This German ghost rider crashes when he underestimates his own speed and the distance to the front car. The amazing part about it is that he stands up, crosses the busy road and goes back to his bi…
The asphalt at the Famoso drag strip was hot, the bike licked with red and orange flames when Jesse James stepped up to the starting line and threw a leg over the 1,000-horsepower, nitro-powered dragster.
A flicker of green light, a twist of the grip and James was off. Seconds later, at a top speed of 161 mph, James had won the respect of the seasoned racers who trained him and sighs of relief from the production crew that was capturing it all on camera for his new Spike TV show, “Jesse James Is a Dead Man.”
James had defied the program title, just as he’d done when he caught himself on fire, and when he rode shotgun in an F-16D fighter plane, subjecting his 210-pound frame to nine Gs.
James, who turned 40 last month, insists he isn’t …Â Details
You, know leather jacket, gloves, bandana on head, sunglasses, goatee. With the Harley Davidson apararel and all? They act tough like they r in a gang and i should be afraid of them. But i just see a douchebag when i look at them.
I have rode a harley for years and i don’t see it as making a statement but you seem like you are jealous us old gray beards get all the fun good looking women ..sorry charlie you gotta pay your dues and i can tell you never paid anything and probably cannot afford the american bikers dream to ride a harely or fit in with any group of people…Â Details
f you go on an off-road adventure ride on a dual-sport motorcycle, you will fall. But seeing the terrain may be worth the pain.
My ride to RawHyde Adventures’ off-road motorcycle school in Castaic is typically heroic: daring and expert lane splitting, fistfuls of throttle and clutch, spectacular knee-dragging cornering. I even pop a wheelie or two. My riding skills astound me.
So imagine my surprise when, having left the asphalt to turn into the ranch’s gravel driveway and going all of about 10 feet, I fall off my borrowed BMW F800GS in a spray of loose rock and liberated motorcycle parts . . . Hey, whoa, what the . . . ker-RASSHH! Pain and humiliation mingle inside my helmet. I have not dropped a bike ever, and yet here I am, resting gently on my face. The marquee lights around my motorcycle-riding ego suddenly go dim. The squirrels laugh. Gravel tastes funny.
So begins my five-day education in off-road riding…Â Details