I perfer to do my riding level headed but working on the bike is a different story as i dont pose any serious danger to the bike myself or others that is until the 13th beer and now removing that pesky bolt with the torch seems like a genius idea haha
i would never ride under the influence of anything. back at my old shop, it was a room full of mirrors with two benches, and four bikes parked on the ground. add a serious hi-fi, a keg-er-ator, and some mean joe greene and all i got done was a lot of posing with my shirt off (i was the un-offical fifth member of the stooges), making motorcycle noises, and blooding my knuckles at least twice a night.
one epic night i took a ducati narrow case motor out of the frame with my milwaukee angle grinder.
a zillion years ago I remember being out and closing down a club in a we know the band kind of way. We were hangin in the parking lot when a dude came stumbling out, wasted, fumbled the key, tried and couldn't kick start his bike, half falling over himself. Without thinking we went over, jumped on it and fired it up. the guy said something intelligible and rode off. to this day i don't know i if that guy made it home, but i've regretted the assist ever since. Should have known better, didn't think.
A timely question, and at the risk of airing the family's laundry in public:
Junior (19 years old) who has a history of toking up, expressed desire this past spring for a bike. He also had an a friend doing a semester in Paris, and wanted him to do a European Spring break. He also need a car. Didn't have enough money for all three. Against most everyone's take, at least Mom and Step Mom, Dad's analysis is:
Europe, you have a friend there, who speaks the language, you're young, Do It!
Get home, buy a cheap bike. Summer's here, save for Fall,
Buy a car.
Everyone thinks I'm nuts, but I'm hoping between Europe and motorcycles, some light bulbs will go off. You know, It's a big world, go see some of it, personal responsibility, think outside the box. Usual parent shit.
Gets home, after having a blast in Paris, Brussels, yes, Amsterdam, and Berlin. Buys an old Yamaha Seca, and gets his bike license.
For the most part, it's going OK, and he's really enjoying riding.
He works evenings most of the time, so if he goes out after work he usually winds up crashing at a friends house. Which is fine with me, its deer season by now, don't need him collecting one, and if they're doing shit (beers, dope) at least they're not running around.
Last week he comes home a little after midnight, I'm in bed, and Step Mom has to be the cop on duty. And instead of being cool, saying hey, and going to bed, he hangs out. In short order she realizes he's high. He admits it, minor argument ensues, and it's left till the morning debrief with Dad.
Well Junior, you fucked up. You're 19, been riding 4 months, and high. Bad call. Not on my watch. I'll be damned, if heaven forbid, I have to make the call, "Diane (Mom), Austin's been .......... on his bike. Fuck that. And then I have to live with myself?
Well, the old my house, my rules. You want to do stupid shit, do it on your own. The plate came off the bike, it's off the premises, and Junior's riding privileges have been suspended.
I'd rather be a dick, and have the kid in one piece. Sucks though. No pun intended, I had higher hopes.