Prediction!
- Thread starter tybrad
- Start date
Eywadude
Lunatic Member
noogies
My Favorite Woofers.
Now you've built it up so much that the story can never live up to expectations ... but E-dude, that burger puts it over the top, so here goes:
In my first year out of high school I had a buddy who was something of a gearhead. His specific affliction was motorcycles. He'd had many of them, dating back to before any of us had licenses, but the culmination of his obsession was a Kawasaki H2. This 3-cylinder 2-stroke 750 cc monster was reknowned for its combination of explosive acceleration and sinister road manners and was something of a legend (right up there with the Vincent Black Shadow) even back in the early 80's. It arrived in his parents' carport complete but tired, so the first order of business was to tear it down. I spent many evenings and weekends that summer at Benji's folks' place, first helping to liberate the mighty 750 from its cradle, then stripping braking systems, forks, swing arm and chain assembly. We tore into the powerplant and managed a better-than-cursory overhaul before replacing it in the frame and buttoning up the rest of the systems.
Finally it was road test time, and after Benji had ridden the bike around a bit, we figured (with flawless 19-year-old logic) that it was broken in enough and the true test would be a drag race between the fabled H2 and my own Honda CB 900F. Now, the 900F was a good bike, even a great bike, but it was 100 lbs heavier than the H2 and although a sport bike, it was quite a bit tamer and definitely more predictable than the treacherous Kawasaki.
We rode out to the appointed dragstrip, a long-ish two-lane divided road perfect for our purposes, save for the fact that it was located adjacent a city park. It was late at night though, so we didn't expect that to be a factor. We lined up at a predetermined spot and pointed out the distant park caretaker's shack as the race terminus. With this established, we both gunned our motors, and at a signal from one of a handful of well-wishers who had tagged along, we were off.
The big Honda spun up quickly, going from a growl to a muted scream as it approached redline. As I shifted, I glanced over at the other lane and ... nothing! Where the hell was Benji? However, I figured I'd just run my race and carry on. Then, just as I was about to shift into 4th, I heard this ungodly howl overtaking me. I don't think I have letters on this keyboard to replicate the guttural scream of a big-bore triple two-stroke in full song, but if you've heard one you don't forget.
Benji didn't so much overtake me as shoot past me, as if he'd been propelled by a slingshot or maybe an afterburner had kicked in or something. What happened next I still don't fully understand. The Kawasaki's front wheel appeared to start wobbling and the wobble began to telegraph through the entire bike. Sensing impending disaster, I had slowed right down but Benji kept on, his front wheel thrashing violently and the frame of the bike seeming to undulate in time with it. Finally, as if the H2 had tired of these foolish games, it shrugged Benji off like a bronco bucking a cowboy, pitching him some fifty feet into the weeds that surrounded the park. After ridding itself of its burden, the bike careened drunkenly for several more yards before collapsing at the curb helpless, its throttle cut and its threat neutralized.
I pulled up and got off my bike, and after a brief search located Benji in the weeds. "What the ****, man? I never saw anything like THAT before! What happened?"
"I thought I saw a cat ... or a squirrel or something ..." Then he passed out. He spent the rest of the summer and a good portion of the fall in a body cast.
In the autumn, I was visiting at Benji's folks' place. We were in the basement doing some cleanup, and I noticed a ten-gallon plastic bucket full of oily parts. I asked Benji what they were.
"Oh, those are just leftovers from the Kawasaki."
"Leftovers? Didn't they ... you know ... belong on the bike?"
"Yeah, I guess. But I couldn't remember exactly where they went, and it seemed to run fine without them, so ..."
TPBM rides a bicycle.
In my first year out of high school I had a buddy who was something of a gearhead. His specific affliction was motorcycles. He'd had many of them, dating back to before any of us had licenses, but the culmination of his obsession was a Kawasaki H2. This 3-cylinder 2-stroke 750 cc monster was reknowned for its combination of explosive acceleration and sinister road manners and was something of a legend (right up there with the Vincent Black Shadow) even back in the early 80's. It arrived in his parents' carport complete but tired, so the first order of business was to tear it down. I spent many evenings and weekends that summer at Benji's folks' place, first helping to liberate the mighty 750 from its cradle, then stripping braking systems, forks, swing arm and chain assembly. We tore into the powerplant and managed a better-than-cursory overhaul before replacing it in the frame and buttoning up the rest of the systems.
Finally it was road test time, and after Benji had ridden the bike around a bit, we figured (with flawless 19-year-old logic) that it was broken in enough and the true test would be a drag race between the fabled H2 and my own Honda CB 900F. Now, the 900F was a good bike, even a great bike, but it was 100 lbs heavier than the H2 and although a sport bike, it was quite a bit tamer and definitely more predictable than the treacherous Kawasaki.
We rode out to the appointed dragstrip, a long-ish two-lane divided road perfect for our purposes, save for the fact that it was located adjacent a city park. It was late at night though, so we didn't expect that to be a factor. We lined up at a predetermined spot and pointed out the distant park caretaker's shack as the race terminus. With this established, we both gunned our motors, and at a signal from one of a handful of well-wishers who had tagged along, we were off.
The big Honda spun up quickly, going from a growl to a muted scream as it approached redline. As I shifted, I glanced over at the other lane and ... nothing! Where the hell was Benji? However, I figured I'd just run my race and carry on. Then, just as I was about to shift into 4th, I heard this ungodly howl overtaking me. I don't think I have letters on this keyboard to replicate the guttural scream of a big-bore triple two-stroke in full song, but if you've heard one you don't forget.
Benji didn't so much overtake me as shoot past me, as if he'd been propelled by a slingshot or maybe an afterburner had kicked in or something. What happened next I still don't fully understand. The Kawasaki's front wheel appeared to start wobbling and the wobble began to telegraph through the entire bike. Sensing impending disaster, I had slowed right down but Benji kept on, his front wheel thrashing violently and the frame of the bike seeming to undulate in time with it. Finally, as if the H2 had tired of these foolish games, it shrugged Benji off like a bronco bucking a cowboy, pitching him some fifty feet into the weeds that surrounded the park. After ridding itself of its burden, the bike careened drunkenly for several more yards before collapsing at the curb helpless, its throttle cut and its threat neutralized.
I pulled up and got off my bike, and after a brief search located Benji in the weeds. "What the ****, man? I never saw anything like THAT before! What happened?"
"I thought I saw a cat ... or a squirrel or something ..." Then he passed out. He spent the rest of the summer and a good portion of the fall in a body cast.
In the autumn, I was visiting at Benji's folks' place. We were in the basement doing some cleanup, and I noticed a ten-gallon plastic bucket full of oily parts. I asked Benji what they were.
"Oh, those are just leftovers from the Kawasaki."
"Leftovers? Didn't they ... you know ... belong on the bike?"
"Yeah, I guess. But I couldn't remember exactly where they went, and it seemed to run fine without them, so ..."
TPBM rides a bicycle.
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Eywadude
Lunatic Member
LOL! Great story, man!
You deserve this!...
False, I've never rode a motorcycle.
TPBM finds noogies' story on the last page very funny.
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although True - funny peculiar the **** we do when we're young 
noogies
My Favorite Woofers.
Bicycles or motorcycles? Actually true in both cases. I don't own a motorcycle anymore and haven't ridden in several years. I sometimes wonder if I still have the balls to do it. And I bought and rode a bicycle a couple of years back, for the first time in nearly forty years. I couldn't believe how scary it was -- things that used to be second nature to me when I was a kid seemed incredibly challenging. I never wore a helmet when I was a kid, but let me tell you, there were several incidents that made me afraid for my melon!
So yes, lots of respect.
TPBM is allergic to cats.
So yes, lots of respect.
TPBM is allergic to cats.
Eywadude
Lunatic Member
True - Is it short for I want a dude?
Uhhhhhhhhh, not so much. lol
Yeah.
TPBM had a bagel this morning.
