weird riding as passenger moments?
 

When you are riding your machine alone, YOU are in control, and usually feel the safer for it.

But as a passenger, you are just stuck there for whatever.

Any scary, weird, or funny stories you'd like to share?

#1 Riding w best friend on '71ish Honda 350 circa 1973? A gravel truck ahead on the freeway was pelting our Levi's with its load. All my friend could do is slow down, watching the bouncing gravel land all around us.

#2 Riding behind a roadracer (Kawa 900-1,000 class ) on his beater street 900 Kawa. After going 100+ mph through 50mph freeway sweepers, we arrive at his house to get off the bike and discover HUGE weather checks on the front tire! I was a bit shook up!

Pop was so nervous on a military courier flight from Andrews AFB to Key West, the pilot let him sit in the copilots seat and fly the plane. I am the only driver he actually enjoys riding with in a car, but I have never seen him go to sleep riding in my 61 years on the planet. He has been in one accident in 60 years, t-boned by another driver running a stop sign.

I hate being a passenger, always preaching to the driver about some potential danger or poor operational tactic, which is why I usually end up driving, and showing them how great the mileage can be out of their cars, at least the ones that have instant fuel economy readings. Had the daughters Murano up to 35 MPG going 60-65 down the Interstate.

regards
Mech

Sorry Larry, didn't realize this post was in the motorcycle section. I have never been a passenger on a bike, and the wife will never ride on a bike with me, or at least she has not done so as of this date.

regards
Mech

I've ridden pillion twice, and taken a passenger twice in some 50.000 miles of riding.
I never liked to ride along, and I never liked having a passenger

When preparing my motorbike driving license, the teacher took me for a spin of the "fast" part of the exam.

I stood very straight from the upper body and had my hips follow the bike movement as I thought it would be the least annoying for the driver.
It was very intense, it is some kind of gymkhana.

It was my worst 30 seconds of motorbike ever.

When we finish the set he tells me : "you are a good pillion !"

As a pillion I have a dark side too.

Once, I lend my bike to a good friend of mine who hadn't ride for a while and I was on the back seat.
We got on the highway, entering a 110 km/h area at a mere 80 km/h.

Maybe it is only me but I have a saying : if you want to stay alive, stay in front.

So I reached the throttle from behind and made him accelerate faster than he wanted ...

:rolleyes:

First time I ever got a ride on a 'bike was as a passenger with my cousin. Was a young teen then, and it definitely was not cool to put arms around another guy. His 'bike was a sports bike, so not much to hold on to except the little tiny rack behind the seat. He accelerated hard when I wasn't ready and I practically rolled off the 'bike backwards... I don't recall if my feet caught under his legs or under his arms, but it scared the cr4p out of me!

I've been hooked on motorcycles ever since... :D

What was the matter? Drivers passing tightly on a 2-lane?

Anyway, I've barely travelled on the back seat, only when my girlfriend wanted to practice 2-up a bit (it's usually me who drives, we require a 2-year old license to officially do so and I had it earlier), and she doesn't like my weight there at all. We're about the same weight, I'm a bit taller, I guess I mess with the center of gravity more. She could get used to it after a while, I'm quite sure. Once I gave a lift to a friend who's 1.5 times me, and I could handle the situation.

It is my motto (and an excuse to drive fast)

The particular situation was accelerating line to a 3 line highway. I didn't like the speed differential.

In France, motorbikes are widely driving like maniacs and cars are used to it to the point that they expect you to do stupid things ...

I was 15 at the time, my friend was 16. Ron, stood a puny 4foot 11inches tall, was a 'Harley-Davidson biker' in training. What we used to call a 'wannbe'. Wallet on a chain, black engineer's boots, cut-off sleeve jean vest, and scraggly facial hair completed the 1970's biker look. Being munchkin-like short and the butt of many jokes, he always was trying to prove himself. I found out first hand what a severe case of little man's syndrome looks like through my association with Ron. This was made worse by having no bike, until his 16th birthday....

He stops by my house one Saturday morning, with a new-used custom motorcycle that his mom had bought for him as a present. Not just any motorcycle, but a Honda 450 chopper motorcycle :cool: (think Harley chopper of the day, but in miniature). Hardtail frame, no front brake, just a stock drum rear brake, (popular back then). The loud open straight-pipes let everyone for for blocks know you were coming. It was the quintessential 70's outlaw chopper, except someone had 'washed it on hot' and shrunk it :p

Looking back, it fit my friend pretty well, miniature Ron on a mini-chopper. He was so beaming with pride, I thought he was going to wet himself! i was happy for him, his parents threw him a bone, which didn't happen very often.

Against my better judgement, he convinces me to hop on the back for a quick trip around the block. Says he'll let me ride it.

One block turns into 5 miles miles on a beat up old country road, then he decides to 'open her up, see what she'll do!'

I protest. Not because I'm afraid of speed, but because this little guy has almost no experience on the street and a dangerous personality disorder. The equipment is not performance oriented, being a raked and extended chopper with no front brake or rear shocks, and I'm not wearing a brain bucket to protect my noggin. But the biker in training knows better and rolls on the throttle... 60, 70mph with me telling him to slow down all the while.

He isn't slowing, isn't taking me serious, so I start punching him in the ribs, thinking that will slow him down. But he keeps rolling on the throttle like a man possessed! I decide if I knock the wind out of him, we'd crash for sure, so I instead shut up and hang on, so he can concentrate. I figure I can knock his front teeth out, after we've stopped.

The little two cylinder 450cc bike was impressive, but runs out of power and gear at about 110mph. My kidneys feeling every bump doled out by this patchwork quilt of a road we were flying down. He holds wide open throttle as we approach a curve. I'm wondering if this clown is on a suicide mission and is going to take me with him. Maybe I shouldn't have teased him so often? Then he backs off the throttle and we round the curve... phew!

I smell smoke. I look down, and the engine has puked most of it's oil out of the breather, all over my jeans, the bike, and the rear wheel.

Now the engine starts knocking... "Hey dumbass, sounds like you have a rod knock" were the only words I had for him.

I wound up walking home. For all I know, Ron and his stubby little legs are still pushing that POS :mad: