[ST] Sidestand kill switch

["Andrew F. Kay, Jr." <captainquack@xxxxxxxxxx>]

I was gonna keep my mouth off this subject, because I still feel pretty
stupid after 35 years.

It's a beautiful fall day in San Antonio, Texas, 1965.  Frenchy Ouellette,
Fred Mottle and I had just taken a pass through Breckenridge Park, keeping
an eye peeled for attractive potential pillion riders.  After a bit we
decided to see if Bill had the Triumph shop open, as he often popped in on
Sundays and left the door ajar.

We pulled up and I backed into the curb, facing out to the heavily crowned
road.

No sign of Bill, but I wanted to spend a minute and tighten my chain.  My
'65 Bonneville was on the sidestand, so I straightened it up and popped it
up on the center stand, hauled out the tool kit and proceeded to take up the
slack.

All done?  Great.  Cover the dome with the Bell, slip on the Levi jacket and
climb aboard.  One kick and the lump is alive, ready to go.  For younger
riders, these old Bonnies can be put in gear and rocked while on the center
stand, pushing the bike off the stand and away we go.

In my usual "Hey, Bubba, watch this!" style, plenty of throttle, lean hard
right and go.  The only problem is, when I straighten the bike, the side
stand is still down and dragging on the high center of the roadway.  Uh, oh.

No problem you say?  Just brake and put it up.  Quiet street, no traffic,
nothing to it.  Of course, I make the decision to look down and start
kicking at the stand.  That puts my weight on the port side and the stand
won't come up.  Kick some more.  Meantime, the stand is pushing the bike
toward the curb.  Can you see what's coming next?

Another aside:  '65 Triumphs came with a parcel grid, chromed steel that
bolted to the top of the tank to hold parcels (duh).  I had removed mine at
delivery.  This is about to be very important to me and my (future)
children.

Back to the asphalt.  I'm not getting anywhere with the stand.  Throttle
off, I'm coasting right.  I probably had the clutch in too, but things are
about to get confused and it was a long time ago, so I can't say.  Anyway,
I'm not going very fast by now, but things are about to speed up.

Lots of yelling behind me.  Sounds like it might be "Look out" or maybe
"Look up".  I do both.  Curb is about 2 feet away.  A nice high curb, with a
very sturdy concrete light pole about 6" inside it.  This light pole is an
early 20th century effort, fluted base, glass globe at the top.  Efficient,
attractive, strong.

Snatch the front brake, stomp the rear, all too late.  Dunlop Goldseal hits
the curb, then the impassive pole.  The rim bends, the forks rapidly change
their rake angle until the tire and fender hit the frame, then it's instant
deceleration and the rider, that's me, slides forward into the tank and then
over the bars.  The Bell hits the pole, dead center, and I collapse onto the
sidewalk.

No loss of consciousness, so Fred and Frenchy get me up and ask how I feel.
Sore, stupid, hurt, dumb all spring to mind, but Bell made good helmets in
those days and I'm more worried about the bike at this point.  Rim is bent,
ditto the forks, dents in the tank where the fork hit on the left front and
an egg-shaped depression about a quarter of the way up from the seat, maybe
1/2 inch deep.  What did that?

Bill showed up about then and opened up the shop and we wheeled the bike in
and I sat down to rest.  After a few minutes I noticed a new ache intruding,
somewhere in the area below the belt.  Hmmm, better jump into the head and
check this out.  Pants down, I am about to go into hysteria.  My left
testicle is GROWING.  Right now, while I'm watching!   Pretty soon it's the
size of an orange and still expanding.  My God, the Balls That Ate San
Antonio!

We reconsider the trip to the hospital and it's off to Walter Reed over at
Lackland AFB.  For several weeks I am the source of discussion and field
trips for USAF nurses, all of whom are Officers (yours truly a mere E-4) and
flip the sheets back with impunity, so they can chuckle at my pride and joy,
lost and flaccid among my truly gigantic testicles, suspended from my shaven
thighs with tape and gauze.  "Please, Ladies, give it break, OK?"

Many ice bags later, I check myself out, disobeying orders from some
Captain, who threatens retribution that never comes.

Fred let me use his bike and with two pair of jockey shorts and a fluffy
pillow on the seat, I could ride to the shop and begin to put the bike back
together.

Well, it's 2001 (If I had known I would live this long I would have taken
better care of myself.) and I still have a very pronounced varicoseal to
remind me of that beautiful sunny day in San Antonio and the Pole With
Fortitude.  I've wanted to write this down for years and the subject of
defeating your sidestand switch has caused me to inflict it on you listers.
Mea culpa.

And, no, I don't think I'll be defeating that sidestand switch any time
soon.  I do wish I hadn't thrown away the parcel grid, though.  I'd like to
show it to my kids.

Andy Kay,
King, Riders of the Lost Empire
"Better Living through Velocity"




> Date: Thu, 15 Nov 2001 16:24:59 -0800
> From: "Stuart Mumford" <s2mumford@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
> Subject: [ST] RE: Dead trumpet / sidestand safety switch disabling
>
> You gotta be shitting me man.
> What did these guys do, leave there sidestand down and immediately do 100
> mph into oncoming traffic?
> Maybe a slow speed high side at worst.
> Sorry but that sounds like doody to me.
> No offense Draper Sr.
>
> Stu Mumford
> 99 ST
>
> - -----Original Message-----
> do what you feel you have to, but i've read too many stories of people
> standing around dead riders who rode off with the sidestand down
> SNIP




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