This should be a short story as the whole "incident" didn't take,oh maybe 15 or 20 minutes overall. I was 16 or 17 years old and had a mid 60's model Bridgestone 175. An oil injected, street legal, two stroke screamer! My cousin had a newer Honda CB 350 and it drove him nuts because my "little 175" was faster.
One day I'm heading home from Rogers, Arkansas. Home was near Gateway back then. That big, nice 4 lane highway was just a 2 lane highway back then. I'm just cruising along when some guy in a '62 or '63 black Chevrolet Impala convertible passes me. No big deal except as he's passing me, he flips me the bird! His girlfriend (I assume) was snuggled up right against him.
When I tried to pass him back, he would just drift over in to the left lane. So I just followed. A couple miles up the road, he slowed down to pull in to a gas station, so as I passed him, I returned his bird. I heard his engine roar, the dirt, gravel and dust billowed up behind his car and he was coming after me.
Even back then, I knew any fender banging between a car and a motorcycle meant I lose. Now back in those days, there was a lot less traffic than there is now. I cranked the throttle open and that black Chevrolet started shrinking in my mirrors. When I got to Garfield, he wasn't even in sight. I made a quick right turn on to Lost Bridge Village Road.
I went up the hill, across the railroad tracks, turned left, made a U-turn and waited for him to go by. In just a few seconds, he went flying past. Never even glanced up the hill to see me sitting there! Then I got to thinking, darn! now he's in front of me. So I sat there a few more minutes before continuing on my way home.
I got back on the highway and headed east hoping that would be the last I saw of him, but it wasn't over. Just east of town back then, on the south side of the highway was a big dirt parking lot the semi trucks would stop there sometimes. There was no trucks but that black Chevy convertible was parked there. The driver had got out and was walking around. Ut-oh!
My first thought was "He's ran out of gas". I saw him pick up a rock and start towards the highway. Cars were coming from the other direction. I didn't have a windshield, a fairing or anything to get behind and I was too close to stop. So I cranked open the throttle again, as I went by he threw the rock and I heard it hit.
He was bigger than me but this was too much! I stopped as quick as I could and I intended to open a can of whoop ass on him! First I had to see what damage there was on my bike. On a frame member, right behind my right leg was a white powder looking spot. I wiped it away and, no damage!
I called him an unprintable name and rode away laughing at his predicament! He should have got gas!
One day I'm heading home from Rogers, Arkansas. Home was near Gateway back then. That big, nice 4 lane highway was just a 2 lane highway back then. I'm just cruising along when some guy in a '62 or '63 black Chevrolet Impala convertible passes me. No big deal except as he's passing me, he flips me the bird! His girlfriend (I assume) was snuggled up right against him.
When I tried to pass him back, he would just drift over in to the left lane. So I just followed. A couple miles up the road, he slowed down to pull in to a gas station, so as I passed him, I returned his bird. I heard his engine roar, the dirt, gravel and dust billowed up behind his car and he was coming after me.
Even back then, I knew any fender banging between a car and a motorcycle meant I lose. Now back in those days, there was a lot less traffic than there is now. I cranked the throttle open and that black Chevrolet started shrinking in my mirrors. When I got to Garfield, he wasn't even in sight. I made a quick right turn on to Lost Bridge Village Road.
I went up the hill, across the railroad tracks, turned left, made a U-turn and waited for him to go by. In just a few seconds, he went flying past. Never even glanced up the hill to see me sitting there! Then I got to thinking, darn! now he's in front of me. So I sat there a few more minutes before continuing on my way home.
I got back on the highway and headed east hoping that would be the last I saw of him, but it wasn't over. Just east of town back then, on the south side of the highway was a big dirt parking lot the semi trucks would stop there sometimes. There was no trucks but that black Chevy convertible was parked there. The driver had got out and was walking around. Ut-oh!
My first thought was "He's ran out of gas". I saw him pick up a rock and start towards the highway. Cars were coming from the other direction. I didn't have a windshield, a fairing or anything to get behind and I was too close to stop. So I cranked open the throttle again, as I went by he threw the rock and I heard it hit.
He was bigger than me but this was too much! I stopped as quick as I could and I intended to open a can of whoop ass on him! First I had to see what damage there was on my bike. On a frame member, right behind my right leg was a white powder looking spot. I wiped it away and, no damage!
I called him an unprintable name and rode away laughing at his predicament! He should have got gas!