Because it's a little colder today, I decided this afternoon to start my bike and let it idle for a bit while I got my gear on. So I flip the right footpeg up, open the choke and kick it over. Nothing. Again. And again. And again. It doesn't want to start. I think about this for a bit, fiddle with everything in every combination - choke on, the choke off, throttle on, throttle off. Nothing seems to make a difference. I scratch my head and kick it over one more time. Suddenly the bike is at a 60 degree angle and I'm holding the right side of the bike off the ground with my right leg and my right arm is holding my upper body and head off the concrete. I can't move my right leg at all. Intense pain is shooting up my ankle and shin. I have no idea what has happened. I can't see my leg under the bike, but it's trapped somehow. Even though I can actually shift the bike a little when I try to, my leg seems to be the pivot point for it and any motion causes agony. My left leg is dangling uselessly on the left-hand (upper) side of the bike because the seat of the bike too close to my bum for me to use my left leg to lever me and the tiny little 250 back into an upright position. Uh oh. I can't get it upright. I try to relax a little to lower the bike onto an angle that allows me to slip out from under it, but no dice. I realise that if this bike were to fall on it's side, where my right foot is, somewhere around the crankcase, must be the first point to hit the ground - ergo, it is right now bearing almost the entire weight of the bike, which I am in turn bearing my my right arm. My leg won't move at all. The bike is getting heavier, my arm is getting tired and my ankle is in more and more pain. I cannot consider the incredible indignity of suffering a motorcycle injury from a stationary bike - and a stationary, tiny lightweight 250 at that. This is looking grim. I have to relax my arm eventually, and that will lead to the crushing of my ankle under the whole weight of the bike. I conclude I have only one real hope of not crushing my ankle. I yell out and hope my housemate is home and can hear me. A few moments later he appears around the corner of the house and says “Did you yell - woah!” and grabs the bike and hauls it upright - and my right ankle goes upright with it, pulling me across the pavement and causing me to gasp with relief for one moment and then yelp with discomfort the next. Neither of us can work out what's going on, but I am stuck to the bike. Then I see the problem. On my last kick the trouser leg of my jeans has come down over the flipped up footpeg. I must have tried to put my right foot down and haven't been able to reach the ground and have toppled over, keeping my leg trapped against the crankcase and under the bike. I curse myself and luck. I hobble around on both hands and one leg until I can reach over and unhook my leg, stand up while my housemate puts the bike back on the kickstand with a sigh of relief and a puzzled look at me. I sit on the bike, tuck my trouser leg into my boot, make a determined shape with my mouth, point my finger threateningly at the speedo (which is where the conscious mind of the bike lives, of course) and the bike kicks over effortlessly, as if to whistle optimistically that all is well if it ended well. I curse the bike. Sneaky little bastard - clearly this one is out to kill me.