The first time I dropped my Rockster was about 8.5 min. after I bought it
The sales person was showing me all the bells and whistles on the bike and moved the clutch lever to setting 1 and left it there, and I had it set to 3 during the test ride. Pulling out of the driveway of the dealership onto an uphill one-way street I turned my head to watch for any crossing traffic, started to release the clutch, which engaged a lot sooner than I expected and RPMs were too low. The bike stalled, almost throwing me out of the saddle, I lost balance and down we went
No scuffs, no damage, I didn’t even turn around to see if anybody saw me, I am sure that half of the people were probably rolling on the floor. Picked it up and rolled away.
Last edited by 1stBeemer on Mon Sep 12, 2005 1:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Dropped my Rockster TWICE in the same day when I first got it. The streets around my house was gravelly and I didn't pay enough attention when I stopped. One on each side to make the scratches on the heads nice and even.
Dropped my Tuono because I was so excited to see a woman that I forgot to put my kickstand down.
Cogito Ergo Vroom - I think therefore I ride.
03 Rockster, 07 Aprilia Tuono R, 07 KTM 990 Adventure
Lemme see... We were about 13 and 14, my buddy and I, out in a 14 foot plywood boat in the Stono inlet. Shark fishin'. And damn if we didn't catch one, too. It was a Sandbar shark about 6 feet long. Well, we horsed this shark, still green, into the boat with us. Man, did that boat ever get small in a hurry! It was O.K. though, 'cause we had a trusty 22 rifle with us. Shot that sucker dead, we did... ...and then the boat started to fill up with water. Holy crap! We shot a hole in the boat! Now that, was stupid. BB in the toe, my ass!
The year was 1980 - I was an Ensign in the US Navy attending Surface Warfare officer's School (SWOS) in Coronado, California. I was in a class of 20 which was taught out in a bungalow on the Naval Amphibious Base. One of my classmates had a Gold Wing - one of the old GS 1000's with no bags, and two of them had Suzuki GS-850E's, the early shaft-drive Suzuki. Up to that time, I had been riding a Suzuki SP400 Enduro but I decided to buy a "big" bike to go on weekend road trips to Northern California with the rest of the guys. I bought a new Suzuki GS750E, which was a big, heavy 16-valve DOHC 4 cylinder air-cooled street bike.
Soon after I had the GS750E, I rode up to the bungalow (in my khaki Navy uniform) and the rest of the guys were already there. I waved hello to all of them, forgot about the side stand, and proceeded to fall right over on my right side. The guys ran over and pulled the bike off my right leg, but not before about a pint of gas had splashed out all over my uniform pants. How embarrassing. I have never actually done that again. Later I dropped my 83 Gold Wing Interstate in my driveway, but that was just the lack of ability to keep it up - had nothing to do with the side stand.
Those incidents were all years ago. I have come close since then, but have never gone down in that embarrassing way again.
I just drove under a low causeway bridge in my ski boat with my son's wake-board pole UP. What a great noise aluminum makes whilest snapping and scraping on a cement bridge. But whenever I park my 1150 at camp, on an up-hill driveway, I'll pull up to the small ply-wood kick stand pad, put out the side stand to kill the motor and LEAVE it in gear so as not to roll. the bike stays in gear till I mount it again. NO PROBLEM MON!!
I had a similar incident once while on a cross-country trip. After a long day of riding, I pulled up to a campground sign at the Grand Canyon. I was so tired I got off the bike to read the sign, walked about ten paces and "crash". It did not even register that the bike had fallen over until I turned to see it on its side. I was wondering where that sound that I heard had come from. Ever have one of those days where you wish you had someone to help you pick up a bike? I was by myself and for a moment considered pitching camp right there where the bike fell. I didn't, of course, and everything was fine the next day when I saw the canyon for the first time. It is hard to convey how beautiful and unforgettable this big, silent hole in the ground is when you see it. Upon reflection though, I often wonder how the bike stood up by itself long enough for me to take ten steps. At the time I was riding a 1983 Honda 750 Shadow.
In 30 years of riding, I've done the sidestand thing a few times. I've never shot myself in the toe though. My dad took the magazine out of my Daisy BB gun because my brother and I kept 'accidentally" shooting stuff that wasn't intended to be shot at. We learned that you could drop a handful of pea gravel down the barrel and it travels a good six feet in a shotgun pattern. All I can say is, I'm glad I had my glasses on.
Does anyone remember those cedar picnic tables that used to be the common table in everyone's back yard? My friend and I learned that they make a really good bicycle ramp if you take the legs off of one end. We also learned that a standard ten speed bicycle wasn't meant to fly so high after a 40mph downhill run. I'm the lucky bastard that got to go first. (and last).
Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.
Damn Jeff...I'm more & more convinced we are twin brothers of different ages from different mothers.
An old Daisy BB gun will shoot a kitchen match quite a ways with pyro when the match hits. Also a dart made of a kitchen match with a needle in the end.
A round picnic table awning stuffed into an old Army pack makes a great drag chute to yank you off your bicycle at 40 MPH at the bottom of the longest hill in Amarillo, TX. Yes, we have a hill.
The very same parachute does not work at all well when jumping off the garage roof.
A Soap Box Derby race car does not handle acceptably when the steering is reversed.
The gay guys next door (not that there's anything wrong with that!) do not appreciate having the dead grass burned out of their back yard. (This was an accident.)
Cats do not appreciate masking tape booties.
Little brothers do not like to be stuffed into a mail sack and hung from a street sign.
Dave
#226
I've spent most of my life on motorcycles, the rest I've just wasted...
A round picnic table awning stuffed into an old Army pack makes a great drag chute to yank you off your bicycle at 40 MPH at the bottom of the longest hill in Amarillo, TX. Yes, we have a hill.
An umbrella will too, but only once.
The very same parachute does not work at all well when jumping off the garage roof.
Ditto for the umbrella, albiet a different one since the original was slightly damaged in the drag chute experiment.
Little brothers do not like to be stuffed into a mail sack and hung from a street sign.
I'm actually the little brother. I've not had the pleasure of being tied in a mail sack, but I have been tied to a pole, blind folded and submitted to a firing squad of blow dart beads. (Although I must admit to being guilty of the crime they accused me of. I "borrowed" some parts from both older broither's bicycles for the advancement of science and I couldn't dive deep enough into the strip pit to retrieve them. (it's impressive how deep those things are!))
Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.
1st ever motorcycle ride (Cushman Eagle) actually ran into the side of a barn - didn't have that turn thingey down.
In my early 20ies: Rode up some steps, across the porch and tried to ride into the house. Handle bars were to wide for the door - I made it into the house, the bike didn't. Yes alcohol was involved.
Alan
Alan
02 Black R1150R
51 BSA D1
55 BSA D3
67 BSA A65L
76 Triumph TR6
78 Triumph T140E
When I was 15 we had an old cat that I accidentally ran over on my bike. He was daid! My Dad said to take the cat to the dump and throw her in. I did, but three days later the cat came walking back home. A couple days after that my brother shot the cat dead. Once again we took her to the dump. About a week later she came walking up the road to the house. The very next day the cat was walking on the roof and fell off into a pot of boiling water where Mama was washing clothes. Once again we took the dead, boiled cat to the dump. Sure enough, 2 weeks later she came strolling back home. This time, my Dad says, "This is enough!" So he took out the axe and cut the cat's head off, and personally took the cat and the head to the dump and threw then in.
About 2 days later that damn cat came walking up the road home, carrying it's head in its mouth!
