OB_Dirty Pete
Registered
Member Malcolm and I meet up today, ready to go rip the snot out of the local constabulary on what is probably the last perfect riding day of the season.
I mean, we're all psyched up for 250 miles of the rough stuff.
We get one mile and his Busa just quits...like a dynamite stick with a soggy fuse. Not being any mechano-wimp, Malcolm proceeds to strip his fuel system down on the side of the highway...using the factory toy tool kit.
I'm in full black leathers, he's in a thermal suit, we're sweating bullets and covered in gas as the trucks blast by inches away. A guy on a Goldwing stops to see if he can help and just basically stands there and stares silently while the wrenches are flying. I think he enjoyed seeing two of the most deadly bikes on the planet dead in the water.
We're sucking and blowing on gas lines, licking fuel filters, cutting and de-kinking lines, cursing and laughing...instead of carving up Ontario's most beautiful riding roads and leering at babes in lakeside patio bars.
At least Malcolm kept us chuckling while we played shop on the roadway. "If those Harley guys stop to help, just tell'em we're plugging in a new nitrous bottle!!! Admit to nothing!!!"
We'd get his bike going, he'd do a burn out "to test fuel delivery", then the thing would die. FI light goes on and off, fuel gauge goes apeshit. Bubble noises in the gas tank. Fuel pump's sucking wind. Pushed it a couple miles to a dealership and abandoned it until Monday.
Anyway, that was our fabulous twisty-killing, cop-freaking, tail-slidin', 300 kph blastin' afternoon. We might have done 2 miles in all...under power anyway. At least we got some wheelies and burnouts into those 2 miles.
I'll just take this experience as a reminder that good times on bikes are not always about riding.
I mean, we're all psyched up for 250 miles of the rough stuff.
We get one mile and his Busa just quits...like a dynamite stick with a soggy fuse. Not being any mechano-wimp, Malcolm proceeds to strip his fuel system down on the side of the highway...using the factory toy tool kit.
I'm in full black leathers, he's in a thermal suit, we're sweating bullets and covered in gas as the trucks blast by inches away. A guy on a Goldwing stops to see if he can help and just basically stands there and stares silently while the wrenches are flying. I think he enjoyed seeing two of the most deadly bikes on the planet dead in the water.
We're sucking and blowing on gas lines, licking fuel filters, cutting and de-kinking lines, cursing and laughing...instead of carving up Ontario's most beautiful riding roads and leering at babes in lakeside patio bars.
At least Malcolm kept us chuckling while we played shop on the roadway. "If those Harley guys stop to help, just tell'em we're plugging in a new nitrous bottle!!! Admit to nothing!!!"
We'd get his bike going, he'd do a burn out "to test fuel delivery", then the thing would die. FI light goes on and off, fuel gauge goes apeshit. Bubble noises in the gas tank. Fuel pump's sucking wind. Pushed it a couple miles to a dealership and abandoned it until Monday.
Anyway, that was our fabulous twisty-killing, cop-freaking, tail-slidin', 300 kph blastin' afternoon. We might have done 2 miles in all...under power anyway. At least we got some wheelies and burnouts into those 2 miles.
I'll just take this experience as a reminder that good times on bikes are not always about riding.