I want to tell you a story, from back in the dawn of time, when I was a young lad with a fast bike.
It was a Saturday morning; it must have been a Saturday because I never had a hangover like that on any other day….except Sundays. It could have been a Sunday I suppose, but let’s stick with Saturday for the purposes of this story. I pulled my face up off the carpet, threw the blanket off and after walking into a few walls, found out that somebody had moved the toilet and saw that somehow I had gained a new kitchen, then I realized I wasn’t at my place. In the corner of the living room, slightly hidden by reanimating bodies, was a pile of brightly colored plastic and it all came back to me, we were at John’s place and we were here to get his bike back on the road after he’d had a little difficulty keeping the tires on the black stuff.
The bike that had been somewhat remodeled was a VF750F, yes the one famous for chocolate camshafts and self destructing cam chain tensioners, but it was very pretty and for the time very fast. The plastics had just come back from being sprayed and were gleaming and ready to go and new forks and casings sourced from our friendly breaker added to the pile. So that was our mission for the day, get it back on the road, and after a lot of procrastination and coffee we did just that! However, that is not what this story is about, it is about what happened next, and that started when the last bolt was tightened up…
John is a straight up kind of guy and so acknowledged the fact that we had been helping him out all day by telling us to help ourselves to the beer in the fridge while he took his bike for a test ride and bought us all a Chinese takeout, “Good man!”
A few beers later we started wondering where he had got to, was he cooking the Chinese himself? Needless to say as there was plenty of beer in the fridge we didn’t worry much, until he finally arrived home covered in blood…except it wasn’t blood it was sweet and sour sauce!
John had made it to the Chinese without a problem, but on the way back he was forced to brake hard for a car that had in turn braked hard for another that had pulled out. Unfortunately there had already been an accident in that very place a few hours before and the road still had oil and crap all over it. The front end of the VF, twitchy at best, folded under and the bike slid under the car. It was a low speed accident; the damage would have been minimal, except the car drove off dragging John’s bike behind it for a good 15 yards! Against all the odds the bike was still ride able and he made it back to his place, understandably very upset but insistent that we would have a Chinese. After showering and changing off he went again on his now less than pristine bike.
Is that Special Fried Rice?
Again he was a long time, and again he made it to the Chinese, this time however he decided to take a different route back to avoid the oil spill and ended up hitting a keep left plastic bollard whilst avoiding another car pulling out on him. The good news is that the accident was on the same side of the bike, the bad news … it wasn’t the last one of the day.
We weren't going anywhere in a hurry
Never one to be a quitter he cleaned up once more, got on his other bike, a GS550, and was not seen again until about 5 hours later when he returned from hospital with a broken leg! He had left his, ‘en route’ for the Chinese and, possibly because by this time he was a bit pissed off, came over the top of a rise slightly too quickly. Just over the rise was an accident, already attended by the police and an ambulance. John had no choice but to lay the bike down, it slid in one direction into a churchyard and John in another, straight under the waiting ambulance. In pain he pulled himself out from under to be greeted by the concerned face of a paramedic...
“Got room in there for another one?” he said.
And the moral of this story is…never go and get a Chinese takeaway when you can drink beer from your fridge and get it delivered!