1971 Kawasaki 500 Mach III

[pem]

Sounds like a lot of our friends rode these things. My buddy had a 750 triple and lived to tell
the tale. He rode that thing all over. One night coming home from a bar he was at speed
when he crested a hill and a car pulled out in front of him. I'm sure the guy in the car never
saw him coming he was moving so fast. Bob hit the car broadside flew over the top and hit
another car coming the other way. Not good! I knew some of the guys on the ambulance and they don't know how he survived. They found him laying in the middle of the road wearing only his belt with the belt loops attached. All the rest of his clothes were gone. His wife made a macromay necklace for him which acted as a garotte. Somehow he lived and eventually ended up at home in a body cast. Nipples to toes. Drove him crazy. One day he had to go in for a check up and we put him on his bathroom door and loaded him into a van.
The nurses had a laugh about that one. The next week he took a pliers and screwdriver and
took off his body cast.

This was in the seventies and I remember plenty of other guys crashing including myself.
Somehow most of us lived thru it. How I don't know.

Dick

[Joseph Byrd]

Here is a true story, I hope despite it's length, it's a worthwhile read;
The year was 1975 and Sam, a coworker of mine wanted to come over to try out my newly acquired Kawasaki Mach III. I had recently purchased the Kawasaki from a fellow that decided it was better to unload the Kawi than end up with no driver’s license or wake up dead. When the motorcycle arrived at my house, it was a fine looking beast, six bend pullbacks, a very large luggage rack and best of all, a three foot sissy bar with luxurious black carpet backing on the backrest pad. By the time Sam got there, I had removed all of these triple chrome plated accessories and put on a more appropriate set of low rise superbike bars.
When Sam returned from his test ride he said the Mach III wouldn’t do a burn out. He then backed the three cylinder up to the service door of my unattached garage and aimed the raging missile down the narrow sidewalk leading to the back of our old story and a half. As my wife came out the back door and walked over to see what in the world was going on, I stopped the proceedings
At this point, I, being fully convinced that I was smarter than the average bear, knew why Sam could not break the back tire loose, he was simply too fat. At this time I suppose his weight was 225, I have since discovered by personal experience that 225 is not overweight! I told Sam to get off the bike and I would prove to him and anybody else that cared, the Kawi could indeed break the tire loose. “And besides, if anyone is going to run into the back of my house, it’s going to be me!” No truer words have ever been spoken. Sam somewhat reluctantly stepped off the motorcycle.
I mounted my mighty steed as Sam and my wife looked on, I settled in to the seat and grabbed a big waffle gripped handful of smoking, rattling Kawasaki two-stroke horsepower and dropped the hammer. Immediately the front wheel shot for the sky. “No problem.” I thought as I assessed the situation. And with dirt bike honed reflexes I chopped the throttle and instinctively grabbed both brakes.
When my front wheel came down I was off the narrow little sidewalk and on the grass. As I previously mentioned, I grabbed both brakes. The front double leading shoe brake did what double leading shoe brakes do best in these situations, it locked up. Immediately the bike was down, no where to be seen and I was making a low pass over my freshly manicured lawn. As my hands and knees made contact, I made a perfect four point landing and with surprising residual momentum, slid the remaining length of the back yard. I firmly smacked the top of my head against the back of our home.
There was not a dry eye in the house, but these were not tears brought on by the witnessing of a terrible accident! But tears of joy, of uncontrolled mirth! Sam and my wife were beside themselves in their individual fits of laughter.
While I was not physically injured I was emotionally devastated. Where was the rush to see if I had survived? Where was the concern for my helmetless head? There was not even a casual inquiry if perhaps I was OK. But there was plenty of laughter and they both stopped long enough to agree that this was the funniest thing that they had ever seen. When the stinging embarrassment and shame abated and the two stroke smoke cleared from my contusioned scull, I thought back to my Dad reminiscing about his one and only Harley and the corn crib, I think I remember him saying, “If your gonna be dumb, gotta be tough.” Joe

[pem]

Great story! Thanks and speaking of embarrassment and shame. I remember riding down Main St. in Hartford, Wi. circa 1970 in the middle of a rain storm on my brand new Harley Sprint. I knew from experience that hitting the gas pedal in my car while driving in the rain that you could spin the tires pretty easy so I figured it would work the same with a motorcycle. I just had to show off.

Sooooooooooo, in the middle of downtown I gave er such a handfull and immediately went
down, doing 360's and scraping along the pavement. I managed to crawl on top of the seat and fuel tank and rode it like a ride at the county fair. The bike was still running so when it stopped I quickly jumped up and picked up the bike and rode away but not before looking at a lady on the sidewalk. She had the most astonished look on her face.

I learned a very valueble lesseon that day and I didn't even get hurt or wreck my bike. Unfortunetly some months later I learned another lesson about ripple bumps and tank slappers and how to set broken bones and that putting rubbing alcohol on road rash does kill the germs but burns like hell.

Dick

[Chris Haynes]

Believe it or not. The best thing to put on road rash is Preparation H. It keeps the wound moisturized and it also numbs the pain and itching.

[Lethal Farce]

Back in the late seventies, when it seemed we all were riding Kaw Z1 900's or KZ1000's, one of the guys who worked with us at the mcy shop shows up with a drag setup 750 triple and what must have been 3 foot wheelie bars hanging off the back. We all took turns burning the rear tire off up and down the alley out in back. The wheelie bar sure gave you a nice safety factor with a bike you did not know well. It was a unbeatable in the 1/8 mile, but my 900 would overtake him at about that point. As far as long term, we never got to play with it, the owner pissed somebody off in traffic, and the guy followed him in to a police station parking lot and shot him, right there. My friend survived and the shooter got away. But, we all drifted away by the time he was up and out again. Always wanted a little more time to get to know the triple. Had another guy in the hood, he bought his first bike a 500 triple and sold it before the summer ended. He never said why, but the rumors were "it scared him"
LF