a good 2 1/2 feet of the center rotted out up about 20 feet. A wooden tube. I figger the tree was between 125 and 150 years old. WOW! If that tree had of fallen on the cabin and if we were there we would have been dead for sure. It all went as well as one could hope for. Lots of wood, no damage to the cabin and a good fun time for all.
Now for the other 2 trees that will cause us concern in the comming years! AHahaaaaaaaa. We will wait on them.
If you think this was the end of the fun, read the posted answer below:
OH, BTW.... Is that a pic of the cabin or the shithouse ???
I got some main jets for my carbs (Thanks GMan!) so I could fiddle fart
around with my bike. Well they came up missing before I got around to
using them. Well my SWMBO said something about one of my cats going out
the door with a small plastic bag in his mouth. Well, it wasn't easy but
we actually kept him inside for a few days so I can "inspect"
the litter box for my jets. On Day Two my patience was rewarded with the
discovery that her actually had ingested the jets. In case y'all didn't
know this cat was rescued (by me) in the wall of an apartment with his
siblings when I was working as a Maintenance Tech at the apartments that
I live in before the new owners took over and brought in their own crew.
Well, I don't know if the extra "seasonings" on the jets made any difference in the tuning. I will say that I now need to be careful how I twist my wrist and it's a very good thing that I have a backrest to keep me from sliding off the bike.
I have to say (cuz I can't help myself) that my bike is now meaner'n cat shit............LOL!!!
O.k. I feel good and bad about my ride home on the DL from work
today. The good, it didn't rain for the first time in a month so no rain
gear came out. Bad news was this jerk in a Suburban kept riding my ass!
I mean I could see his face in my closer than they appear mirrors. I
squirted past a car sticking out of a left turn lane and got some
distance. It is just a 40 mph divide 4 lane through residential areas.
Next thing I know he's back on my ass again. Then he shoots around
me on the right and the traffic is stopped ahead and there are more cars
in the right lane than in the left lane.
So the defense comes out and I wack the throttle so he can't cut me off because it would have been me slamming on the brakes to let him slam in. So I guess that ticked him off. Well it pissed me off for too that I had to do that! Its my lane at that point! So a few cars get between us. We roll away from the light and a few cars turn here and there and damned if this jerk ain't on my ass again! I am doing 45 in a 40. There is always a bike cop or hidden Johnny car somewhere around in this part of town. The cops don't stop real crime, they just write tickets to people trying to get home from work!
Well this road we are on starts to decend down hill for about a mile or so. It then bends to the left as you cross a creek. The bridge is about 200 yards long and curves left. There are city bike and jogging parks just past the bridge on the left and an upscale apt complex just past the bridge on the right. Well I am doing 45 in a 40. There is a car on my right doing whatever speed I do. I go 50 mph, she goes 50 mph. I slow to 40 and she slowes to 40. Meanwhile the SUV is still 5 feet off my tail light.
Now I am getting up in years and my eye sight ain't the best but I can damn sure see from 1/2 mile away that there is this under cover traffic cops car front end sticking out from behind some bushes in the apt complex drive way. HAhaaaaaaaaaaaa. SCREW THIS BASTARD THATS ON MY ASS!
So me being the dick head I am I slowed to 40. I let the bitch in the family cruiser who must not have a speedometer since she is using me as her speedo get along side me and sure as shit she slows down to 40. So I wack it a tad and pass the car on my right. I signal right and change lanes into the right lane a few cars ahead of this lady and slow to 45 or so. The SUV takes the bait. He had been chomping at my ass for 2 or 3 miles. Now remember we are going down hill on a nice smooth road and I am doing 45 or 50 mph now. We are now still a little over a 1/4 mile from the cop.
Zoooooooommmmm the SUV fly's by and I see the guy looking in his right side mirror at me just smilling big as shit because he made me speed up and make a move and cut off the car in the right lane! Then I see him look fwd and SLAMBO! He slams on the brakes but by now he is just about 200 yards from the cop! HAHAHAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
So I am just hoping like hell the cop was not asleep at the controls. I am still doing 5 or 10 mph over the limit but that damn SUV asshole was doing atleast 65 or 70 mph when he hit the brakes! And to just add to it, I started pointing like there was a freaking UFO on the left horizon and I was pointing and retracting and pointing and retracting my left arm pointing at that SOB! AHHaaaaaaaaaa.
As I passed the cop he was looking right at me. I swear he was smiling from ear to ear. I know he saw this guy on my ass coming down the hill. I know he saw me whip in front of the car in the right lane and I know he saw me point at the guy when we passed him.
OH shit! The cop fliped on his lights as I passed. He didn't do it when the SUV went by????? Oh shit the cops comming up my ass now! So what do I do? I bail hard left into the left lane and give the cop a straight shot at the SOB in the BURBAN. It worked. The shark went for the bait. The last thing I saw as we passed through the intersection at the top of the next hill was the SUV hauling ass after making an evasive right at the light and as the cop made the right I passed him and he waved at me with a Vanna White wheel of fortune wiggle of the palm!
I bet he was a bike cop and had to do duty in a cager today. Sorry if I seem like an ass but there is a time and place for dicking around and rushhour traffic ain't the time. I feel a little bad for the guy but hey! He has the controls. I just grinned again! HAhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
YEP! That discribes the wild life I tormented today on our regular
saturday food run. I don't know which bird shit on me but there were
many close calls for some reason today. We rode in the low to mid 30's,
overcast skys all mornin. Rounding a turn on the Dl at about 105
mph I could see ahead about 50 yards a buzzard and a hawk sharing a meal
on the stripe. The buzzard bailed left right away but the hawk was not
leaving the table. I braked slightly to about 70 mph as I got
within a few yards the hawk bailed straight up and back peddled. WHat
one sees at speed and can recall is amazing. As this hawk which was
about 3 feet tall head to tail was swooshing back and away from the meal
and as I passed him on my left he was about 4 feet in the air. I could
see all the feathers and his talons and them BIG ASS WINGS a flappin. I could
see his eyes staring me down and I could see the blood on his chest and
neck feathers. Pretty damn cool. I don't think he was the one that shit
Later there were 2 streaks at fender hight from right to left. I don't think it was those birds. It was probably this brown bird with a brownish orange stomach that at about 70 or 80 decided to fly up from the right shoulder, cross in front of me causing me to decell slightly and watch him do left, right , left moves 6 or 8 times just off to the left of my front end at headlight hight. Ass holes and elboes is all I could see for what seamed like 3 or 4 seconds. He finally made a hard left as I was about to bash him. He is probably the one that shit all over my left K 5 panner. HAHaaaaaaa.
Then this damn squirrel decides to run out in front on me as I was entering a bumpy assed left hander about 70 mph. I saw him just as I was braking for the turn. He was lucky I was already braking. I squeezed the front brake just a tad more than I had planned and I was still gonna squish him. I could already feel the fat little bastards belly under my front tire and had visions of him poping out from my rear tire and flipping in the path of my riding buddy at headlight hight. But wait! As the little turd did his last dance to be as I got to within 6 inches he made the tail in the air lunge right and I felt his tail just brush the bottom of my right foot and peg. Woooo Hoooooooooo he made it! HAHaaaaaaaaa. Jerry said He was a rocket after I clipped his tail. Flying squirrell! HAHaaaaaaaaaaaa.
So I would guess the terms "scared shitless" and "Squirrelled Out" were dirived from just these types of incedents? HAHaaaaaaaaaa. So I don't think I kilt any wild life today but I damn sure woke a few of them up.
I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could
be so incredibly dangerous!
Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.
Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being “behind the power curve”. It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.
Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle…at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.
I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!
Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness…all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.
I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that “edge” so frequently required when riding.
Little did I suspect…
As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it—it was that close.
I hate to run over animals…and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, “Banzai!” or maybe, “Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street…and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel of death!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in…well…I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street…on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle…my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.
The rpm’s on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.
Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand…I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked…sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it” anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger…
That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car…
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.
As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I’ll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.
And I’ll buy myself a new pair of gloves.
Well all, I did my usual 130 to 150 mile ride for a meal today. Started
out at a nice 25 degress or so. Had a good meal and returned home for a
nap. After the nap I decided to do the rounds of the local bike dealers.
I got 2 miles from the house and was at a stop light. I had my heated
grips on. So there I sit and I get this wiff of an electrical fire. You
all know the smell. Its got that distinked smell. HAhaaaaaaaaa.
I glanced down and see a stream of blue smoke spewing from the housing side of my right grip. WHOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO! It looked like a bottle rocket was taking off! I shut the bike off with the key! DANG! I switched off the grips and re fired the bike. The light changed to green and I tried to twist the throttle and found the fire had melted the throttle tube to the bars! DANG! Someone warned me this could happen. Who was that? HAhaaaaaaaaaa. I was able to idle away from the light and make my way to a side street for some damage control.
I killed the bike, grabbed the grip real hard and twisted. I was able to break it loose. Now it was still real hard to twist but I could atleast make the bike move now. So off I went in a herky jerky fashion to the Zuk shop to order a new throttle tube. I say Order because I know they won't have one. Man it was nerve racking to try and ride with a stuck throttle grip. There was NO way to shift smooth and trying to speed shift at slow speeds was embarasing. Made it to the dealer and sure enough, NO THROTTLE SLEEVE IN STOCK. Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I borrowed a screw driver after ORDERING the needed parts. I removed the grip and exposed the smoked grip heater element. Toasted about a 2 inch long area of the heater tape. Burnt black and melted away all the film holding the elements together. I peeled of the grip heater and took my pocket knife out and begain to cut some relief slots in the sleeve. After chiping away a portion and adding 3 or 4 slits I was able to move the trottle fairly freely. I stuffed the grip back on and was back on the road. Man what a deal. Now I don't know if I will put another set on. I am gun shy now! I shur liked the warm hands. Like I said, it was in the mid 20's this morning and the only thing that cold was my face just under my sun glasses.
So what caused the fire? Best guess is the fact that the throttle tube on the DL has some raised ribs on the surface. When I installed the heated grip films on the grip I noticed that they didn't seat completly flush or flat. They had a few bubble like areas I guess. Well best I can figger is this area worked the wires loose from the tape and they must have dead shorted to each other. Like a dumbass, I should have seen this comming. HAhaaaaaaaa. I gues before I install another set I will smooth off the new throttle tube when I get it. Than maybe it will be alright. Wonder why the fuse didnt blow? Is there a fuse in the wire I used from the wiring harness? HAhaaaaaaaaaa. SMOKIN!
Freak story... about 6 years ago, Kitty & I acquired a black 75 Porsche 914, there was a wiring mess under the dash. So off I went removing feet & feet of extra length wires, splicing & using
While my old man fat ass was upside down with my shoulders on the floor, face up under the dash, and my feet resting on the headrests....
Something sparked, then I seen a long wire start on fire from one side of the dash to the other, naturally, not being able to exit the car in a timely fashion I reached up and grabbed the burning loom and pulled it loose before the entire electrical system went up in flames.. Oh theres more...
Since my fat ass was squeezed up under the dash (with most wires too close for my old man vision to focus on anyway) when I pulled the burnt wire loose the burning insulation melted plastic draped across my face and burnt two lines across my face & eyes ( no safety glasses).
and now the rest is history !!!
Well I thought I was in a no dumbass groove of late but that came to an
end tonight and a few nights ago.
After a nice ride Sunday I was putting up the LC. It lives in a 5 foot wide x 6 foot deep cubby hole in the right front of my garage. My 50 x 30 roll around tool box also lives there along with my wifes upright air compressor with the 60 gallon tank that I bought myself, I mean her a few years ago for her birthday. She uses a lot of air in her tires? HAHAaaaaaaa. The LC sticks out a few feet into the parking area of the garage so I have a very narrow area for the rear of the LC and the Truck to clear each other. Anyway, So I am pulling in the truck trying not to smack my right side mirror and POW! I ran right into the LC's rear fender and almost shoved it into the kitchen. OH SHIT! SO as I back up I see the LC start to lean over to the left as if it was gonna do a slow roll into the tool box. OH SHIT!
I get out and wiggle past the front of the truck and the garage wall and find there was no damage, hit the tail light ring, and the LC was not falling over. Wheeeewwwwwwwwwww.
So now tonight as I was parking the DL. It lives 90 degrese to my wifes vett against the front wall of the garage. I have to have my truck out of the garage to get the Dl in and out. As I was putting the DL in I pushed it over a plastic bag on the floor. Whats in the bag? Well it was a bag of CAT SHIT from my wifes cats cat box. Smashed the shit all over my front tire and all over the freaking floor. GAWD! So I have to finsh the parking job and then figger out how to clean up the mess. SHIT!
So there are a few more DUMBASS things not to do. Again, atleast they are not big oh shits! HAHaaaaaaaaaa.
ok, here's the floating helmet story. I had to pull over to get gas at
Newport, TN and I lost the crowd. The little news Lady got me all
flustered so I left PF without enough gas. I thought I could gas up and
catch the crowd but I didn't catch them. Once I discovered I wasn't
going to catch up I had to stop and read the map. I saw this river
access road along side the French Broad river, big - big ranging river.
As I had guessed, there was a nice pull off just next to the river with
a very nice view. Well, I placed my helmet on the back seat and like
always, it fell off. One bounce, another bounce and it's into the weeds
on the steep river bank. Oh, the weeds will stop - SPLASH!!! mother
F$##$ my helmet is in the river (and it floats) , and it's flowing
pretty darn fast. Bad situation, not to be confused with me floating in
the river which would be a really bad situation. I managed to get down
the very slippery, very steep river bank but by now my helmet is about
3' out from the bank and picking up speed. I grab a branch with my right
hand and lean out with about 2' too little to reach it. I then had to
get a stick in my left hand, hold on with my right while I lean out OVER
the river to reach the helmet. Krama must have took a small break that
very moment because I managed to NOT fall in. Still not sure how but I
got it out , muddy, wet and just nasty. That's my story and I'm sticking
Well hello fellow DA's. HAHAaaaaaaa. As I start to SLOWLY prepare for my
trek East to meet them East coast BOYZzzzzzzz at PF, I decide I need to
clean up the ole LC a tad before we leave. I have a full plate all week
so tonight was bath night for the LC. Figgered We would ease on up
the road to the $1.00 car wash that takes $5.00 to get it to start!
So I find one of The BAG's ( my wife's nick name ) best towels, fold it up nice and flat so I can sit on it for the short trip and then use it to wipe off the 10 times over recycled car wash liquid called water.
Well as luck would have it, all the SLOW ASSES in town are trying to crash into each other in SLOW motion just ahead of me. Thank god we all got stopped at the red light. The car wash is about 300 yards up on the left. To avoid all these scarry no driving whatevers I decide to take the clear lane on the right. 3 lane wide street.
So the light changes and I start to ease away knowing I will have no problem swinging back left in front of all the slow asses in the other two lanes. I am about half way through first gear and some numb nut wants to drive side by side and look at us. Hey! I need over bud I think to myself. So what does the right hand do instincktivly? TWIST! Twist and grab second. Well wouldn't ya know it. At about 6000 rpm in 1st and just shiftin like a retard I slam 2nd and my fat ass takes off towards the back of the bike! Yep! I am sittin pretty as can be on a damn towel with almost ZERO adheasion. Yep! Me and my fat ass meet up with the ole rear fender yet again! Also once again my right foot catches under the brake pedle and my left foot happens to still be hooked to the shifter.
WOoooooooooHooooooooooooooooo. Well there was just about no way to just let off the gas when I had the death grip going on. In this moment of HANG ON BROTHER I managed a peek to my left and see that I have managed to launch a good 50 yards ahead of Numb Nuts. So while still in my best OCC posture as if on a massive chopper I fling the bike left and back right just in time to hit 3rd and then managed to get my right foot OVER the brake peddle and tap it so my fat ass will slide back forward. It worked. And as I slide back fwd and was able to grab some front brake now I managed a full recovery and even slid about half way up on the gas door! HAHaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Made my left turn and quik right into the car wash.
Wheeewwwwwwwwwwww Weeeeeeeeeeeee. Made it! HAHaaaaaaaa. Spent my $5.00 and washed off all the damn bugs. Dryed off the bike as best as I could in the one bulb detail area, folded my towel back up and headed home. A bit wiser about the towel now. HAHaaaaaaa. A wet towel actually has a lot better coheasion than a dry one does! HAHAaaaaaaaa.
Well I was about due for a small dumbass attack. Here it is.
I am taking the DL 1000 to Colorado next week to ride with my friend who lives in Salida now. I still don't have any new rubber here for the LC so I am gonna conserve some fuel and effort and just load the DL in the bed of the truck. 15 or 16 mpg verses 11 or 12 mpg. About a $75.00 savings for the trip. Well after the last trip with the DL in the back and 2 bikes on the trailer. The hard part was loading the DL with no real ramp. We wound up pushing the DL backwards up onto my trailer and then jacked the rear of the trailer with a floor jack to stabilize it and lowered the trailer ramp onto my trucks tail gate. Took atleast 1 1/2 hours doing all this the first time. We got better at it after a few times. 20 minute fire drill! 3 guy's! HAHAaaaaaaa. It was atleast a 2 man operation to BACK a bike up the short ramp of the trailer. That sucked. Unloading was a breeze.
So I am thinking SCREW THIS! I am gonna save about $75 bucks in gas by leaving the trailer home so I started a lookin for a CHEAP and easy way to GET ER DONE! A HAAH! A CHEAP MOTORCYCLE RAMP. Found a really decent one at HARBOR FREIGHT, the import junk store of all mens dreams if your on a budget! HAHaaaaaaaa. Smells like AK-47's or SKS gun stocks in there. WHY? HAHAaaaaaaa.
So I go and look at them. NOT BAD! Looks like 3 small aluminum ladders hinged together. They are rated at 1500 lbs. Thats almost 5 times my weight! $112.50 plus tax. Hell! That's almost the savings in gas. You do the math. HAHAaaaaaaa. Thats how I justified it to my accountant wife anyway, seemed to work or she has just given up and ignors me, wonder which? HAHAaaaaaaaaaa. Bought a $3.00 hand Held bug Shocker ta boot! Great at the cabin!
SUPER-WIDE TRI-FOLD LOADING RAMP
So I buy the thing and get it home. I go to do a test run since I will be loading up in the early hours and darkness. I can't load up the night before because the bike won't clear the garage opening while in the bed and I can't leave shit outside due to the FREAKING THEIVES that roam or steets at night now. Thats another story. So I get out the truck, ramp and bike and unfold this thing. Cool, looks like someone did some homework. It fits up nice and has a few chains to hold it to the tailgate. I fit it all to the truck and step back to gaze at its glory.
Well right off I see I have a major problem. I have a 4X4 truck. Its a tad taller than normal trucks like it. DAMN! Its at about a 45 degree angle. Looks like that ramp Evil Kenivil flew off of at the Snake river thing. DAMN! So after a few minutes I figgered out that if I back in and then roll fwd till the front of my truck just about touches the brick wall behind my house which is the wall of a mini wearhouse and place the ramps on my driveway which is sloped uphill from the alley that its not so bad. Maybe a 30 degree launch. Done deal. I get all set up. I practiced about 3 times so I can do it in the dark. All is well now.
First indication that this was gonna be fun. I drag the DL out and line it up. For some damn reason I think I can just head downhill the 8 feet or so to the ramp pushing the bike up and into the bed. WRONG! WAY WRONG! I get going and the front wheel just glides up and as soon as the rear wheel hits DOINK! The bike stops, tilts to the left which is where I am and proceeds to try and trap my fat ass in the rungs of the ramp. WOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO! I saved it. Cool. Back it down and what do I do next. Try AGAIN! What the hell is wrong with me? Round 2. Almost a knockout when the bike stops and I smack my face on the windscreens edge. SHIT! Now I am pissed, hot and starting to sweat my fat ass off. 103* at 7:00pm. Its starting to look like the trailer firedrill thing all over again! Well screw this!
I decide that its HAMMER TIME. I am gonna just ride up like I do on the trailer. No sweat. So here I am, still holding the Dl up and I decide to climb on. No side stand down or nothing. Remember the bike is tall enough to dangle your feet straight down while riding and not touch the ground? Well I go to sling my fat ass right leg over and because there is about 3 gallons of sweat in my pants the jeans just stick to my leg. No hight left to clear the bike, SMASH. I slam my right shin into the rear tail light and luggage rack. DAMNIT! I almost fall over AGAIN! SHIT! I am pissed now. I back up, put the stand down, lean the bike as I should have and make the mount clean. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. So I fire it up. I roll onto the ramp and hit the gas. She flies up and all is fine till the front wheel gets into the truck. At this point my feet are like 12 inches above the ramps, that critical OH SHIT point where if you go over your going down hard. The sensation of the truck rocking and the noise of the ramps sliding on concrete made me think the ramp was comming away from the tailgate. OH SHIT! So I had to hit the brakes? HAhaaaaaaaaaa. Well I rolled just enough into the truck that as I started over I could touch the ramp. Well sort of. As I rolled fwd and and reached down with my feet, BOTH feet missed every rung, bar or whatever on this ramp. WOooooooooo Hooooooooo.
I can see this as if I was standing back a few yards. FAT guy on a ramp on a tall bike dangling his feet down between everything and he is gonna get hurt when he falls over with his legs traped and the bike crushing him and cutting off both legs and arms! HAHaaaaaaaa. Oh shit can a fat guys legs move fast when he is about to die! HAHaaaaaaaa. I think I did the football tire drill about 20 times with each leg before hitting anything sturdy! HAHaaaa. Oh shit it was close.
Man o man, I made yet another save. So now I have figgered out that a size 14 foot will go through a 8 inch long x 15 inch wide hole just fine. I decide to roll fwd more and "touchdown". I roll on the gas and the bike glides in. WOW! I need a beer. So I decide that I may as well do it a few more times to get it down before the real deal. So I roll backwards and with no problems just glide backwards and off. Off right back into the back of the wifes VETT! DAMN! Its a good thing it was dirty or I may have scuffed it. HAhaaaaaaaaaaa. Just nudged it with the rear light. Whewwwwww.
So I drive up and roll back about 3 or 4 more times till its a comfortable task. I roll off the last time and guess what. I stuiff my left foot through the damn ramp again. It almost pulled me off the bike and sent the bike and me in a backward hard left turn. I did almost a 180 and was almost facing the garage! HAHaaaa. How the hell I saved it this time is beyond me. WOW! I need a Bourbon ( W. L. Weller ) and coke now! Screw a beer! HAHaaaaaaa.
SO I did it a few more times and had ZERO problems. The CHEAP
Ramp worked well. It did not come off the tailgate. It did not bend even
uder my weight and the bike and it still folds up nice and neat. So it
just goes to show ya that you don't need speed to be a DUMBASS. Just a
CHEAP ramp! HAHaaaaaaaaa. See ya'll at PF I hope.
Well its my turn to step up to the "Dumbass Podium" I hope ya dont mind BDRAG!!!
It was in the High 50's here in MD today. I planned on jumping on the
GW when I got home! Well when I got here my mother wasnt feeling too
good and I had a couple of things to do to get ready for our Vacation so
I nixed the ride. About an hour later my son calls and wants to go for a
short ride so I agree, said he'd be here in 10 minutes. So I went
down to my workshop to bring his bike up the hill! I Fired it up,
warmed it up and headed up the hill. There was a little snow on the hill
but not enuff to concern me well halfway up the hill the rear tire hit some
remaining black ice and lost traction, it started sliding backwards down
this STEEP hill. I couldnt hold the bike up as it was picking up speed and
going sideways on me well I didnt want to get caught under it so I
bailed! Did a Drop, tuck and roll the bike landed on its side with the
wheels facing towards the top of the hill! I did a nice roll and ened up
about 10' from the bike with only a scuff on the knee and some sore
Muscles. The bike suffered a broken Sturrip on the Kury Highway pegs.
The Cobra crashbar and the Leatherlykes protected everything else! The
son showed up and it took both of us to pick her up and then get it down
the hill. Well needless to say after all that I wasnt in the mood
to ride anymore plus Im a little sore!!
A fellow rider and myself decided late in the week that we were riding saturday WET or DRY. We had a pact to ride. SO we get some rain Friday night / saturday morn. Hard rain infact.
So I am dressed from head to toe for cold rain. 50's out and hard rain. So I stop to fill up. Remove my right glove and proceed to fill up. I finish and drive off. As I go to flip my face sheild down I smear and smell gas. SHIT! I had a soaked my left glove in gas? What the hell? Guess the pump handle was leaking? SHIT! I get to the coffee shop and spend 10 minutes trying to clean off the now not water proof glove. I had some luck but smelt gas all day. DAMN!
So we hooked up at 8:30 am as planned. Ranger 1179, Pete was to ride with us for the first time on his C 90. So there we were, 3 DUMBASSES wanting to INTENTIONALLY ride into a rain storm. Well actually 2. Pete had to cancel for an unforseen family situation. Wife got called into work. LUCKY GUY. Best excuse I have heard in years! HAHAaaaaaaaaaaa.
So anyway, off Jeff and I go. He on his Triumph Tiger and me on the STROM. Man what a wondeful bike in the wet. 100 plus on the straights and 70 % in the wet corners at times. Truly a sight to see, bikes passing cars on a 2 lane in the heavy rain like trout running upstream! HAHAaaaaaaaa. Wonderful 130 or so miles we did. Jeff almost busted his ass a few times trying to power up to stay with me. My Pirelli's worked great. Better than his machine with Michelins. May be the bikes. May just be all the weight I carry? HAHAaaaaaa. He did the lock to lock OH SHITS with legs a flailing like a gymnist on the pummel horse a few times! HAHAaaaaaaaa. No harm done. Slowed him down a bit. GOOD! HAHAaaaaaaaaa.
So we get back to town and I need to get some gas and Jeff is about to bust a bladder. Riding in the rain does that to a person! Why?
Jeff heads in SOAKED from head to toe and passes by the lady cashier who is about 60 years old. She looks at him and blurts out, STUPID! HAHAaaaaaaaaa. He replies, why ya gotta be like that? She just stairs at him! HAHAaaaaaaaaaaa.
So while I am gettin gas I decide I need to call Jeff while he is taking care of Bizzness. Took 4 or 5 rings but he finally answers with WHAT? HAhaaaaaa. I hang up. HAHaaaaaaaaaa. Ever try to answer a cell phone while using one hand for IT and holding back all the layers of rain gear and cold weather garb? HAHAaaaaaaaaaaa. Glad he was already wet! HAHaaaaaaaaaaa.
Needless to say, the bikes looked like hell! Miles and miles of dirty roads with all kinds of mud here and there and just junk from 3 plus months with little rain to wash them off.
So today I decide I need to wash off the bike at the car wash. Lots of nooks and crannies with grunge in them and I also had slopped some 90 wt oil on the chain prior to the wet ride in hopes of deturing to much rust on the chain. It worked great. Smelt like hell but no rust! HAHAaaaaaa. On my way to the car wash I get this great idea that some GUNK ENGINE CLEANER was needed to remove the 90 wt mess and slime from the rain. So of corse while in the WALY WORLD I had to spend some time on the clearance aisle. This took a few minutes. Well the car wash is just about 1/4 mile down from the Wal-mart. Actually it borders on its rear parking lot. I have parked a ways out in the lot so I could spray down the bike without gettin the Gunk on anyones cars before heading over to the car wash so the engine would be warm and the Gunk could work a few minutes before washing it off.
Spray spray spray. I used the whole damn can in about 20 seconds? WOW! HAHaaaaaa. So I fire up the Strom and off I head. I head off right up and behind a MINI VAN. The mini van just sits there. I am looking and see no cross traffic. He sits and sits. Well by now the damn bike has gotten HOT! Real Hot! Its starting to smoke like a freaking steam train going up hill! I am sitting in this plume of white smoke and its about to kill me! HAHaaaaaaaaa. I finally back up and try another route. Of corse I can't see for shit now with my eyes watering from the fumes and smoke and I am choking and coughing like a 75 year old heavy smoker! HAhaaaa.
I hammer the gas to try and get to the car wash before the damn bike burst into flames! OH SHIT! GUNK on the brake pads! Gunk on the tires and wheels! OH SHIT! Well with a slip here and Flinstones stop there I made it to the car wash and am lucky to find that there is an open stall. WHEwwwww Weeeeeeeeeee! So I jump off the now smoking like its on fire bike and run to the coin machine which accepted my $5.00 dollor bill instantly. As I grab my change and turn back to run to the stall I pause, All I see is a plume of white smoke billowing out of both sides of the stall. I see this long trail of white smoke wafting in a zig zag pattern across the wal-mart parking lot like a big ass bottle rocket has just wizzed by! HAHAaaaaa. Oh shit the bike! I run back and stuff all 5 Suzan B's in the slot, I grab the wond and start to push buttons. Of corse the stall I got was the farthest away from the damn water pumps and the pressure took FOREVER to start up!
Finally I get some water on the bike. Man did the grease and grim just disapear when it was hit with the 2,000,000 lbs of pressureized water. I was still gaging and coughing as I sprayed. Then I felt something. Some one. I look up and see about 10 people looking at me washing my bike off. One guy asked what the hell? HAHaaaaaaaaa. I told them and this one guy says, STUPID! HAHAaaaaaaaaaaaa. Oh I almost shit my pants! HAHAaaaaaaaaa. Must have been that old lady from the gas stations son! HAHaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
So the bike got fumedagated and cleaned great. I survived
without any permanant damage to my health, I THINK and yes I went back
and picked up the empty Gunk can in the parking lot. It said spray
on warm engine! HAHaaaaaaaaaaa. Later all.
These are notes from an inexperienced chili taster named FRANK, who was visiting Texas from New Jersey... "Recently I was lucky enough to be the 10,000th attendee at the State Fair in Texas and was asked to fill in to be a judge at a chili cook-off.
Apparently the original Judge #3 called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there when the call came in and was assured by the other two Judges (Native Texans) that it would be a fun event and a true taste of Texas hospitality. They assured me that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted.
Here are the scorecards from the event."
Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili
JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
FRANK: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway with it took me two beers to put the flames out. Hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy.
Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili
JUDGE ONE: Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.
JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
FRANK: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to walkie-talkie in 3 extra beers when they saw the look on my face.
Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili
JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans.
JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of red peppers.
FRANK: Call the EPA, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting shit-faced.
Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic
JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Sally, the bar maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills, that 300 lb bitch is starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear-waste I'm eating.
Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover
JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick.Very impressive.
JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
FRANK: My ears are ringing and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me burst into flames. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw those rednecks!
Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety
JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spice and peppers.
JUDGE TWO: The best yet. An aggressive use of peppers, onions and garlic. Superb.
FRANK: My intestine?s are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut Sally. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!
Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili
JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
JUDGE TWO: ?Ho hum?, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
FRANK: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin and I wouldn't feel a damn thing. I've lost the sight in one eye and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava-like shit to match my damn shirt. At least during the autopsy they'll know what killed me. I've decided too stop breathing, it's too painful. Screw it,I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4inch hole in my stomach.
Chili # 8: Helen's Mount Saint Chili
JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending... this is a nice blend chili, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced chili, neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out, fell and pulled the chili pot on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled. I had gone into the Star Market to pick up some milk yesterday and I bought a superball in the checkout line -- 50 cents. What a bargain! It tickled my fancy--still does. That thing bounces soooooo high, and it has provided me with hours of entertainment. It just doesn't get any better than that, now does it?)
I'm so easily distracted.
That dang superball is so much fun.
So what were we talking about? Oh yeah, I bought something really cool at Larry's Pistol and Pawn last Saturday.
The occasion was my 50th birthday and I was looking for a little something extra cool. What I came across was a 100,000 volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip.
For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety.
The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety.
You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek.
If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing!
I was so disappointed.
Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect.
I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to.
I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arc of electricity, and a loud pop!!! Yipeeeeee . . . I'm easily amused.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc.
There I sat in my recliner, my dog Molly looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Molly), and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Molly for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet doggy, after all.
But, if I was going to use this thing to protect myself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time. So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another.
The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no bloody way!" Bloody way--trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed.
I'm sitting there alone, Molly looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, "Don't do it Daddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?)
I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight--always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even
though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and Holy F**king Chit! DAMN!!!
I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again.
I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position.
Molly was standing over me making whimpering sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "Do it again Daddy, do it again!"
(Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself.
You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly.)
SON-OF-A-BIAAATCH that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.
My reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. +/- an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round, rather large, kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself. Miss 'em . . . sure would like to get 'em back.
Jasper and the Unbaked Yeast Rolls
We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the summer of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of you, who are unfamiliar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a 10 year old child whom you know nothing about and committing to doing your best to be a good parent. Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me. Lest you think this is a bad case of 'no discipline,' I should tell you that Perry and I tried every means to break him of this habit including locking him in a separate bedroom for several nights. The new door cost over $200. But I digress.
Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the project is downright obnoxious, it was 20 years overdue AND it got me out of cooking Thanksgiving for family, extended family, and a lot of friends that I like more than family most of the time. I was assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend.
I am still cursing the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up so quickly. It was the only appliance in the whole darn house that worked, thus the assignment. I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wed evening to reheat Thurs am. Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor. Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams latex paint #586, I put the rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living room to rise for 5 hours. After 3 hours, Perry and I decided to go out to eat, returning in about an hour. An hour later the rolls were ready to go in the oven.
It was 8:30 PM. When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans, much to my shock one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty. I called out to Jasper and my worst nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled over to me. He looked like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy and the Michelin Tire man wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he walked. I swear even his cheeks were bloated.
I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of uproarious laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK, however, I needed to give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the night. God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more than my kids did when they were sick. Suffice it to say that by the time we went to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so bloated we had to lift him onto the bed for the night. Naively thinking the dog would be all better by morning was very stupid on my part.
We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to relieve himself. Well, the darn dog was as drunk as a sailor on his first leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt and most of the time when he was walking his front half was going one direction and the other half was either dragging the grass or headed 90 degrees in another direction. He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he would just walk and pee at the same time. When he ran down the small incline in our back yard he couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up running into the fence. His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a loon. I endured another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second call within 12 hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented in his belly and that he was indeed drunk. He assured me that, not unlike most binges we humans go through, it would wear off after about 4 or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto Bismol.
Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving meal of the day. My sister lives outside of Muskogee on a ranch, (10 to 15 minute drive). Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and drunk dog leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between Perry and I, we took off. Now I know you probably don't believe that dogs burp, but believe me when I say that after eating a tray of risen unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS WILL BURP. These burps were pure Old Charter. They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police station. But that's not the worst of it. Now he was beginning to fart and they smelled like baked rolls. God strike me dead if I am not telling the truth! We endured this for the entire trip to Karen's, thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.
Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the day. The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and everyone made trips to the garage to witness my drunken dog, each returning with a tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without running into something. Of course, as the old adage goes, "what goes in must come out" and Jasper was no exception.
Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12 risen, unbaked yeast rolls, you might as well have put a concrete block up my behind, but alas a dog's digestive system is quite different from yours or mine. I discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared to leave Karen's house. Having discovered his "packages" on the garage floor, we loaded him up in the car so we could hose down the floor.
This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from the hose hit the poop on the floor and the poop on the floor withstood the blast from the hose. It was like Portland cement beginning to set up and cure. We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one else was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor. And as if this wasn't degrading enough, the darn dog in his drunken state had walked through the! poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor that had to be brushed too.
Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner at Perry's sister's house. I am happy to report that as of today (Monday) the dog is back to normal both in size and temperament. He has had a bath and is no longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume. I am also happy to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked yeast rolls hidden inside my closet door.
It appears he must have come to his senses after eating 10 of them but decided hiding 2 of them for later would not be a bad idea. Now, I'm doing research on the computer as to:
"How to clean unbaked dough from the Carpet."
And how was your day?
First off, here is a pic of the huntin cabin in the East Texas woods. Home sweet home away from home. Sits on about 80 acres of mostly woods. Everything a man needs sept for running water, electricity and indoor plumbing! HAhaaaaaaaaaa. Its a club house ya never had as a kid. Its got a 16 x16 living space with 4 built in bunks, pot belly stove with a 16 x 8 front porch complete with rocking chair! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....
So anyway, Here is my tail of my one man hunt for that ever so evasive deer that I have YET to aquire after 10 years plus of trying! Well sort of trying. HAhaaaaaaaa. Saw 2 deer in the same day! Wo Hooooooooo.
Saw the First one at 8:30am Satuday as I was putting on a pot of coffee. I was up till 2 am with a friend named Weller the night before. Opps, slept a little late and it was a rainning. I had just gotten up, in just my shorts, I go out on the front porch and light the burner and had just sat down to wait on the perkilator. So there I sit for about 5 minutes. Then I here the rustle of the bushes behind the cabin on the left side. Thats left if your on the porch lookin out. I glance around to see the usual squirrel? Yep a squirrel. Then a few more minutes pass and the rustle is bigger now! So I get up and look behind the cabin from the porch. All I see is the ass end of the tall tailed white tail 20 yards or so back in the trees just easing past the back edge of the cabin, out of sight heading towards the now dry swamp. So I kill the burner, grap the FN .308 and run to the swamp side of the porch. Gun at my cheek, in my undies, I look into the brush from the porch. I look and listened for atleast 10 minutes. I could not hold the 12.5 lbs of asault rifel gun up any longer so as I lowered my aim and droped to one knee the white tail hopped away in a flash. No idea if it was a doe or buck. Its a ONE BUCk COUNTY so ya gotta be sure ya know! It was about 25 yards back of the cabin in the thick stuff we have never cleaned up. SHIT!
Second one. It was 3:30 Saturday afternoon. I had just gotten up from a great nap, radio blastin country music, thats all it pics up while in the country, and I was in full camo just gettin ready to head out to the stands. I decided I needed to piss first so I hop off the left side of the porch, head over to the designated Pissin Tree, and just as I get things in hand a large deer bounds past from the left AGAIN. Heading for the dried swamp AGAIN! No idea what brand it was but it was a good sized deer. It made about 5 or 6 leaps and was gone! What could I do but piss? HAHAaaaaaaaaaa. I was shocked. 2 deer in the same spot 6 hours apart and both times I had no gun in my hands. So I guess I will mount my stand on top of the cabin for next year! HAHhaaaaaaaaaaaa. I hunted the stands till dark with no luck except from the mosquitoes. Normal. HAHaaaaaaaaaaa.
So it was a good trip. Made a shitter chair since the shit house that was temporary 10 years ago had fallen in. I cleaned off the roof of the cabin and also found that there has been little or no rain and the grass I planted 2 months back has not grown one shread. So that sucked. Lots of leaves and dry weather made for no fire outside. Burn ban on. The table we have so fondly used for the past 9 years that was decorated with spent .308 casing driven in the ends for effect, was rotted and falling down. It now resides in the spot where the old wood pile was waiting it turn with some gas and a match! The doc came down on the tractor and decided we needed that pesky stump he always runs over pulled up. He hit it with the blade and it poped right out like a bad tooth! HAHAaaaaa.
The weller is no more. Between me and the Doc we dented it pretty good Friday night. I finished it off saturday night to keep it all to myself, that what was left. HAHAaaaaaaaaaa. Good chili pies and some great breakfast stuff. I got to bed about 10:00 pm Saturday night and slept about 4 good hours but then woke up when the 40 mph winds started to make the trees creak and grown. Heard one tree bust with an explosion type CRACK and land with a rumble. Shook the ground! Don't know how close it was but it was too close for me! Many OLD trees in them woods and they are 70 plus feet tall! I bet one would wiegh in at 5 tons or more. I don't want a tree killing me by myself down there so I got up about 3:00 am and packed it all up. Left out about 4:00am. Got home at 6:30am and went right to bed with Ann and the 3 damn cats. Slept till mid morn and went about a normal Sunday at home. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Just another weekend in paridise........
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits.
No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire. With my next wax strip, I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.
I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek. Yes, it was a long strip. I inhale deeply and brace myself .........RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!.... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...........must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums???
Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair.... the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next! BIG mistake.......remember my foot is still propped up ;on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!
I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???
WRONG!!!!!!! I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. I sit. Now, the only thing worse than h! aving your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and who-ha are glue together to the bottom of the tub!" There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "! Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now.....I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor . Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.
What do I really have to los! e at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!!
It works !!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE .......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.
So I recklessly shave it off.
Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I'm going to try hair color......
YEP. I like dogs that don't lick you to death and the smart ones. But which ever type dog SHIT in the road so I would run over its SHIT is on my SHIT LIST!
I am pulling in the garage after the 30 minute ride from work in bumper to bumper traffic. I pull in and get this WOFTING NASTY DOG SHIT SMELL just coming from everywhere. I look down and its on my boots, my pants legs and when I get off the bike its all up in my fenders and on my tires! SHIT! DOG SHIT that is! SOME BITCH. As much shit as was on me and the bike you would have thought I went off roading on a puppy farm! SHIT! I had to grab the put away for the winter hose and rinse all the SHIT of me and the bike. I was on the DL so atleast all the shit was stuck on plastic fenders and has plenty of clearance to wash away the SHIT. I hate Dog SHIT! Atleast cats cover thier shit up most the time. DAMN! Just call me SHITDRAG from here on out. Hell, it was a shitty ride home from work. Don't this story just beat all the shit out of most stories? Well shit, I gotta go take a big one now after all this talk of shit! AHhaaaaaaaa.
This is not a Dumba$$ Story, but you'll have a good laugh.
Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. We decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.
I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first I thought it was only gas, which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...
I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse someone telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire-cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit.
I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical portions. I began "The Move."
For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that cannot be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that one's ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
I was about halfway into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.
What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.
Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.
At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass.
But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force, and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat, that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall - at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit...
While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles.
Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweatpants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.
And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my Dad to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my Dad came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in his voice. I explained to him (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed his help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, he probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked him, I'm sure he had no idea that he was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And he then started to laugh himself since I was still laughing. He began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised him that I would tell him later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. He left.
The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my Dad got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my Dad. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed, in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.
When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my Dad was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
Well all, Found out that I can't ride and chew gum at the same time. We did our final ride with Mike, "The ride leader from hell" that has been making us , ME, do all those DUMBASS things of great story telling for the past 3 or 4 years. He is moving to Colorado next week. I am very sad about this. BUT, I hope he has me out there for some great rides and often. I hope. Anyway My small dumbass for the day was this. After returning from our ride I stopped off at the house to shed the helmet since it was now in the mid 90's out. While digging for the garage door opener I found a few months old piece of SUPER BUBBLE way down in the bag. COOL! So I poped it in. Now here I am riding along in heavy city traffic, 95* out, doing about 45 mph and for some STUPID reason I blow this big 12 inch diamiter bubble! What the hell was I thinking? DAMN! SHEUUUUUUEWWWWWWWWP, SLPAT! Here I an riding along with this nice PINK face mask that is covering my face from nose to beard! SHIT! I have my FOX riding cloves on and I proceed to start picking this crap off my face. WHAT? Gum sticks to textile gloves? SHIT! Now I have pink shit all over my face, my gloves and now my foam grips! SHIT! O.K. now. Traffic is heavy, do I pull over and do a right fix? HELL NO! I ride on to the dealer where I pull up and have 3 dealer persons looking right at me as I pull up. They start laughin thier asses off. WHAT I asked? Haven't you ever had someone throw thier gum out as you went by? HAHAaaaaaaaaaaa. I was picking pink crap off me and the bike for 30 minutes. DAMN! HAHAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Oh yea, There was a lady in a van as I did this DUMBASS thing to myself. YES SHE SAW ME DO IT! How do I know she saw this. SHE WAS LAUGHIN HER ASS OFF! HAHAaaaaaaa.
Well it happend! Not the way I thought it would but none the less,It happend. I was leaving for a thanksgiving food run last Saturday mornin. I was leaving my house which has a rear entry garage,as I rounded the blind, fence lined corner of the alley way, I met a pickup head on! I was on the inside of the right hand curve doing 10 or 15 mph. The surface there is concrete and sloped away from right to left. I hug the inside due to all the nails and crap in the outside of the alley in this area. The truck was doing about the same speed. I reacted to the right and braked. The floorboard folded and the scraping started. The floorboard support started dragging about the same time the pipes lifted the back wheel off the ground. SWOOSHHHHH. The bike swaped ends and I was laying on my back like a freaking turtle! The bike basically slide for about 5 feet and did a 180 on the floorboard support. The damage. MY EGO is the worst of it. HAHAaaaaaa. I busted the windsheild,right hand floorboard, TRASHED the Vance & Hines Long shots, scuffed the paint on the front and rear right side of the front fender, got the hand grip end, front brake lever, right mirror, bent the rear brake pedel up against the motor, scuffed the front brake resivoir cover, and left boot marks on the right tank cover where the bike left me on my back and went for its own ride. SHIT! At least the truck didn't hit me or the bike. The bike wound up paralell to his front wheel and over about 3 feet. I suspect if I had not fallen over that he would have bumped me head on and really hurt the bike and maybe even me! I got a stiff neck and a knock on the right knee that is now o.k. SOOOOOOO what the hell! OH! Whats the first thing the guy said? Is that why you guy's where leather? EEEWWWEEEE I had to restrain myself there! HAHAaaaaaaa. He was shaken up a little and was just trying to deal with it I guess. I asked him to help me pick her up. He just stood there with that DUMB ASS LOOK that most drivers have. So I basicly snatched her up with my left arm, stomped down the remains of the floor board, stomped the rear brake pedel back in place, climbed on board and fired her up. There was some fuel leaking out so I rode back up to my house and cleaned her up. Dusted my fat ass off and went on the food run for the Allen outreach center. Had a real quik breakfast with the SCRC guy's and off we went. It seems as though they all gave me a little more room on the ride than usual. HAHAaaaaaaaa. Spares anyone? All I really need is a floorboard for the right. I went ahead and got the insurace to do an estimate so I can get the paint fix done right. Later all...
Dumbest thing I think I ever did was when I was around 20 I had a '79 Kawasaki 650 I had decided that I would be a good idea to back it into a puddle and light the tire up. How much more wrong could I have been, it was fall, leaves everywhere, wet feet standing on seal coated asphalt, I was looking for trouble. Basically this is how it went brought the r's up so they were hitting the red and dumped the clutch, this bike threw me off, spun around a couple times and died. I was lucky that my dumb ass didn't get hurt.
In 1988 I stopped at a bar to talk to a friend of mine that was standing in the parking lot. I was riding a Goldwing, with all the toys. As we were talking, two ladies came out of the bar, both looking fine. One ask me to take her for a ride, me being me said only if you are naked. She looked at her friend, and said we will be back. With that she pulled off her tank top with no bra, and shorts, an panties in under 5 seconds. all she had in was a pair of nike's, she say let's go. It was about 4:00 pm. So off we went for about a 10 minute ride, I was watching for cops everywhere. when we came back my friend said I was as white as my shirt. The lady put her clothes back on and they left. What a day!
Driving into Memphis, Tx, after a storm, street was wet, water running across it. Didn't slow down soon enough and before i knew it was traveling 30mph through water that was up to the pegs and getting my boots wet.
At this same time, an 18 wheeler was coming toward me throwing up a bow wake like the Queen Mary, so I did a magic trick and turned into a motel.
Was a diffenate CYS experience. CYS experience is 'Change your shorts".
Last year, I ordered Maxxis White walls for my bike. I thought I would have some fun and smoke the stock tire since I was goning to throw them away.
I was in the garage. I laid on the front brake and reved up the engine. I popped the clutch to light the rear tire up. Intead, the bike went forward.
I ran over my power washer and my kids new Schwinn stingray. My wife heard the comotion and came into garage. There I was with the front tire a foot off of the groung with my kids new bike under the bike. I couldn't get down. I needed her help.
The whole time she was helping me she kept saying, "How stupid are you? What were you thinking?" Quite embarrasing. I won't do that again!
hmm, stupid...hmmm 30 years ago when I first learned to ride I was going solo. Saw a babe pull up beside me a nd wave, well I got a little cocky and puffed out the chest and waved back. Looked back to the right to look at her and she wasn't there. Looked in the mirror and saw she had turned into an apartment complex...hmm daydreamed for a split second looked up and WOW the road ended!!!! 45MPH off into the woods, through a barb-wire fence and headed for a big ass oak tree!! AAARRRRGGGHHHH....... got smart and laid it down and slid about 20-30 feet and just barely bumped the tree. minor injuries...mainly to my pride.
Moral of the story, I still look but always try to keep at least one eye on thee road! :)
Departed Ottawa Canada July 15 heading for New York City. As a Canadian Firefighter I wanted to be at ground zero & pay my respects to all who loss their lives.
Being over 50 & thinking I'm still 30, I decide to make this a one day down and one day back event. The problem being on that date when I arrived in New York City it was 103 F & not stopping to drink enough water throughout the trip caused me to dehydrate. When this occurs you do stupid things & forget most of your common senses. My mistake was leaving the saddle bags open after my last gas stop, during rush-hour traffic. There were maps, shirts, passports flying everywhere.
Lucky for me someone honked and had me look into my mirrors to see a t-shirt hit the windshield of the car behind me.
Thank God no accidents were caused and I managed to find most of the items on the side of the freeway, including my passport....
I have two. One was trying to get up to 100mph. Put the holy fear of God in me and was a speed I was not ready for. Scraped the side of the bike on the side of the freeway and sparks were flying 100 feet in the air.
The other was not tying something down properly. It was a sleeping bag and it was slowily uncoiling and no drivers told me. Eventually it hit my wheel and my bike sucked it in instantly, put me into a full break at about 70mph on Hi 5 going into LA. The bike started to fishtail and eventually went down at a very slow speed. Caused a five car accident behind me. HP stopped all five lanes of traffic. Let me go because the others were at fault for following too close. (California Law) I had a passenger that was fine. Engine guard took all the damage. Took a long time to get that bag out of the wheel.