Join Date: Aug 2012
Location: Side of a mountain in New Hampshire
OK, you asked for it.
I got a stuck bike story that includes three bike wrecks in one night, a bar room brawl, a one eyed gal named Freda, a fat man that had too much belly hanging out of his leather for his own good, the Rhode Island State Police, some smarmy Guido sporting gold chains, platform shoes and a polyester suit and driving a beautiful boattail Riviera, and the taste you have to put up with after swallowing hi-test syphoning gas out of a sportster tank to get a panhead home.
Nope, not enough time for all that so here's just the stuck part.
The dinks in the pickup were right up my tail. I was hammering south of Chepachet, RI at about 2 in the AM on a '55 K model, kind of a flathead Sportie, but gutless. My bud left me in the dust on his panhead and these clowns behind me wanted their money back. I did shoot a good stick once upon a time but then I would get drunkified and run my mouth which made taking other peoples cash harder than it needed to be on them and often subsequently on me.
Anyway there was a long sweeper to the right and I was too far up the RPM band and too distracted by the Ford in my rearview. I could tell that a highside was possible but if I let off the hammer the shmucks in the truck would own Pop so I stayed in it. A little bit after the apex of that sweeper a side road came in and I shot across it diagonally at who knows? 75 maybe.
Turns out there was a ditch running along the highway and a culvert at that intersection. It had a concrete berm running along the side road but dirt and sand and so forth had built up a little bit of a ramp kind of effect and when the Harley hit that thing we, like the prayer says, slipped the surly bonds of earth.
Me and that bike sailed like Evel after taking off from that launching point and came down in that ditch and the bike stopped... dead. No more forward movement of the machine. I don't know what hit first, front or rear, but it buried that thing up to the axles in muck and sod and leaves and it stalled but mostly it stayed upright, right where it landed. Pop however was still subject to Newtons first law and I abided by that law (one of the few I was inclined to obey that particular evening). I remained in motion until an external force, that being gravity brought me to a ignominious stop on the embankment, thankfully not as moist and mucky as the bottom of the ditch, but not as soft either.
The bike was not damaged but neither was it moveable. I couldn't deploy the kicker in the muck and I couldn't budge it from the muck and I was alone.
I lit up a doob and sat down on the guard rail and waited for the next chapter of my life to happen. I didn't have to wait long or smoke that joint alone.
Cross Country Tour.
We can't help it
We just keep moving
It's been that way since long ago
Since the stone age chasing the great herds
We mostly go where we have to go
That was written by James McMurtry