The General Motorbikers Discussion Thread

Some of us have this stuff called "snow," you may have heard of it. It tends to cover the ground over a great deal of the US this time of year and makes riding two-wheel vehicles somewhat treacherous.
You mean that white slippery stuff? You mean that's real? I thought that was just an invention of movies and video games... :p

Hey we get that stuff where I live as well but that didn't stop me lol:

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Of course there is a limit to how much snow I'd ride in. Shortly after this photo was taken we got slammed. :/
 
Your first ride of the year? I never stopped riding, haha... and no I don't live in southern California either. ;p

Well good for you. Some people here drive all year round too.
I don't have the need to drive in freezing or very cold temperatures. I wait for early spring, like now, when it gets a bit warmer. ;)

Where do you live anyway Igor?
 
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I also am starting to actually like my Nighthawk 750, which means I need to sell it ASAP.
Lol, I'm in a similar yet opposite situation... I'm selling a bike that I like (could kinda use the money) and now that I have an offer I find myself quietly wishing it falls through for the potential buyer so I could hang onto it. ;)

If things do work out for the buyer and he obtains financing I'm not gonna blow him off but if it doesn't I'll just stop trying to sell it before I do something I regret.
 
\o/ it even matches my car!
Now I must harass people to come check it out with me :D
 
I believe there's a Rocco around you.... :p

After you buy it, go spend the rest of that money on training and gear. :p
 
Yes that is why I didn't want a 1000$ one, my bank balance is currently 1100$. :lol:
 
I believe there's a Rocco around you.... :p

I dunno who this "Rocco" person is, but I hope he has a truck to haul that scooter, cuz I sure don't.:p

Anyways, here's a compilation of Motorcycle close calls from some guy that rides through England.
 
I dunno who this "Rocco" person is, but I hope he has a truck to haul that scooter, cuz I sure don't.:p
[/video]
If the fuel tank is empty I can simply be retarded and put the top down on my car and try to shove it in the back seat :lol:
Or in mom's outback crossover thing, We fit the normal very tall man bike from the condo in there so it could probably fit a scooter.
 
Scooter power!!!
 
I dunno who this "Rocco" person is, but I hope he has a truck to haul that scooter, cuz I sure don't.:p

Whoops, sorry. But see below.


If the fuel tank is empty I can simply be retarded and put the top down on my car and try to shove it in the back seat :lol:
Or in mom's outback crossover thing, We fit the normal very tall man bike from the condo in there so it could probably fit a scooter.

Many of those can be partially disassembled for such transport, given their intended audience. You should be able to fit it in the Outback or in the back of a Saab, albeit canted over and with the hatch up.
 
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Now just the matter of obtaining the outback. Mother has told me many threats regarding motorbikes so I doubt she will want me sticking one in her car.
 
Now just the matter of obtaining the outback. Mother has told me many threats regarding motorbikes so I doubt she will want me sticking one in her car.

Rossco has a Saab 9000. It will fit. :D

He might even let you pay him with your favored currency, boobs. :D :evil:

Just FYI, those things get about 125-150 mpg. The bad news is that they only take 3 quarts of fuel and you can only use 2.6 of those quarts before you get to reserve. So you'll probably get about 75 miles or so before you should hit a gas station. And you will have to feed it two stroke oil like a weedwhacker.

Edit: And some dude in Chicago riding one:
(Intentional humor)
 
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http://www.reddit.com/r/motorcycles/comments/g5sgn/capturing_the_essence_of_riding/

Found this on my hard drive tonight. Been on there since ~2004 or so. Whoever wrote it has managed to capture my feelings almost exactly. Fuck I miss riding.

There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind's big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don't even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that's just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.

Despite this, it's hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever. The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and weight as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition. But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a summer is worth any price.

A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time, entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.

On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard. Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed. At 30 miles per hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree- smells and flower-smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony.

Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it. A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me: a minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb, but now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.

Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy. I still think of myself as a motorcycle amateur, but by now I've had a handful of bikes over half a dozen years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn't trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Learning to ride one of the best things I've done.

Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.
 
Just FYI, those things get about 125-150 mpg. The bad news is that they only take 3 quarts of fuel and you can only use 2.6 of those quarts before you get to reserve. So you'll probably get about 75 miles or so before you should hit a gas station. And you will have to feed it two stroke oil like a weedwhacker.

Edit: And some dude in Chicago riding one:
[/video](Intentional humor)

There is a cheapo gas station close enough to my house I could probably walk it there assuming it is not 90 out without making myself sick.

How hard would that kick start be to do when you are a wimpy little girl like me?
 
Well, it's a 50cc, so unless something's seriously wrong kickstarting it should be easy-peasy.
 
Well, it's a 50cc, so unless something's seriously wrong kickstarting it should be easy-peasy.

Yup, even I can kick-start a motorcycle, and if you look up the definition of "pathetic" in the dictionary you'll find a little picture of me. ;)


In motorcycle related news the guy who had the Honda CG125 has sold it, about a week before the student funding system gave me a grand. Gutted. :(

The new owner tried to teach a girl how to ride on it, and rather than "gently release the clutch and add a little throttle" as instructed she revved up and then let of of the clutch.
Front wheel in the air and uncontrollably accelerated into a fence. :wall: This is why we have dedicated learning facilities people!!!
 
She obviously should have bought something crappy and slow like I am doing.
 
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