Wild Motorcycle Tales - Motorcycle Stories to Remember
By Walter F. Kern
After collecting well over a hundred motorcycle stories from visitors to this site and writing a few myself, I have decided to close this page. But, before I made this decision, I wrote two books to collect 100 of the best stories forever in case this website ever closed down.
50 Wild Motorcycle Tales: An Anthology of Motorcycle Stories Now you can read these tales in book form. I have selected 50 of the best tales and edited them to fit into a book format. The book is available on Amazon in Kindle, paperback and Audible audiobook editions. I am one of the three narrators in the Audible edition. The audiobook is also available on Audible and iTunes.
50 MORE Wild Motorcycle Tales: An Anthology of Motorcycle Stories Now you can read 50 more tales in book form. I have selected 50 more of the best tales and edited them to fit into a book format. I have written 19 of the stories myself, and I have uncovered four tales written by my late wife, Jane, and published them here posthumously. The book is available now on Amazon in Kindle, paperback and Audible and CD audiobook editions.
Here is a sample story from 50 MORE Wild Motorcycle Tales . There are 99 more stories in these two books.
Both Jane and I rode a 1981 Honda CM400T motorcycle as our first bike. Jane then bought a 1989 Honda Shadow 600, and I purchased a 1991 Honda Nighthawk 750. A few months later I had my first incident on the Nighthawk.
As you may know, riding a motorcycle to work can often take twice as long as driving a car. How can that be? Simple. With a bike, sometimes it has a mind of its own. It sees a corner coming up and then automatically activates the turn signal. That's your signal that the bike wants to take you to work using a different, more scenic, and perhaps more challenging route. It happened to me.
I was riding to work along Route 537 east in the Colts Neck, New Jersey, area when the bike suddenly slowed, flipped on the right turn signal, and honked once to get my attention. I complied and awaited a new adventure. I knew that the road I had turned onto was the road to an old abandoned airport. The sun was out, the air was flowing past my helmet, and I was relaxed, enjoying the ride. All of a sudden, I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my neck. I instantly knew that something had stung me. I didn't think much about it, but suddenly I began to feel lightheaded.
The bee sting reacted quickly, and I was forced to stop on the narrow gravel road, turn around, and head back to Route 537 thinking all the time, "Where do I go?" All I could think of was the Colts Neck Rescue Squad that I knew to be nearby.
I rode the bike straight to the Rescue Squad building hoping I wouldn't pass out or get too dizzy to balance the bike. I got to the building, got off the bike, and ran to the first door I saw. It was locked. It didn't occur to me that there wouldn't be anyone there. I tried another door, and it opened. A clanging bell went off as I entered the building. I was an intruder.
Almost immediately I heard a disembodied voice call out, "Who are you? What are you doing here? What's your name?" I answered as best I could in my steadily increasing dizziness and told them what happened. The voice quickly answered, "I'll dispatch an ambulance. Stay where you are. Sit down so that you won't hurt yourself."
I told the voice that I was on a motorcycle and asked what I should do with it. I was told that someone would move it into the building when the ambulance came. I could come back later and get the bike.
Within a few minutes, the rescue squad arrived, stabilized me, and transported me to Freehold Area Hospital. I had never been a patient who had been transported to the hospital in an ambulance. The siren was going. I was still quite alert.
When we arrived at the Emergency entrance, I was taken in and expedited through to a treatment area—no waiting involved. A nurse called Jane and informed her. She came right over. I was administered a shot of adrenaline (epinephrine), and that's all it took to get me released.
I called into work and told my supervisor the situation. I stayed home the rest of the day. Jane drove me back to the Colts Neck Rescue building before sunset, where I got my bike and rode home with no problem.
I was required by the doctor to get one of those rescue pens and always carry it with me. (I didn't think I needed it, but I kept up an annual renewal for more than ten years without ever using it.)
After I had got the bike home and it was just the bike and me in the garage, I proceeded to chew the bike out for giving me such terrible advice on my trip to work. The bike never again suggested that I make that turn on any trip I took to work. I traded it in on a Honda PC800 in a few years. The PC800 always let me decide what turns I wanted to make on my trips.
—Walter F. Kern