Päivän vitsi
kyseenalaista mainosta
Suora lainaus Takatalon (Salo) sivulta:
"VTX1300S
Aidosti Amerikan malliin.
Iso custom, jonka V-kakkosen jytinä saa jopa maailmaa enemmänkin nähneen motoristin lämpenemään. Tämä komea kulkija kunnioittaa perinteitä vieläkin kirjaimellisemmin kuin VTX1800C. Se on niin ulkonäöltään kuin ominaisuuksiltaankin tyylipuhdas custom, jossa iso kone, paljon vääntöä, kaksi pakoputkea sekä alas laskeutuvat astinlaudat ja pinnavanteet. Perinteisestä tyylistä huolimatta tekniikaltaan modernia Hondan huippulaatua. Värit: Punainen ja musta."
kaksi pakoputkea..alas laskeutuvat astinlaudat.. hmmm......
"VTX1300S
Aidosti Amerikan malliin.
Iso custom, jonka V-kakkosen jytinä saa jopa maailmaa enemmänkin nähneen motoristin lämpenemään. Tämä komea kulkija kunnioittaa perinteitä vieläkin kirjaimellisemmin kuin VTX1800C. Se on niin ulkonäöltään kuin ominaisuuksiltaankin tyylipuhdas custom, jossa iso kone, paljon vääntöä, kaksi pakoputkea sekä alas laskeutuvat astinlaudat ja pinnavanteet. Perinteisestä tyylistä huolimatta tekniikaltaan modernia Hondan huippulaatua. Värit: Punainen ja musta."
kaksi pakoputkea..alas laskeutuvat astinlaudat.. hmmm......
-
sportti osina
- Viestit: 1
- Liittynyt: 21:39 08.11.2003.
- Paikkakunta: kallio
Jannu oli keväällä ensi keleillä ajelemassa harrikallla motaria pitkin,kevään huumassa ehkä hiven ylinopeutta mittarissa.Peilistä huomaa sinivalon välähtävän.Ajaakko karkuun,Hittolainen tuuma jannu ja ajaa tien sivuun..Poliisi tulee pyörän viereen ja sanoo:sulla on kaks sekunttia aikaa miettiä hyvä selitys miks ajoit ylinopeutta,etkä heti pysähtynny!Harrikka jannu siihen:Pirskatti kun eukko karkas pari viikkoa sitten poliisin matkaan ja säikähin että se on nyt sitä palauttamassa!!! Niin selvisi sakoitta... 
"What does a dog and a Harley Davidson have in common?
They both love to ride in the back of pickups!"
Engineer Of Harley Davidson Motorcycle
An engineer, of the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Corporation,died and went to heaven. At the gates, St. Peter told him, "Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world,
your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want in Heaven". The Engineer thought about it for a minute and then said "I want to hang out with God." St. Peter took him to the Throne Room, and
introduced him to God. He then asked God, "Hey, aren't you the inventor of woman?" God said, "Ah,yes." "Well," said the engineer, "professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your
invention.
1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end protrusion.
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds.
3. Most of the rear ends are too soft and wobble too much.
4. The intake is placed way to close to the exhaust. And finally,
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous."
"Hmmmm, you may have some good points there," replied God, "hold on." God went to his Celestial super computer, typed in a few words and waited for the results. The computer printed out a slip of paper
and God read it. "Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed," God said to Arthur, "but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours."
A horse and a chicken are playing in a meadow. The horse falls into a mud hole and is sinking. He calls to the chicken to go and get the farmer to help pull him out to safety.
The chicken runs to the farm but the farmer can't be found. So he rides the farmer's Harley back to the mud hole and ties some rope around the fender.
He then throws the other end of the rope to his friend, the horse, and rides the bike forward saving him from sinking!
A few days later, the chicken and horse are playing in the meadow again and the chicken falls into the mud hole. The chicken yells to the horse to go and get some help from the farmer.
The horse says, "I think I can stand over the hole!" So he stretches over the width of the hole and says, "Grab for my 'thingy' and pull yourself up."
And the chicken did and pulled himself to safety.
The moral of the story: If you are hung like a horse, you don't need a Harley to pick up a chick.
They both love to ride in the back of pickups!"
Engineer Of Harley Davidson Motorcycle
An engineer, of the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Corporation,died and went to heaven. At the gates, St. Peter told him, "Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world,
your reward is, you can hang out with anyone you want in Heaven". The Engineer thought about it for a minute and then said "I want to hang out with God." St. Peter took him to the Throne Room, and
introduced him to God. He then asked God, "Hey, aren't you the inventor of woman?" God said, "Ah,yes." "Well," said the engineer, "professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your
invention.
1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end protrusion.
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds.
3. Most of the rear ends are too soft and wobble too much.
4. The intake is placed way to close to the exhaust. And finally,
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous."
"Hmmmm, you may have some good points there," replied God, "hold on." God went to his Celestial super computer, typed in a few words and waited for the results. The computer printed out a slip of paper
and God read it. "Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed," God said to Arthur, "but according to these numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours."
A horse and a chicken are playing in a meadow. The horse falls into a mud hole and is sinking. He calls to the chicken to go and get the farmer to help pull him out to safety.
The chicken runs to the farm but the farmer can't be found. So he rides the farmer's Harley back to the mud hole and ties some rope around the fender.
He then throws the other end of the rope to his friend, the horse, and rides the bike forward saving him from sinking!
A few days later, the chicken and horse are playing in the meadow again and the chicken falls into the mud hole. The chicken yells to the horse to go and get some help from the farmer.
The horse says, "I think I can stand over the hole!" So he stretches over the width of the hole and says, "Grab for my 'thingy' and pull yourself up."
And the chicken did and pulled himself to safety.
The moral of the story: If you are hung like a horse, you don't need a Harley to pick up a chick.
Vähän off topic mutta kuitenkin liittyy läheisesti suuren osan "harrastukseen" 
"Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel shamed.
Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery
and all of their hopes and dreams.
If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams
would be shattered.
Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their
dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."
~ Jack Handy
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning,
that's as good as they're going to feel all day. "
~Frank Sinatra
"24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence? I think not."
~ Stephen Wright
"When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin... When we commit no sin,
we go to heaven. Sooooo, let's all get drunk and go to heaven!"
~ Brian O'Rourke
"Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel shamed.
Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery
and all of their hopes and dreams.
If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams
would be shattered.
Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their
dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."
~ Jack Handy
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning,
that's as good as they're going to feel all day. "
~Frank Sinatra
"24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence? I think not."
~ Stephen Wright
"When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep.
When we fall asleep, we commit no sin... When we commit no sin,
we go to heaven. Sooooo, let's all get drunk and go to heaven!"
~ Brian O'Rourke
You live more in 5 minutes on a bike like this going flatout, than some people live in a lifetime.
-Burt Munro
-Burt Munro
naiset, olemmeko todella tällaisia ? 
SIVU AVIOVAIMON PÄIVÄKIRJASTA
Lauantai-ilta - mieheni käytös on outoa. Olimme sopineet
tapaavamme Stokkalla yhteistä kahvikupposta varten. Olin ollut
ostoksilla ystävieni kanssa koko päivän ja ajattelin että ehkä
hän on loukkaantunut, koska olin hieman myöhässä. Hän ei
kuitenkaan sanonut siitä mitään.
Keskustelu ei sujunut, hän oli hiljainen. Ehdotin että
siirtyisimme jonnekin hiljaisempaan paikkaan, jotta voisimme
keskustella. Tähän hän suostuikin mutta pysyi kuitenkin hiljaa.
Kysyin häneltä oliko hänellä murheita- hän vastasi : "Ei tässä
mitään." Kysyin onko minun syytäni, että hän on vaitonainen ja juro.
Hän sanoi, että ei ole mitään hätää eikä minun pitäisi olla huolissani.
Kotimatkalla kerroin hänelle rakastavani häntä, hän hymyili
ja jatkoi ajamista. En voi ymmärtää hänen käytöstään enkä tiedä miksi
hän ei vastannut rakkaudentunnustukseeni.
Kotona tunsin kuin olisin kadottanut mieheni johonkin usvaan,
ikään kuin hän ei enää halunnutkaan löytää minua. Hän vain istui
ja tuijotti televisiota; hän vaikutti todella kaukaiselta ja etäiseltä.
Lopulta päätin mennä nukkumaan, mieheni seurasi minua 10
minuutin kuluttua ja yllättäen vastasi rakkauteeni ja
hyväilyihini, rakastelimme, mutta silti hän tuntui omituisen
poissaolevalta. Päätin etten kestä tätä enää vaan otin asian esille.
Huomasin
hänen kuitenkin nukahtaneen. Itkin itseni huolineni uneen.
En tiedä mitä tehdä. Olen jo varma että miehelläni on suhde.
Elämäni on katastrofi.
SIVU AVIOMIEHEN PÄIVÄKIRJASTA
Lauantai-ilta - HD:stä levis kytkin, mutta sainpahan p*****.
SIVU AVIOVAIMON PÄIVÄKIRJASTA
Lauantai-ilta - mieheni käytös on outoa. Olimme sopineet
tapaavamme Stokkalla yhteistä kahvikupposta varten. Olin ollut
ostoksilla ystävieni kanssa koko päivän ja ajattelin että ehkä
hän on loukkaantunut, koska olin hieman myöhässä. Hän ei
kuitenkaan sanonut siitä mitään.
Keskustelu ei sujunut, hän oli hiljainen. Ehdotin että
siirtyisimme jonnekin hiljaisempaan paikkaan, jotta voisimme
keskustella. Tähän hän suostuikin mutta pysyi kuitenkin hiljaa.
Kysyin häneltä oliko hänellä murheita- hän vastasi : "Ei tässä
mitään." Kysyin onko minun syytäni, että hän on vaitonainen ja juro.
Hän sanoi, että ei ole mitään hätää eikä minun pitäisi olla huolissani.
Kotimatkalla kerroin hänelle rakastavani häntä, hän hymyili
ja jatkoi ajamista. En voi ymmärtää hänen käytöstään enkä tiedä miksi
hän ei vastannut rakkaudentunnustukseeni.
Kotona tunsin kuin olisin kadottanut mieheni johonkin usvaan,
ikään kuin hän ei enää halunnutkaan löytää minua. Hän vain istui
ja tuijotti televisiota; hän vaikutti todella kaukaiselta ja etäiseltä.
Lopulta päätin mennä nukkumaan, mieheni seurasi minua 10
minuutin kuluttua ja yllättäen vastasi rakkauteeni ja
hyväilyihini, rakastelimme, mutta silti hän tuntui omituisen
poissaolevalta. Päätin etten kestä tätä enää vaan otin asian esille.
Huomasin
hänen kuitenkin nukahtaneen. Itkin itseni huolineni uneen.
En tiedä mitä tehdä. Olen jo varma että miehelläni on suhde.
Elämäni on katastrofi.
SIVU AVIOMIEHEN PÄIVÄKIRJASTA
Lauantai-ilta - HD:stä levis kytkin, mutta sainpahan p*****.
Motoristi valitti tallikaverilleen ettei saa vaimolle orgasmia millään vaikka kuin yrittää. Kaveri ehdotti että hän tuntee kaikin puolin julmetun isokokoisen ja hyvin varustellun neekerin joka tulee auttamaan ja huiskuttaa isoa pyyheliinaa alastomana teidän sängyn vieressä koko aktin ajan, niin varmana auttaa - usko pois.
No ei muuta kuin neekeri huiskuttamaan ja mies painoi kuin viimeistä päivää...eikä taaskaan millään orgasmia vaimolle. Seuraavana päivänä uudestaan valittamaan tallille ettei apua löytynyt. Kaveri kummasteli että mikä on ja ehdotti että vaihtakaa neekerin kanssa paikkaa... mene sinä huiskuttamaan pyyhettä. Ja taas toimeen.
Motoristi heilutti pyyhettä niin perkeleesti ja neekeri hoiti hommat ja vaimo sai monta mahtavaa orgasmia peräjälkeen ja oli ihan ekstaasissa... mies koputti neekeriä olkapäälle: "Siinäs saatanan neekeri näit miten kuuluu huiskuttaa ..."
No ei muuta kuin neekeri huiskuttamaan ja mies painoi kuin viimeistä päivää...eikä taaskaan millään orgasmia vaimolle. Seuraavana päivänä uudestaan valittamaan tallille ettei apua löytynyt. Kaveri kummasteli että mikä on ja ehdotti että vaihtakaa neekerin kanssa paikkaa... mene sinä huiskuttamaan pyyhettä. Ja taas toimeen.
Motoristi heilutti pyyhettä niin perkeleesti ja neekeri hoiti hommat ja vaimo sai monta mahtavaa orgasmia peräjälkeen ja oli ihan ekstaasissa... mies koputti neekeriä olkapäälle: "Siinäs saatanan neekeri näit miten kuuluu huiskuttaa ..."
The story tells that 95% of all Harleys ever made are still on the road. The remaining 5% made it home.
Long but funny, it starts off boring.... Leached from AMCN forums:
I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.
Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being "behind the power curve". It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.
Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle.at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.
I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!
Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness, all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.
I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently required when riding.
Little did I suspect.
As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it as it was that close.
I hate to run over animals.and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel of death!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in, well, I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle.my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.
The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.
Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand.I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked.sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger.
That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.
As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.
And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves.
I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.
Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being "behind the power curve". It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.
Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle.at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.
I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!
Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness, all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.
I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently required when riding.
Little did I suspect.
As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it as it was that close.
I hate to run over animals.and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel of death!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in, well, I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle.my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.
The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.
Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand.I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked.sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger.
That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.
As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.
And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves.
The story tells that 95% of all Harleys ever made are still on the road. The remaining 5% made it home.