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Discussion in 'Multimedia' at netrider.net.au started by mattb, May 9, 2013.
aaaaand that's the reason I will never have a pillion passenger..
hope he gets a new girlfriend who knows how to hold on
Ouch!!! I wouldn't want to have a pillion if I didn't have a sissy bar, but then there's only a few people I could handle having on a bike anyway, I prefer solo.
Lol Jesus! Learn to hold on next time... Guess she'll smell like burnt arse for a while.
Reminds me of the time I was bump starting (or trying to) an old TS50 down a long hill. The bike (and I use the term loosely) had no seat, rear mudguard or front brake cable which didn't seem important initially. However, once I'd reached a good pace whilst standing on the pegs and decided it was time to dump the clutch I thought I'd make a proper job of it and dump my weight onto the frame rails at the same time. Being young, stupid, resilient and playing to the gallery I did so by hopping into the air, splaying my legs and landing supported by my then substantial buttock and thigh muscles. So far all good and it raised a laugh from the audience.
Unfortunately, subjected to my considerable weight dropping from a height of a couple of feet, the ancient and knackered shocks breathed their last, burped out their entire contents and allowed the feeble springs to collapse completely. Now, when a TS50's rear suspension is at full compression, the top of the tyre protrudes above the frame rails by an inch or two, normally accommodated by the mudguard and a hump in the seat pan. Oh dear.......
It still wouldn't have been so bad had the bloody thing not chosen that particular moment to fire. Not only did it fire but, thanks to a decade or so's use of oil more suited to lawnmowers, it came to life with the throttle slide gummed wide open by two stroke goo. It is remarkable how fraught things can get when you are aboard even a small, slow motorcycle with your feet waving miles from the pegs and rear brake lever, no front brake and an ancient knobbly with edges like a razor chewing enthusiastically at the crutch of your jeans.
By the time I stopped it had made it through a couple of layers of denim and a pair of Marks & Sparks finest and had rendered the aft skin of my scrotum the sort of highly polished pink more usually encountered on the snooker table.
The TS went straight back into the ditch where we'd found it even before my audience had picked themselves up off the ground.
bet he wishes he had an ugly fender on there now
Looks like the backpack took most of the punishment from the tyre, still, OUCH.