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From '79 to '89, I rode a '73 Z1. I was well aware of the bike's handling deficiencies - this bike was literally a widow maker - I bought it from my cousin's best friend's widow. And it's high speed wobble had caused me to drop it on the Long Island Expressway at about 70 mph. But when you're 22 you feel invincible.
I don't remember exactly what the car did to offend me (it probably cut me off), but I was offended. I gave a nice firm kick to it's right rear fender with my big clunky Frye boot before opening the throttle through a couple of gears.
My experience had been that when I redlined that bike through a couple of the lower gears, whatever was behind me was in the past, never to be seen or heard from again. I continued down the same boulevard without giving the incident a second thought.
Did you ever get the feeling you were being followed? As I slowed for a red light, I had that feeling. I stopped for the light, but a car shot by my left and screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection.
When I had kicked that car, I had no idea who was in it. For all I knew, the driver was alone. Now I knew there were at least three other people. How did I know that? I simply counted the number of baseball bats being held high out the car windows as it skidded by me into the intersection.
Sharp as a whistle, I thought, "Mmm...teenage boys...not good." I didn't panic for two reasons: my trusty 903 was idling between my legs, and there were still a few feet between them and me. As I was wearing a leather jacket and a full face helmet, I briefly considered continuing straight through them, but wisely decided otherwise. I calmly made a u-turn thinking, "You caught up to me once, you won't do it twice."
I let the big four do it's thing and never saw them again. Moral of the story: Think before you kick. Or count before you kick? Better yet, just don't kick.
A month later I was at a party. Someone said, "Have you met Joe yet? He's got a 900 KAW also, but he doesn't ride it any more." Joe was sitting on a couch and didn't get up when we were introduced. One of his legs ended at the knee. Joe and his KZ had tangled with a van (Joe lost).
1982 GS1100e
I don't remember exactly what the car did to offend me (it probably cut me off), but I was offended. I gave a nice firm kick to it's right rear fender with my big clunky Frye boot before opening the throttle through a couple of gears.
My experience had been that when I redlined that bike through a couple of the lower gears, whatever was behind me was in the past, never to be seen or heard from again. I continued down the same boulevard without giving the incident a second thought.
Did you ever get the feeling you were being followed? As I slowed for a red light, I had that feeling. I stopped for the light, but a car shot by my left and screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection.
When I had kicked that car, I had no idea who was in it. For all I knew, the driver was alone. Now I knew there were at least three other people. How did I know that? I simply counted the number of baseball bats being held high out the car windows as it skidded by me into the intersection.
Sharp as a whistle, I thought, "Mmm...teenage boys...not good." I didn't panic for two reasons: my trusty 903 was idling between my legs, and there were still a few feet between them and me. As I was wearing a leather jacket and a full face helmet, I briefly considered continuing straight through them, but wisely decided otherwise. I calmly made a u-turn thinking, "You caught up to me once, you won't do it twice."
I let the big four do it's thing and never saw them again. Moral of the story: Think before you kick. Or count before you kick? Better yet, just don't kick.
A month later I was at a party. Someone said, "Have you met Joe yet? He's got a 900 KAW also, but he doesn't ride it any more." Joe was sitting on a couch and didn't get up when we were introduced. One of his legs ended at the knee. Joe and his KZ had tangled with a van (Joe lost).
1982 GS1100e
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