I was on US-1 south of Ft. Lauderdale today & caught up to two men & a woman all on cruisers, @ a light. I was to their right & slightly ahead of them. Two men on metric big inch cruisers w/unbaffled pipes & the female on a Sportster. When the light turned, they left quickly. The guy wearing the smallest beanie 'novelty' helmet had those twin pipes that have a big-radius downward arc. He turned-up the throttle & gave me a big flatulent, loud dose of v-twin noise, as he passed the guy who left in front of him, and as he passed me. I let all three of them get about 200 ft down the road ahead. The Sportster gal was bringing-up the rear. I was in the lane to their right, and traffic had cleared to allow me an empty lane in-front of me. What would you do? Why, I allowed the VBoost to "do the talking" & shot-by the three like they were on the rebound of a bungee cord stretching from the intersection they just left. I rolled-off the throttle after I held it in "The VBoost (TM) Mode," and by that time I was about a half-block ahead of them.
Suddenly in my rear-view mirror, I saw a cloud of dust and a flash of tumbling chrome, leather tassels, and black paint. I continued on my way, and pulled-into an ice-cream shop for something to cool-down. Awhile later, two of the same riders showed-up, and one guy was packed "bitch" on the other metric cruiser. They slowly negotiated the curb/driveway turn-in and parked in a row, backing into a couple of spots with much throttle tweaking and unnecessary noise.
They dismounted and made their way to the window to order. After they got their dishes or cones, they came-over to sit-down next to my table. My bike was pretty-close, and since I had my helmet on the table, it was pretty-easy to determine to-whom the bike belonged. They and I were the only bikers here.
The guy who had been riding "bitch" had a leather vest, and I couldn't help but notice he was showing some fresh road rash, he looked the worse for wear. I caught him eyeing my bike and then me, and he kept going back and forth, first the bike, then me, and back.
Finally, he asked, "dude, what kind of bike is that?"
I said, "it's a twenty-year-old Yamaha VMax, 1200 cc, DOHC, triple disc brakes and 145 HP at the crank. They stopped making them about five years ago after a twenty-two year production run, and they probably made fewer changes during that time than that gal's Sportster saw from 1957 to 1979."
He slowly nodded, and looked at the bike once-again, and then back at me. I couldn't t help but notice the fresh abrasions were oozing blood and plasma, and were starting to clot.
His companions had also been checking-out my bike. If they were looking for a trailer queen they should ignore my bike, it's closer to the rat-class. Well not really, but it is not a spotless representation of the breed!
I eyed the fresh trauma, and said, "say, I hope you don't mind, but what happened to you? You really should be taking-care of those scrapes instead of sitting here eating ice cream."
The chick on the Sportster blurted-out, "we were all riding today and Spike there had an accident back-down the road."
"Did someone cut you off?" I asked.
"Nah," he said, "some guy on a bike like yours went-by me so fast, I thought my bike had stopped, so I got-off to see what had happened."
True story. :rofl_200::rofl_200::rofl_200::clapping::rofl_200::rofl_200::rofl_200:
unk:...............Tom.
