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Old 12-10-2012, 05:44 PM   #1
Twisted Adventures OP
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Joined: Oct 2012
Location: Valley of the Blazing Hot Death, AZ
Oddometer: 13
Arizona. Mt. Lemmon. My 1st but not last RR

There are, unfortunately, no pictures. They were planned, but things didn't quite work out that way. I think the story itself will be entertaining enough. Enjoy.

“What Happened to Your Leg?!”
Based on a true story

Upon witnessing me walking on crutches or riding in a wheelchair, with my lower right leg encased in a giant 20lb beehive of a cast, my friends, as well as many strangers ask, “Oh my god! What happened to your leg?!”
My sister’s advice is, if there are women present; make your story as Nobel and heroic as possible. Apparently, chicks love that stuff. So, with that advice in mind, here is the story of what happened to my leg.

It was a cool sunny December first, and I was racing up Mount Lemon on my motorcycle. A clear Saturday afternoon, the rush of clean crisp mountain air, the smell of pines, the roar of the engine, my tires spitting rock and dirt out behind me. A great day for a ride you might think, but all was not well. For you see, I was on a mission. I was racing to the top of the mountain to rescue a litter of kittens that were trapped in a burning vehicle, which was teetering precariously on the edge of a cliff. How did the kittens get into this horrible predicament? I don’t know, I wasn’t there for that part of the story. I was roaring at full throttle, sliding around switchback after switchback, spitting rocks to and fro, all the while picturing those poor helpless kittens just waiting for rescue. Finally, I came around the last turn at the top of the mountain, to a sight I was not at all expecting to see. I slammed on my rear brake, sliding to an abrupt halt! There, standing between me and the kittens, were…….. Ninjas!

Silent and motionless they stood, their bodies draped in black from head to toe, only their beady little eyes staring out from beneath their hoods. Their steel blades glimmered in the sun, as the rushing wind scattered leaves around us. There we stood, me glaring at them, them glaring at me, no one sure who would make the first move. Off in the distance, I swear I heard a classic western stand-off theme. Then with a mighty scream, one of them lept into the air towards me! I tucked and rolled, and with a strong stiff arm, planted my steel knuckled riding glove squarely into his ninja nuts! Down he went with a mighty whimper. I grabbed his sword and the battle erupted. Ninjas leaping and bouncing from every direction. Shurikens whizzing this way and that, swords slashing through the air, and the mighty clang of steel as blades bounced off one another. Now, I’m not as skilled a fighter as these highly trained warriors but that wasn’t going to stop me from saving those kittens. I managed to fight my way through them, taking a few hits along the way, but my motorcycle armor protected me until the last ninja had fallen, and the battle had come to an end. Ninjas…. just one more reason to ride AGATT.

I rushed to the burning vehicle, pried the door open, and started pulling out kittens by the handful. I managed to get the last one out just as the vehicle erupted into flame. Or “A fireball of flame”, as Americas Most Shocking Videos likes to say. Oddly enough, I’ve never seen a fireball comprised of any other substance. Hmm? Oh well, back to the story. So there I stood on the mountain top, surrounded by kittens that were slightly singed, but seemed none too worse for the wear. Now that I had them, the story was not over, oh no, not by a long shot. Stored within one of the kitten’s collar, was the secret code to disarm the bomb hidden in the orphanage, in the village at the base of the mountain.

I stuffed kittens into every pocket and gear bag and hopped back on the bike just as the burning vehicle fell off the cliff and exploded in the canyon below. With a pull of the clutch, stomp on the shifter, and quick blip of the throttle, we were on our way, hauling ass back down the mountain as a mighty fireball (yes, of flame) rose up behind us, making me look like a total badass.

Back down the mountain we went, again sliding around switchback after switchback, engine roaring, rocks flying. We had just made it to the bottom when the path was blocked once again. This time,……by Terrorists!

WTF?! How did they get into our country in the first place? I imagine they simply walked across our unsecure borders, or waltzed right past TSA agents who were too busy strip searching our elderly, harassing our wounded vets, or sexually molesting our children and stealing our high end electronics to notice a real threat to this country, much less actually stop one. At any rate, there they where, head scarves, flowing robes, and suicide bomb vests, riding high on the backs of camels that were mounted with machine guns and missiles. Oh, and one guy was carrying a dirty nuke in a briefcase just for good measure.

Unlike the Ninjas, they didn’t wait. Immediately upon seeing me, there was a mighty cry of “Abalabalabalaba!” …..or something to that affect, as they came charging towards me, machine guns blazing, and heat seeking missiles firing off the backs of the camels. I thought I was doomed. Now, my KLR has the Thermobob upgrade which keeps the engine heat down, and fortunately, the heat seekers weren’t able to lock on. Whew! Thank you Thermobob! I stayed on the bike this time, rather than fight hand to hand. I knew I couldn’t out run bullets, but the bike could out run camels. I weaved back and forth between them, dodging bullets, missiles and exploding jihadis. Camel bits and terrorist parts were flying everywhere. I did my best to interweave and draw their fire at one another, as any action hero worth his salt would do. For the most part it worked and they basically whiped each other out.

Just as I thought it was all over, I again heard the cry of “Abalabalabalaba!” ………or, what ever. I turned to see the last terrorist opening the briefcase with the dirty nuke. Oh my god! I was too far away from him, there was no way I could get to him in time to stop him! What could I possibly do?! After all I’d been through, I was going to die right here with my pockets full of kittens. Then it hit me. Wait! The kittens! The ninjas! I reached into my pocket, grabbed a kitten by the tail, and whipped it at the terrorist. The kitten cart wheeled through the air like a six pointed shuriken of cuddly claws, furious fluff, and screeching death! Smack! It hit the terrorist right in the face! The kitten dug in its claws and went to work, slashing and biting, and peeing in his face. The terrorist was jumping and dancing and screaming, trying to get the little beast off of him. In the commotion, he dropped the briefcase and the bomb went live! There I was, still trapped between a dirty nuke on one side, and a pack of camels blocking the road on the other. Without hesitation , I twisted the throttle, racing towards the terrorist. I snatched the kitten from his butchered face and stuffed it back in my pocket. Then with a quick spin of the back tire and change of direction, I rode up a fallen log, launched up a camel’s hump, and into the air as a glorious bright orange mushroom cloud rose behind us, once again, making me look like a total badass.

We managed to outrace the blast, it was after all, a dirty bomb, not a real, city killing, military grade nuke.

From the base of the mountain we roared through the streets of Oracle. Both streets, I think. We zipped past the out of business grocery store, and the fire house, which was bigger than the grocery store. We blasted past their horse and through their stoplight and made it to the parking lot of the orphanage. The place was a mad house! Some charity group had dropped off an entire truck load of puppies for the kids to play with. Great! Now I had to save kittens, babies, AND puppies!

Just as I was climbing off the bike, I was faced with the most vile evil one can possibly imagine. An evil from the most horrible, darkest depths of hell. Vile, soulless, hollow creatures, so hideous that simply being in their presence, even the most hardened man wants to just sit down and cry.
They were…………………………………Politicians!

Now for those of you who have never encountered a Politician, (and lucky you by the way) let me describe these wretched creatures to you. In appearance, they look somewhat human. Not human like you or I, but as something that used to be human, but is no longer. Kind of like a zombie, which they are often mistaken for, but they are far more evil. They were manufactured as infiltration units to blend in among us and take over our society. Programmed to lie every time their mouths moved, to take what is not theirs, to make the most asinine, inhuman decisions you’ve ever heard of, to cause as much human suffering as possible, and feed off the pain and misery of others. In fact, it is believed that if there ever came a time, when someone, somewhere WASN’T suffering, all the politicians would scream, shut down and self destructed.

As I said, they were originally made to infiltrate and blend in. They are able to do that somewhat, but being lazy and evil by nature, their appearance degrades over time, making them easy to spot. Most of the time they can be seen wandering aimlessly about the streets, moaning and stumbling as if they are drunk. They wear old out of date suits, have lost most of their hair (thought they do still try to comb it over to fool us. It doesn’t work) Their fat gelatinous bodies slosh about like an old beach ball half full of dank putrid water. Their skin is usually some shade of grayish. Apparently politic’n takes a tremendous toll on the body, and very quickly makes them as hideous on the outside as they are on the inside. The only thing that still shines on them is their neon white, glow in the daylight teeth, and their large empty, lying eyes.

Much like zombies, they are rather harmless and easy to avoid if they are alone or few in number. They only become truly dangerous when in large groups. But even alone, DO NOT let them touch you, for they have a fierce arsenal at their disposal. I’ll mention a couple here.

The Curse of Political Correctness: This will freeze you in your tracks, afraid to think, feel, or say anything, out of sheer terror that someone, somewhere might be offended, and that you’ll owe them a free payout, so that they won’t have to work for a living like the rest of us.

The Wrath of Redistribution: Touched by this, and in an instant, you’ll see all you worked for be taken away and given to someone who has done nothing to earn anything.

In addition, they have the ability to spew large amounts of sticky red tape from their finger tips. Kind of like Spiderman with his web shooters. This red tape will stick to anything. It binds and gums things up, and brings all progress, logic, and good to a standstill.

I think I’ve gone on long enough about these vile trolls, I just wanted you to know what kind of pure, unadulterated evil I was up against. Simply by being near them, their dark magic was already starting to take affect. My whole world had gone dark, my head was spinning, I couldn’t make up from down. Voices in my head were saying, “Give up”, “Abandon all hope”, “This is too much for you”, “Resistance is futile”. In fact, I almost hung my head in shame and walked away. But then a happy yip of a puppy, and a child’s laughter caught my ear. “I can’t walk away and leave them to this fate!” I said to myself. Then the clouds of doom started to lift and I could see clearly again as their spell started to break.

Luckily there weren’t too awful many of them. I managed to weave in and out of them, ducking earmarks here, and dodging petitions there. They were spewing red tap this way and that. A single strand of red tape snagged my leg and began to slow me down. Then another strand snagged me, then another, and another. I whipped out my Leatherman and began slashing at the tape with my blade. It seemed that for every strand of red tape I slashed away, two more took its place, as these wretched beasts gained more and more ground on me. I was almost entirely cocooned and thought I might not make it out of this one. Then, suddenly, the politicians stopped coming towards me. For you see, once a politician has something mired down in red tape, they really have no desire to pursue it any further or finish what they started. So long as it’s good and mucked up for everyone else, they’re satisfied.

With their attention no longer focused on me, they returned to wandering around aimlessly. I managed to quietly cut myself free from the tape and make a dash for the orphanage! Seeing that I had escaped, they started their vile Filibuster incantation as a final attempt to bore me to death and stop me from reaching the door, but I had my own defenses. I unleashed a hail of my newly discovered “Shuri-kitten” weapons upon them. The mighty fur balls attacked like a pack of ravenous, blood thirsty Tribbles. They clawed out the eyes and bit out the tongues of the politicians.

Now, as you may or may not know, politicians are not good at making decisions, and the more there are, the less likely a decision will ever be made. It is a major chink in their armor. Many a time entire hoards of them will perish over many lifetimes before any simple and logical solution would ever be reached. I used this to my advantage. As they regrouped and tried to decide how best attack me, I crept up from behind and mimicked their harsh, scratchy mechanical voices, presenting them with several other attack options. This started them bickering and going into great debate, with promises of glorious campaigns which they expected someone else to pay for. At the moment however, they forgotten all about me. This allowed me to sneak past them and get into the orphanage.

Once inside, I managed to locate the bomb fairly quickly, mainly due to the help of a Bloodhound puppy. (awww) Unfortunately, due to all the delays, there was no time to actually disarm the bomb, even with the code in my hand. Unable to come up with a plan in the fraction of the second I had left, I just stomped my foot on top of it to take the blast myself and spare the innocents. BOOM! The bomb went off! I was sent flying across the room, reeling in tremendous pain. As I lay there, head spinning, leg screaming, my ankle shattered to bits, I wondered if I had been successful and managed to save anyone, or if I’d failed, and everyone had perished. “Was it all for nothing”, I wondered. As the smoke began to clear, and I was fading in and out of consciousness from the pain, I heard, in the distance, the laughter of children, yipping of puppies, and mewing of kittens as they frolicked among the flowers and butterflies under a rainbow. Then, I saw the most wondrous sight. The politicians, upon witnessing humans and animals experiencing such uninhibited joy, they began shrieking in horror as they went offline and self destructed.

It was a long treacherous adventure, and I’m laid up for a long recovery, but in the end, my selfless sacrifice saved the lives of countless kittens, puppies, and babies.
So ladies……………let the lovin’ commence.

“What Happened to Your Leg?!”
The Director’s Cut

The story above was based on a true story. In Hollywood terms, that means that somewhere there is a guy, and he has a leg. That’s really all Hollywood needs to take a small, unremarkable tale, spin it into a grand epic, and sell it to the public as absolute fact. Below is the short version of what really happened.

“When life gives you Mount Lemon, take lots of Percocet.”

I had spent the morning riding around Coolidge and Oracle with some guys I met on this site through Southwest Dual Sport Riders Club. They are a nice bunch of guys and I was really enjoying exploring part of the state I’d never seen. Our ultimate goal was the top of Mount Lemon, the back way.

We had just started up the mountain, past a campground and into some tight switchbacks. Unlike the story above, I was not racing around them at full throttle. I’m not that skilled. I was taking them very slow, 1st gear in most cases. I came around one and sort of bounced over an exposed boulder in the road. Thinking over this many times, I’m still a bit confused on what happened. I’ve been over larger obstacles with no problem. I guess it just bounced me the wrong way. My front end went all squirrely and I was headed towards the embankment. In hindsight, coming to rest mostly upright against the bank would’ve been better. I managed to get the bike under control and stopped, avoiding the actual “wreck”. The instant I stopped though, I was off balance and fell over, with the bike pinning my foot beneath it. It all happened so slow that there was no actual “impact”. I just put my arms out to catch myself and rolled away from the bike. That all would have been well and good, and I could’ve gotten up and continued on with my adventure, if it were not for the part where my foot had gotten pinned. Once I was on the ground and everything had stopped moving, I felt an immediate and horrible pain in my lower right leg. The horror was intensified as I looked down to see my foot pinned down facing the rear of the bike. That in itself wouldn’t have been such a problem except that the rest of my body was facing 180 degrees in the opposite direction, towards the front of the bike. In an adrenaline rage I manage to flip my body over facing the direction of my foot, and pull it out from under the bike. I then clawed my way a couple feet up the bank and lay there writhing in tremendous pain. Jack and Paul, who were behind me, pulled up quickly, and Bill, who was ahead and hadn’t seen anyone in his mirror in a while, came back in a few minutes. I was going in and out of semi consciousness, so not sure who has looking me over and who was looking the bike over, but thank you to all of you. After several failed attempts to stand, a ride down the mountain to the fire station in a Jeep full of hunters, (thank you so much guys) I was eventually transported to Oro Valley Hospital to find out my ankle was shattered. Surgery the next morning, home a couple days later. 1 steel plate, 12 screws from 3 different directions, one metric ton of morphine and Percocet later……. I should make a full recovery and be able to walk again……………… 6 weeks. Grrr. I guess the bright side is that it wasn’t any worse, I was with other people, and the bike is fine. I can’t believe something so small, slow and stupid, caused so much damage. My sister’s reply was that she could say the same of some guys she’s dated. So, here I be. Lots of time, lots of drugs, and very, very little to do but wait until I can walk and ride again.
ATGATT: I get to dress like a Space Commando every day, and people still take me seriously.
To riders who wear no gear: I'll try to remember how tough and free you were, as I watch EMS clean you off the road with a mop and spatula.
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