Motorcycle Views

Wild Motorcycle Tales

Here's a great story from Voodoo. Got your own story? Send it to me.

My Get-Off Got Me Riding

Back when I was young and stupid -- not too long ago -- I wanted one of those plastic slant bikes. Of course, mother wouldn't have it. Every time I almost had her talked into it, we'd see a wreck, which then shot my dreams to pieces.

When I was 17, I had the chance to crawl up on an R1 -- you see where this is going. I had never even ridden a dirt bike my whole life, let alone a 1000cc machine. A buddy had bought it and didn't know how to ride. A few other friends were showing him. Everyone was taking turns riding and I showed up at the wrong time. A helmet got tossed into my hands and the owner of the bike said, "Go for it."

I thought, "My soon-to-be wife is already pregnant and we're getting married come November and this will be my only chance to ride a bike." So I jumped on it, fired it up, and barely touched the throttle when the rpms went out of control.

At that moment something said GET OFF, but my pride grabbed the clutch and I took off. I probably didn't make it out of third gear. I was just pacing thinking, "This is amazing!"

I went to the end of the street, stopped, and turned around. I had just shifted to second when I thought to put the visor down, which had been up the whole time. I reached up with my left hand to drop it down. With my right hand still on the throttle, I felt the bike jump up like a bull. It stood straight up as my back slammed onto the hot pavement and the peg grabbed my pant leg.

The bike dragged me a few feet while the throttle was stuck open. It fell back on top of me, veering to the left, and started flipping. After the third flip, the bike let go of my pants with a rip and slung me towards a tree.

While in mid flight, I saw the bike still flipping. All I could think was, "Oh shit, that's not my bike." I slammed against the tree with my lower tail bone and back, then blacked out. I woke up to some guy smacking my helmet, telling me to wake up. He had been mowing his yard and saw it all happen. He asked if I needed an ambulance to which I replied "No, it's not my bike." Wrong thing to say, because he didn't call an ambulance, instead the police.

The guys who were riding the bike before, heard it happen and took off running my way. The owner of the bike didn't move.

Once the police showed up, I was taken to a hospital where they treated road rash all up my arms, back, hands, and yes, my ass. I had two cracked ribs, three fractures in my tail bone, and a slipped disk.

My mother was called and showed up at the hospital with my soon-to-be wife. Believe me, the straps they had me in on the back board wouldn't break. I tried. I wasn't sure what to fear more, the police officer, my mother, or my pregnant fiancee.

I also called the owner of the bike pleading that I would pay him every last cent for that bike and I did. $4,000 later he had another bike. I sold one of my two cars to get him the money but I did nonetheless.

For months I stayed laid up on the couch getting the same earful each day, "Bet you don't want a bike now." After four months of hearing that, I had enough.

My wife and mother were sitting with me and as I went to get up, I let out a moan and they snickered and said, "Bet you don't want a bike now."

But, I replied, "Oh yes I do and I'll have one. Just wait and see."

Then came my 1976 Bobber, which is another story all of its own. -- Voodoo

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