Pulled up to the garage in her car... I insisted she move the bike out of the way, so I could pull the car in. She's sat and rode on it before so I had every confidence in her. Next thing, i hear a little scream and a loud snap. I rush out to find her underneath my ZX2R. I couldn't care less about the bike at the time... after using my superhuman strength to lift the 10000000 tonne bike off her and made sure she was ok, I had then realised what had just happened. Fairing and body received minor scratches... nothing to cry about. But when I went to start the bike, backfire. My heart sinks. I feel my bike has lost its trust on me to look after it and refuses to start. I try again. And again. And again. I refused to give up, I ran along side her and hoped a clutch start would win her back. Rejection. I send my ex-mrs inside the house with but a glimmer of hope. I begin to talk to the hurt soul, I begin to plead for her to start... I begged. I worked on her for the next hour or so making sure everything inside was okay. As i hear the battery starting to die out. "One last time" Say I. Choke. Throttle. Ignition... Backfire, Backfire, Backfire... Engine, Backfire, Engine... "Come on **** YA!" Engine begins to rev just under the 2 mark at full throttle. I feared letting go of the throttle. I stuck with her 15 maybe 20 seconds.. And then the most beautiful sound that I never thought I would never hear again. THE MIGHTY ROAR OF THE 250CC ZX2R AMPLIFIED BUT THE EMPTINESS OF THE GARAGE. ****ing Yay. She trusts me again. The overwhelming guilt of my Ex-Mrs should make for a great christmas present. And I feel somewhat a little more experienced from the experience.