A Little 10-year-old girl was walking home, alone, from school one day, when a big man on a black motorcycle pulls up beside her.
After following along for a while, turns to her and asks,
"Hey there little girl, do you want to go for a ride?"
"NO!" says the little girl as she keeps on walking.
The motorcyclist again pulls up beside her and asks,
"Hey little girl, I will give you $10 if you hop on the back."
"NO!" says the little girl again as she hurries down the street.
The motorcyclist pulls up beside the little girl again and says,
"Okay kid, my last offer! I'll give you 20 Bucks "and" a Big Bag of Candy if you will just hop on the back of my bike and we will go for a ride."
Finally, the little girl stops and turns towards him and Screams Out...
"Look Dad" "You're the one who bought the Honda instead of the Harley... YOU RIDE IT!!".......


Note: my first 8 motorcycles were Hondas +1 Yamaha FJ1100... finally gave into my wife's coaxing and got an FXRS Low Glide in '86.

LOL smart little girl!

And I’ll add this here for equal time , funny squirrel , MC related.

The WVb
Biker Squirrel From Hell


Honda-valkyrieI never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.

Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being “behind the power curve”. It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.

Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle…at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.

I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!

Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness…all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.

I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that “edge” so frequently required when riding.

Little did I suspect…

As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it—there was very little real estate between us.

I hate to run over animals…and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.

Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, “Banzai!” or maybe, “Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.

Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street…and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.

I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.

But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.

This was an evil attack squirrel of death!

Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.

I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.

The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in…well…I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street…on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle…my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.

The rpm’s on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.

Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand…I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked…sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.

Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams. They weren’t mine…

I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.

So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it” anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger…

That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car…

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.

As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death…I’ll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.

And I’ll buy myself a new pair of gloves

I'd say that is backwards.
I feel bad for guys who fall for the Harley crap. Literally every other maker kicks the hell out of them in performance, value, engineering, support, and innovation.
To me they are the "I identify as" bikers.

Well in my case I was married for 8 years and went through a divorce, not all about the MCs, but I continued with faster, bigger and better handling bikes. After 4 years I remarried and still was getting faster bikes that 'made me' ride way too fast on public roads. Five years into marriage #2, with gentle and continuing suggestions, I bought what my wife wanted, the Harley. I rode slower because I had to on that bike. I enjoyed the sound and the ride. I kept the Low Glide for 21 years. Back in a cage and still married after 41 years. At 75 I am enjoying the memories and photos taken over 37 years of MC ownership.
And Sturgis '98 was a whole lotta fun!

I will relate this and title it "The Owl and Me".
I was taken into the good graces of a lady who happened to live in the tiny Yoop town of Grand Marais. The route I took to visit her is H58. Beautiful, scenic and winding, it is a great motorcycle ride. But also quite remote with no cell coverage and pitch black at night. I left the lady's house late at night aboard my Suzuki V-Strom. During the day, I ride H58 at maximum fun speed but at night I restrain myself as the risk is much higher. About halfway into the ride, my headlight illuminates a large brown object on the roadside. It appears to be a piece of wood. As I approach, the top portion of the wooden object begins to rotate, revealing a face. And it is in fact a Great Horned Owl. I am now in close proximity to Owl and he (or she) decides to take flight. If the Owl had gone straight across the roadway, it would have been just an interesting wildlife encounter. But after reaching handlebar height, he turned 90 degrees and was trying desperately for altitude. We were about to occupy the same space. Do you know what the ass of a Great Horned Owl looks like in mid flight? I do! My headlight lit it nicely. The speed of the event left neither of us with any options except brace for impact. I laid down on the tank just before I felt an impact on my helmet. I do not know the fate of the Owl as it was too dark to see behind me. I stopped in Munising to steady down and when I took off my helmet, there was an Owl impact mark on it!
Motorcycling is exciting!

No motorcycle involved, but I once opened the door to the chicken coop and 3 feet away, dining on one of my layers was a GHO.

Fortunately, it was on it's third helping and decidedly lethargic. After regaining the ability to control voluntary functions, I was able to coax it out of the coop with a broom.

Them's some BIG birds!

The squirrel story was written by Daniel Meyer around 2008. He is the author of the "Life Is A Road" books. I think his last book was written about 2010. https://lifeisaroad.com/