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I thought I would share these moments from the past with the newer members. Its long. It was posted here 2-3 years ago.
I know this is a sore subject and not something people look forward to doing on a motorcycle, but it happens. It happened to me 6 times in my 24 years of riding. All under the age of 24. I recall each one vividly. I'm wondering if anyone cares to share their incident(s) I'm 41.
1) Night. 1980 GS 750ET left hand downhill sweeper 45-60mph following friend on GS 450. On coming truck turns left in middle of turn. Modulate front brake. Miss bumper by a hair. Gravel on asphalt, go down instantly, tumble numerous times. Bike goes 30 feet down a ravine. I get up uninjured (age 17). I realize my friend has crashed too. His bike unridable-forks bent, front wheel rubbing against engine. Truck driver helps pull my bike out. No key in the ignition. Truck driver says he's going to get a light, never comes back. We forget to get his license-adrenaline. I find my key when car lights pass by. We leave his bike at a strangers house and double up on my bike and ride home.
2) Clover leaf on ramp. Recent rain, but road is dry except for residual on oil line in the middle of on ramp (appears dry). 35mph, banking in to a steady lean angle, back tire goes away (Michelin M45), I slide upright on my butt in 501 Levis. Bike slides infront of me on its right side towards a yellow curb. This is all that's seperating the on ramp from the off ramp.
Cars are waiting for a stop light on the other side of the yellow curb. My bike contacts the curb with both wheels simultaneously. Suspension compresses and launches the 750ET into the air to land on top of the hood of a lady's Ford Escort before landing back on the on ramp in third gear still running with the chain slapping around the sprockets. The kicker is I had taken my crashbars off the night before and failed to put the bolts back in. What an idiot! So when the bike slammed back onto the onramp, the front mounting bolt under the exhaust manifold rips right through the aluminum surrounding it. I get a ticket for failing to remain in control from the State Trooper. The damage to the Escort is $700. I ride the bike home with just the rear engine bolt under the carbs holding the engine to the frame. The engine hits the gas tank each time I shift. I'm 17.
3. Large motorcycle road rally from Seattle to Whidbey Island via a map. At least 200 bikes meet in Northgate Shopping Mall parking lot. Maps are handed out. Random groups of about 6-10 start heading out. Don't ask me why, but I'm riding the same bike and for some reason have failed to install the bolts I took out the night before the last crash. So I have one bolt holding the engine to the frame. I hook up with some roadracers from the local Bellevue Suzuki Dealership who raced at SIR (now Pacific Raceway). One of the guys, John Doyle #444 was the current #1 plate holder (1983). These guys met every Sunday morning at Denny's in Redmond to ride. Anyone was welcome, so I rode with them a few times prior. Their skill was way beyond my scope of talent. They questioned my bikes condition, but didn't stop me from joining them. We head out and proceed to terrorize all the local roadways. Looking back, it was really really bad behavior. Flying by anything that got in our way in a group of 5, three of us with pipes. There was no speed limit this day.
We get lost on Snohomish backroads, rapping through the wooded rural area on unfamiliar roads. We're doing about 85mph in 5th when we find ourselves upon a semi-tight 90 degree turn. I was last in line, John the leader, sweeps through and gets sucked out to the white line in the opposite lane, sparks are flying off the right peg of his wife's Seca 750. The second guy on a highly modified KZ 1000 does the same, sparks flying. The third guy on the brand new Interceptor 750, only months old, gets sucked past the white line onto the gravel shoulder and manages to keep it upright. The guy infront of me, on a 78 OHC CB 750, starts wallowing because this turn was slightly banked entering in, but had three pronounced bumps and on the exit of the turn it completely flattened out. He trys to wrestle it through, but its hopeless, he's going down, he's carrying way too much speed. He's still fighting it as he leaves the road leaning hard right . The bike digs in the soft shoulder and pitches him over the highside into a tree. I hit the three bumps and know immediately I'm not going to make this turn, there's no way. Oddly, I'm not fearing for my life and point my bike straight for the woods.
As I left the road, I leaped off my pegs into the air and seperated from the bike. I remembered feeling two blunt impacts against my thighs before I finally came to rest face down on soft leafy mulch dirt. I wondered if I broke anything. Disoriented, I tryed to stand up. Nothing seemed broken. Where's my bike, I thought. I spun around and noticed it laying there about 25 feet farther in. I destroyed my Emgo quarter fairing I bought 2 weeks previous. I stood there dazed for a few moments when I heard motorcycles approaching. It was the other three guys.
I heard them talking to the guy who crashed infront of me. He was conscious, but hurt badly. Punctured lung, damaged spleen broken leg in two places. He was wearing full leathers. One of them said, I thought there was someone else. One of them wandered around looking while one went to call for an ambulance and the other stood by the injured rider.
One the guys searched around and cleared a few sapling branches out of the way and noticed I was standing there a fair distance in the woods from the road. Are you alright? he said. I think so, I said. He shook his head and smiled in disbelief. The bike had cleared a narrow swath deep into the woods. Mostly small saplings about inch and half thick or smaller. I was wearing a helmet, jeans, hightop tennis shoes and a ski jacket. I rode home with bent triples, severly bent bars and another ticket.
I later heard the guy on the Interceptor crashed head on into van north of Arlington on Highway 9, but managed to leap off his bike before impact, landing in a bush on the side of the road, uninjured. I think the two remaining guys called it day after that and never made it to Whidbey Island.
I know this is a sore subject and not something people look forward to doing on a motorcycle, but it happens. It happened to me 6 times in my 24 years of riding. All under the age of 24. I recall each one vividly. I'm wondering if anyone cares to share their incident(s) I'm 41.
1) Night. 1980 GS 750ET left hand downhill sweeper 45-60mph following friend on GS 450. On coming truck turns left in middle of turn. Modulate front brake. Miss bumper by a hair. Gravel on asphalt, go down instantly, tumble numerous times. Bike goes 30 feet down a ravine. I get up uninjured (age 17). I realize my friend has crashed too. His bike unridable-forks bent, front wheel rubbing against engine. Truck driver helps pull my bike out. No key in the ignition. Truck driver says he's going to get a light, never comes back. We forget to get his license-adrenaline. I find my key when car lights pass by. We leave his bike at a strangers house and double up on my bike and ride home.
2) Clover leaf on ramp. Recent rain, but road is dry except for residual on oil line in the middle of on ramp (appears dry). 35mph, banking in to a steady lean angle, back tire goes away (Michelin M45), I slide upright on my butt in 501 Levis. Bike slides infront of me on its right side towards a yellow curb. This is all that's seperating the on ramp from the off ramp.
Cars are waiting for a stop light on the other side of the yellow curb. My bike contacts the curb with both wheels simultaneously. Suspension compresses and launches the 750ET into the air to land on top of the hood of a lady's Ford Escort before landing back on the on ramp in third gear still running with the chain slapping around the sprockets. The kicker is I had taken my crashbars off the night before and failed to put the bolts back in. What an idiot! So when the bike slammed back onto the onramp, the front mounting bolt under the exhaust manifold rips right through the aluminum surrounding it. I get a ticket for failing to remain in control from the State Trooper. The damage to the Escort is $700. I ride the bike home with just the rear engine bolt under the carbs holding the engine to the frame. The engine hits the gas tank each time I shift. I'm 17.
3. Large motorcycle road rally from Seattle to Whidbey Island via a map. At least 200 bikes meet in Northgate Shopping Mall parking lot. Maps are handed out. Random groups of about 6-10 start heading out. Don't ask me why, but I'm riding the same bike and for some reason have failed to install the bolts I took out the night before the last crash. So I have one bolt holding the engine to the frame. I hook up with some roadracers from the local Bellevue Suzuki Dealership who raced at SIR (now Pacific Raceway). One of the guys, John Doyle #444 was the current #1 plate holder (1983). These guys met every Sunday morning at Denny's in Redmond to ride. Anyone was welcome, so I rode with them a few times prior. Their skill was way beyond my scope of talent. They questioned my bikes condition, but didn't stop me from joining them. We head out and proceed to terrorize all the local roadways. Looking back, it was really really bad behavior. Flying by anything that got in our way in a group of 5, three of us with pipes. There was no speed limit this day.
We get lost on Snohomish backroads, rapping through the wooded rural area on unfamiliar roads. We're doing about 85mph in 5th when we find ourselves upon a semi-tight 90 degree turn. I was last in line, John the leader, sweeps through and gets sucked out to the white line in the opposite lane, sparks are flying off the right peg of his wife's Seca 750. The second guy on a highly modified KZ 1000 does the same, sparks flying. The third guy on the brand new Interceptor 750, only months old, gets sucked past the white line onto the gravel shoulder and manages to keep it upright. The guy infront of me, on a 78 OHC CB 750, starts wallowing because this turn was slightly banked entering in, but had three pronounced bumps and on the exit of the turn it completely flattened out. He trys to wrestle it through, but its hopeless, he's going down, he's carrying way too much speed. He's still fighting it as he leaves the road leaning hard right . The bike digs in the soft shoulder and pitches him over the highside into a tree. I hit the three bumps and know immediately I'm not going to make this turn, there's no way. Oddly, I'm not fearing for my life and point my bike straight for the woods.
As I left the road, I leaped off my pegs into the air and seperated from the bike. I remembered feeling two blunt impacts against my thighs before I finally came to rest face down on soft leafy mulch dirt. I wondered if I broke anything. Disoriented, I tryed to stand up. Nothing seemed broken. Where's my bike, I thought. I spun around and noticed it laying there about 25 feet farther in. I destroyed my Emgo quarter fairing I bought 2 weeks previous. I stood there dazed for a few moments when I heard motorcycles approaching. It was the other three guys.
I heard them talking to the guy who crashed infront of me. He was conscious, but hurt badly. Punctured lung, damaged spleen broken leg in two places. He was wearing full leathers. One of them said, I thought there was someone else. One of them wandered around looking while one went to call for an ambulance and the other stood by the injured rider.
One the guys searched around and cleared a few sapling branches out of the way and noticed I was standing there a fair distance in the woods from the road. Are you alright? he said. I think so, I said. He shook his head and smiled in disbelief. The bike had cleared a narrow swath deep into the woods. Mostly small saplings about inch and half thick or smaller. I was wearing a helmet, jeans, hightop tennis shoes and a ski jacket. I rode home with bent triples, severly bent bars and another ticket.
I later heard the guy on the Interceptor crashed head on into van north of Arlington on Highway 9, but managed to leap off his bike before impact, landing in a bush on the side of the road, uninjured. I think the two remaining guys called it day after that and never made it to Whidbey Island.