Wild Motorcycle Tales Here's a great story from edeee2. Got your own story? Send it to me. Two Triumphs and a Fire Back many eons ago before calendars and time were invented, in my Junior year of high school I bought a 1957 Triumph motorcycle. The old gal was extremely dependable. Rode and ran well. Some years later, after graduating school, my girlfriend and I were riding the bike to a flat track event in a nearby town. At the races we were talking with a guy who had another '57 Triumph and a bunch of parts for sale. I got his name and phone number. I thought it over since he told me the bike still ran and was being ridden. He also mentioned he never rode it out of sight of his house. After a few phone calls, I decided to get the bike. I could fix the reliability issues, sell the parts, and maybe the bike. As I lived on the west side of Ohio and he lived on the east side, a few hours of drive time would be involved. He told me to meet him at a bar out on the main highway. Told me that where he lived back on the dirt roads in the land of bootleggers, there were no road signs, so I would not find his house. After about 2 1/2 hrs of driving, I found the bar. My troublesome blond bombshell and I went in and got a beer. Found the guy with no problems. As we drank our beers I heard a bike try to start outside. I heard a loud backfire, and then a carb fart. Very soon another guy came running and hollering back into the bar wanting water. It seems the bike caught fire. We went to the front porch of the bar and saw the bike fully engulfed in flame. I guess the gas line leaked and was fueling the fire. We stepped to the side and looked for a few seconds. I nudged my bombshell of trouble and told her to get over to the car and trailer before the tank blew. I took off thinking she was with me. I got to the car and about a few seconds later she showed up. She had gone back inside and stolen a few beers and chips. We stood by the car and watched and in a very short time the front porch of the bar was on fire. In the blink of an eye the whole front of the bar was burning. The guy I met about the bike pulled up in his truck and told us to follow him to his house to see the bike. We left and drove about 10-12 minutes when we saw the fire trucks coming toward us. We turned onto a gravel road and wound and twisted thru a few back roads to his house. It surprised me. It was a very clean and neat cottage with the historic white picket fence around it. We concluded our deal and we followed him back to the paved road to civilization. As we drove past the bar, nothing was standing. Just a pile of charred debris. A few years later, I ran across this guy again. I asked about the bar. He told me the owner built a new block building for the bar. I mentioned how awful I thought it was for the guy to lose his business. This guy looks at me with a strange sly look on his face. He tells me I am the only one who felt that way. Tells me the bike was a piece of junk. The bar was a turd hole and everyone made money on the fire. Still today, I at times wonder was it an accident? -- edeee2
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