November15
This morning I walked down the driveway in the misting rain and Kenny said “be careful,” from the front door. As I rode away, I thought to myself that it isn’t something I hear very often from him. 40 miles later, I reflected on his words as I found myself trying to pick up my dropped Triumph.
I haven’t been on a bike hit the deck in 11 years now. Garage wall, yes but the ground, no. Thankfully this was one of those dumb maneuvers that happened at about a 1/2 mile per hour. I was pulling around to the other side of a gas pump island. I was really moving too slowly with the bars turned too tightly. The bike didn’t want to do anything other than tip over. And that’s exactly what it did. It started to tip gently to the right and I put my foot down. It became clear in short order that I would not be able to hold it up. It was at the point of no return. Rather than kill my back, I just let it go. I stood there next to it, turned the key off and in my typical, deadpan delivery I said out loud, “well, that stinks.”
The gas station attendant sauntered over and helped me upright the bike. My face was burning with embarrassment as I thanked him. In the span of the next 5 minutes my brain flooded with a million thoughts. Most of which circled around – “This guy must think I’m an idiot.”
In that moment, you wish you could somehow manage to convey everyone watching that – no, this isn’t your first day riding a motorcycle, that more often than not you pretty much know what you’re doing and of course that it didn’t happen just because you’re a woman. That was the one that stuck with me on the rest of my ride. Did he think I was a dunce or did he think I was a dumb girl? Not that it really matters one way or the other.
After picking the bike up I walked it the remaining 5 feet to complete my aborted turn and filled up. When I took my gloves off, I saw that I had somehow bent my fingernail back pretty far down into the bed. There was a Rorschach test of blood spreading under the nail. The gas station attendant smiled and brought me a nail clipper. How convenient, a full service station!
Obviously nothing happened to me other than me feeling like a complete dick. Let’s get to the important stuff – What happened to my bike?
I bent my rear brake pedal quite a bit. Luckily it bent in such a way that it wasn’t dragging. I also bent my brake lever. I hadn’t noticed right away though, so it’s not so bad. When the bike hit the ground it also put a very small scuff on the engine. Being all black, it’s GLARINGLY obvious to me to see the silver shining through. But if I saw it on someone else’s bike, I wouldn’t look twice. You know how that goes. Everything was fine with me and the bike. It started on the first push of the button so I continued on my ride.
When I got home, I walked in and told Kenny that I’d tipped the bike over. He gave me the funniest “really?” like he thought I was kidding. He, being the gem that he is went into the garage and got some pliers and pulled my brake pedal back into a usable place. Later in the evening he also got me some BBQ grill paint to fill that tiny little engine scuff in. I guess he knew the scuff would eventually make me nuts 
So there you have it. A very unspectacular fall. If they’re gonna happen, that’s the best way.
Let the Mockery Commence!
 Bent Brake Pedal |
 Small Engine Scuff |
 Mostly Un-bent Brake |
Let’s Hear From You!
- Got any embarrassing tip over stories?
So with that I ask you, especially you blokes -
Sometimes you stumble across a blog and just connect with it. Maybe you like the writer’s sense of humor, admire their spirit or appreciate their writing voice. Maybe it’s something as simple as they post terrific pictures. I tend to like the motorcycle blogs that tell a personal story, be it big or small. The motorcycle community has been good to me. I always appreciate it when someone links to fuzzygalore.com, so I want to return the favor or maybe pay it forward.
