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The following is a slightly edited version of a post I made to rec.motorcycles on April 1. Names have been changed to shield the guilty. With the able assistance of accomplices, we had a number of people convinced that this adventure had taken place. There goes my credibility for a few years. :-} -Jeff- ------------------ Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Yes, I had a mishap, but I've been released from the hospital and I'm now at home for a few weeks. Too bad I can't say the same for my motorcycle. Writing is a little awkward with some of the bandages, so please excuse any errors. I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I finally got the 750 put back together. A friend was over a couple of nights ago and helped me wrestle the engine back into the frame. Another late night in the garage had the pipes and carburetors back on. The next morning, I hooked up the fuel and fired it up. It took a few minutes for the engine to catch, but it eventually started firing. First on one, two, three, and finally all four cylinders. The garage and driveway were filled with blue smoke as the assembly lubrication burned off. After about an hour of gentle riding around town, I decided to take her out in the country for some high speed break-in. There's a nice little two-lane here that winds around Horsetooth Reservoir above town. After warming up on several miles of twisties, I turned South at Masonville. There are some good straight stretches here so I decided to open it up for a long burst. Not long after the 85mph speedometer buried the needle, I begin to detect that something was not right. Within a matter of seconds, a dull ticking grew to a loud clacking and the entire motorcycle begin to shudder. I just started to shut down the throttle when one of the rods snapped and proceeded to ventilate the crankcases. The engine suddenly stopped turning and locked the rear wheel; which was now thoroughly coated with oil. The back end came around on me just before I regained enough composure to pull the clutch in. Being halfway sideways, the bars violently wrenched my shoulders and I was almost tossed off as the bike straightened out. By this time, I would estimate that I was still doing at least 80 miles per hour. Having focused on getting the bike back under control, I had failed to notice the sharp corner coming up. When I tried the brakes, I quickly learned that the engine had hurled oil over all three disks. What I wouldn't have given for good old drum brakes right about then! When it became obvious that there was no way I was going to make the corner with no brakes and oil covered tires, I stood the bike up and tried to pick a path with the minimum number of hazards. I think that I got some air as I left the roadway and dropped down the slight bank into a field. I narrowly missed a fence post and punched through a barbed wire fence. If you've ridden along the county road South of Masonville, you've probably seen the large llama ranch to the East. Well, the field that I had rocketed into happened to be occupied by a herd of very surprised llamas. They scattered as I approached, but I still managed to clip the hindquarters of a large brown and white male, sending waves of pain through my left hand and forearm. Having cleared the shaggy creatures, I found myself headed for a ditch with a berm on the side that I was approaching. I had the choice of hitting the ditch square, or trying to lay the bike down. I realized that with my current rate of speed, even sliding, I would still hit the ditch at high speed, so I opted to square up as best I could, stand up on the pegs, and prepare for the impact. It's really amazing how fast the brain processes information in the adrenalin induced time expansion. The suspension bottomed with a loud Ker-THUNK at both ends as I hit the embankment. I pulled back hard on the bars as I crested the mound to prevent the back end from kicking up into the air. Ideally I would have used a burst of throttle at this point to maintain the proper attitude. For a while, I thought that I was going to clear the entire ditch, but when I landed, the frame smacked into the soft dirt lining the opposite lip of the ditch. I could hear the pipes crumple and grind beneath me. The impact tore my hands from the bars and the chin of my helmet smacked into the tank, scattering stars across the inside of my faceshield. I was actually quite lucky that my hands were not on the bars at this point. You see, as irrigation ditches in Colorado often have, this one was lined with large cottonwood trees. Through some kind of divine intervention, my trajectory took me squarely between two of them. This would have been OK if the trees were six inches further apart. Each end of the handlebars sent up a shower of coarse, dry bark as the steel handlebars were twisted back. I managed to wrestle control of the mangled handlebars just as I looked up to see an electric fence approaching. By this time, my speed had been slowed considerably. I was able to bring the back end around and slide to a stop within inches of the fence. I sat there for a few moments to take inventory of all major limbs. I was astounded to discover that other than some sore muscles, I was pretty much unscathed. Then I noticed the strong smell of gasoline. I stepped of the bike and put it on the sidestand. The source of the gasoline was a deep gouge in the leading edge of the tank, probably from the barbed wire fence. Hearing an approaching vehicle, I turned to see the llama rancher blazing across the field on a 4-wheeler. The last thing I remember was starting to walk toward him, loosening my helmet, and trying to think up an appropriate opening line like, "I meant to do that! He-He". I'm told that the fireball created when the sidestand sunk in the soft dirt and the bike tipped into the electric fence was quite spectacular. I was very fortunate that the rancher was able to douse my flaming clothing in short order. Unfortunately, the only thing he had to douse the flames with was a couple gallons of insecticide. Nevertheless, the doctors tell me that my chances of leading a normal life are pretty good. The bandages should be off in time for our dirt riding trip to Canyonlands, but I would imagine I'll have to stay out of the sun as much as possible. So here it is, the first of April, spring is here in full force, and I'm stuck inside until some of these lesions either explode or fall off. Let this be a lesson, don't scrimp on repairs, or you'll pay, painfully. :-/ -Jeff Deeney- jld@hpfcla.fc.hp.com DoD#0498
(From the "Rest" of RHF)
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