Ever forced to push your bike?

[Cormanus]

metalyguitarded's story and coincidence led me to discovering what I suspect may be the only photo I own of my first bike, a second-hand Honda CB175 bought in 1971. Slightly bashfully—look at the awful riding position—here is that photo.



I was still at school when I bought this bike. My parents were strict and I was required to be home early. Occasionally when I was feeling particularly wicked and I couldn't sleep, I'd wait till the folks were out for the count, get up and push the bike up the slight hill (which is behind me in the photo) behind the house and then a bit further up the next little hill to the road. Sweating in my riding gear and puffing and blowing a bit, I'd then roll it down the hill away from the house and jump start when I was pretty sure they wouldn't hear. So far as I know, they never did and, years later, they were quite surprised when I told them about these little adventures.

I couldn't do it now with the CB1100!

Forgive me going on, but the discovery of the photo has me feeling nostalgic.

I replaced the CB175 with a Suzuki 250 (of which the only photo I have is damaged), a two stroke beast. On night I was riding away for the weekend with a few mates. I had a load of gear on board as well as the girlfriend of one of my mates who didn't have the licence status to carry a pillion. We reached the top of a hill and there was a bang. Turned out the Suzuki had decided to spit one plug straight out of the top of the cylinder.

As I recall the story, it was about midnight when this happened and we were some way from our destination with no change of pushing the bike. So we found a piece of rope, tied the Suzuki to the back of my mate's CB350 and towed it to our destination. I recall it not being the quickest trip, but we got there without mishap.

The next morning, with no chance of getting a helicoil, I found a bloke with a shed full of amazing stuff who fashioned a gasket of asbestos rope that he would round the thread of the plug. There was sufficient friction to hold it in place until I could get home and get a helicoil.

 

[Kung Fu Joe_imp]

a middle-aged woman with big hair

Are you from Jersey too?

 

[Guth_imp]

metalyguitarded's story and coincidence led me to discovering what I suspect may be the only photo I own of my first bike, a second-hand Honda CB175 bought in 1971. Slightly bashfully—look at the awful riding position—here is that photo.



I was still at school when I bought this bike. My parents were strict and I was required to be home early. Occasionally when I was feeling particularly wicked and I couldn't sleep, I'd wait till the folks were out for the count, get up and push the bike up the slight hill (which is behind me in the photo) behind the house and then a bit further up the next little hill to the road. Sweating in my riding gear and puffing and blowing a bit, I'd then roll it down the hill away from the house and jump start when I was pretty sure they wouldn't hear. So far as I know, they never did and, years later, they were quite surprised when I told them about these little adventures.

I couldn't do it now with the CB1100!

Forgive me going on, but the discovery of the photo has me feeling nostalgic.

I replaced the CB175 with a Suzuki 250 (of which the only photo I have is damaged), a two stroke beast. On night I was riding away for the weekend with a few mates. I had a load of gear on board as well as the girlfriend of one of my mates who didn't have the licence status to carry a pillion. We reached the top of a hill and there was a bang. Turned out the Suzuki had decided to spit one plug straight out of the top of the cylinder.

As I recall the story, it was about midnight when this happened and we were some way from our destination with no change of pushing the bike. So we found a piece of rope, tied the Suzuki to the back of my mate's CB350 and towed it to our destination. I recall it not being the quickest trip, but we got there without mishap.

The next morning, with no chance of getting a helicoil, I found a bloke with a shed full of amazing stuff who fashioned a gasket of asbestos rope that he would round the thread of the plug. There was sufficient friction to hold it in place until I could get home and get a helicoil.

Forgive you?

I commend you.

Great photo, great stories. Thanks for sharing!

I've never had to push a street bike very far...I did once get my Honda Sl70 dirtbike stuck in mud so deep I could not get it out, had to leave it and get my dad to help

I bought a single speed bike (Cyclecross) this spring too, took a while to get the gearing setup ( 42/20) .

That's interesting as 42/20 is where I've ended up as well. For the time being at least, I could see myself going up to a 22 cog in the rear if I'm being honest with myself.

Here are my so-called exercise partners, past 'n present:

 

[metallyguitarded_imp]

Cormanus, I'm very happy that my story inspired you to share your own and what a great photo! Clearly, the photo captured you just as you were about to drop into a full tuck behind the, uh, instrument cluster. Haha.

 

[ClassicVW_imp]

Well, at 15/16 yrs old I "learned" to ride on a 1964 Sears Allstate scooter. (Vespa copy). This was 1969/70 and the scooter was all beat up even by then. The very large parking lot was two miles from my home and if the fuzz were around I'd push it there and back.
--- This is where I crashed while attempting to set the land speed record for a Sears scooter, and MG's story reminded me of the agony of having the E.R. nurse using what I swear was a bristle brush to scrub large amounts of asphalt bits from my open back wounds. ---

About 4 years ago I bought a used 2004 BMW RT-P police bike that had been completely serviced and was in top shape, no issues at all with the battery. So I take it out on the highway for a short 30 mile test ride to feel things out. Suddenly, just ahead on a curve, a large SUV was going too fast and rolled over and into the divider. I hit the brakes hard and downshifted like a maniac in order to make the exit ramp to my right to avoid the crash as well as the inevitable traffic jam. Well, I was in a gear higher than I thought I was in and stalled it out on the ramp. And a no start due to a low battery. There was a slight downhill ahead of me and I tried to push start it. But I didn't go fast enough and failed. Then I had to push it on an uphill to get to another slight downhill. Did I mention it was about 92 degrees and humid? So I was pulled over trying to catch some breath before I tried it again, and wondering if I was going to have a banger right here on the dirt shoulder. And a local police officer pulls behind me. I'm thinking he will call a tow and I'll be glad to pay to just get home. To my surprise, he says he will push me fast enough to push start it. He did so in that heat, not with his car, but with his own self! We got it started and I made it home.

So, contrary to the cable news networks and Rev. Al, not all U.S. police officers are sadistic homicidal maniacs.

 

[kennyw]

The last time I pushed a bike was my 2001 Kawasaki Vulcan 750. There is a long uphill grade where SR522 merges into I-405 south in Woodinville, WA. Traffic always backs up during the morning rush and I have to merge across 4 lanes of stop n go at the bottom of the hill to reach the carpool lane. Once I hit the carpool lane I jumped on the throttle only to find the engine reving to redline while I was going nowhere. It turns out Kawasaki failed to properly lubricate a batch of rear drive splines at the factory and I owned one of the affected models.

So, I found myself at the bottom of a 0.9 mile long steep hill before I could get to the next exit on the inside lane of the freeway. Luckily, traffic being at a stand still allowed me to push the bike back across 4 lanes of traffic without getting flattened in the process. I didn't want to leave the bike in a bad location so I decided to give it a try pushing up the hill to the park-n-ride at the top of the hill.

Halfway up, an officer pulls in behind me. I figured he would ask if I needed any help and be on his way when I declined. That was not the case. He wanted to escort me from the freeway and was persistent that I leave the bike behind. I reluctantly agreed. He gave me a ride to the next exit and dropped me off at a gas station on the far side of the freeway then went on his way. I proceeded to walk back to the bike and finished pushing it up the hill. I managed to get a ride home to pickup my truck once the bike was safely parked.

 

[the Ferret]

Hey Kenny your story just reminded me of one time I had to push a bike. 1973. My obviously pregnant wife and I had ridden down to my parents house for a visit. About 10 pm and very dark, we were on our way home and I got a flat rear tire. I was pushing it on the sidewalk in the next town n/w of home (maybe 10 or 12 miles from home) headed toward a filling station. You could still get free air at filling stations then, and my again, obviously pregnant wife was walking behind me carrying our helmets. Suddenly an Ohio Highway Patrolman going the other direction, looks at us, lights em up, pulls a U turn and pulls up beside us. I figured he was there to help somehow (protect and serve and all that),at least give my wife a ride to the gas station, but he was just checking, and I kid you not, to see if I stole the bike. He asked for my I.D. which I gave him, and I said to him " do you think I would steal a motorcycle with a flat tire with my pregnant wife?" Which I guess made some sense to him as he handed me back my ID without saying a word, got back into his car and took off, leaving us to continue pushing to the gas station.

 

[flynrider]

Hey Kenny your story just reminded me of one time I had to push a bike. 1973. My obviously pregnant wife and I had ridden down to my parents house for a visit. About 10 pm and very dark, we were on our way home and I got a flat rear tire. I was pushing it on the sidewalk in the next town n/w of home (maybe 10 or 12 miles from home) headed toward a filling station. You could still get free air at filling stations then, and my again, obviously pregnant wife was walking behind me carrying our helmets. Suddenly an Ohio Highway Patrolman going the other direction, looks at us, lights em up, pulls a U turn and pulls up beside us. I figured he was there to help somehow (protect and serve and all that),at least give my wife a ride to the gas station, but he was just checking, and I kid you not, to see if I stole the bike. He asked for my I.D. which I gave him, and I said to him " do you think I would steal a motorcycle with a flat tire with my pregnant wife?" Which I guess made some sense to him as he handed me back my ID without saying a word, got back into his car and took off, leaving us to continue pushing to the gas station.

:rofl:

Thieves are not always members of the higher intelligence brackets. I could easily imagine some doofus with his pregnant wife trying to steal a motorcycle with a flat tire.

Reminds me of that TV show "Bait Car". The teaser on the local station goes something like, "Watch morons steal cars! Coming up next!".

 

[Guth_imp]

Leave it to ferret to go all the way from never having to push a bike to sharing one of the more entertaining "pushed a bike" anecdotes in this thread. :rofl:

 

[Todd-badebiker_imp]

I have had to push 3 bikes. 1984 I didn't really know how far the '83 Nighthawk 650 could go on reserve. 2011 pushed the '06 Shadow Spirit 750 just a bit too far on 225 about 3/4 mile too short. Just 2 weeks ago my wife's '05 Shadow Spirit 750 I just plain forgot to check the gas before going to the station 3 miles away pushing a couple blocks rather than the station 1 mile away. Guess I've been lucky in a way.

 

[flynrider]

Almost got to push my CB750 today. I left my wallet sitting on my desk this morning. Didn't worry about it as I hadn't hit reserve and it's only a 10 mile round trip to work.

While at work, my airplane mechanic calls and I've got to go to the airport to check out some work on my plane. Just as I leave the airport I had to switch to reserve. Plenty of gas stations along the 25 mile route home, but I realized that all I had on me was about 35 cents. Since reserve is just half a gallon, 25 miles is about the best I could hope for. I adopted my best Ferret riding style and hoped for the best. I really didn't want to push that bike in 107 degree heat. I rolled into my driveway and opened up the tank. I'd be surprised if there was a cup of fuel left. Bullet dodged!

 

[the Ferret]

Glad I could help

 

[Stratman_imp]

More times that I care to remember. 73' 750- no garage, 25 year old wiring, ham fisted mechanic(me)=Bad Combination. I was so excited when I bought the Cb1100. Brand New Bike=No Pushing,,, Hoorrayyy.

 

[Toro5xi_imp]

I was forced to push a DR650 last year a 100 yards at most and thought I would keel over. Luckily a nice guy was cutting his grass and gave me some gas.
The really embarrassing thing was I had turned the fuel petcock to reserve instead of on at some point and used up all the gas. It was a new bike to me and I did not look close enough at the markings. I guess I need a fuel gauge at this point.

 

[GoldOxide_imp]

Some very rich, tender and dramatic stories here. Makes me really appreciate the smaller life things.

My one time is not profound at all. My '76 RD400 was notorious for engine flooding. I was out for a spirited ride in the country with air temperature hovering around 5C. I came to a sudden stop at a surprise country stop sign and stalled the engine. Being only kickstart, it decided it was on break. The was no starting of the engine.

The sun was going down. It was getting colder. There were no street lights. Dinner time was coming. Fortunately the bike is lighter than the CB1100 and I was able to push it about half a mile when I found a reason down grade in the road. I recall saying, this must be enough to work. With a strong push, a jump and hop, release the clutch and into gear, the bike bucked alive so hard one hand let go. I almost dropped/dumped the bike, but somehow straightened her out and filled the air with thick two-stroke exhaust for the next five minutes and wayward home.