My Virago
A few years went by before I was able to purchase another bike.
This time it was a more powerful machine, the 1984 Yamaha Virago 920. This was a beautiful motorcycle in a deep purple, almost black color. It had a comfortable seat and a powerful V-twin engine. The only trouble with it was that the starter solenoid needed to be replaced often.
I purchased this bike from a private seller. It had been sitting for a year or so and I was able to get it at a relatively good price.
When I bought it, it was meant to be a recreational vehicle only. I had a Chevy pickup that I drove daily and used the bike only on weekends or nights when the weather was nice. Living in Miami, Florida at that time a got a lot of opportunities to ride it.
However, a few months later it became my only means of transportation. My pickup was involved in an accident one night and became incapacitated (the front was bent to the right so far that it looked like half a pretzel). Some idiot ran a stop in the middle of the night and I plowed into him. Both vehicles did a 180 degree turn and I broke the side glass with my head (seat belts were not a big thing then).
Off went the truck to a towing yard and I spent possibly the worst night of my life, strapped to a gurney for about 6 hours in the lobby of the Jackson Memorial Hospital. I spent the entire time listening to a guy near me screaming about his gunshot. He was shot by the cops while attempting to rob something or someone. I have no idea about the extent of his injury, I had my forehead, arms and legs strapped to the backboard the paramedics put me on and could only look up into the ceiling. My ears, on the other hand worked wonderfully.
Finally around 8 am the doctor looked at my x-rays and determined there was no injury to my spine, (by that time I thought I would never walk again. My entire body was numb. The only thing that kept telling me I was alive was a splitting headache). He cleaned the would of some glass, calmly said I would not need stitches and sent me packing.
I went home more sore than a cheap hooker and started riding my Virago everywhere.
I lived and worked in Hialeah, Florida at the time. If you are not familiar with the place I will tell you this: back then, when it rained anywhere in the world, the streets of Hialeah flooded.
I went to the Army / Navy surplus store and bought me a two piece rain gear that was bulky but did the job perfectly.
So I went everywhere in my purple motorcycle, clad in my olive green gear. The pants were overalls, similar to waders, only there were no feet. The legs would strap around my ankles over my boots. I started carrying spare socks in my backpack and a towel every time I went out.
I must say the bike was a trooper. I rode through foot deep water like it was a jet sky and not once did it cutoff on me.
I really enjoyed that motorcycle!
This time it was a more powerful machine, the 1984 Yamaha Virago 920. This was a beautiful motorcycle in a deep purple, almost black color. It had a comfortable seat and a powerful V-twin engine. The only trouble with it was that the starter solenoid needed to be replaced often.
I purchased this bike from a private seller. It had been sitting for a year or so and I was able to get it at a relatively good price.
When I bought it, it was meant to be a recreational vehicle only. I had a Chevy pickup that I drove daily and used the bike only on weekends or nights when the weather was nice. Living in Miami, Florida at that time a got a lot of opportunities to ride it.
However, a few months later it became my only means of transportation. My pickup was involved in an accident one night and became incapacitated (the front was bent to the right so far that it looked like half a pretzel). Some idiot ran a stop in the middle of the night and I plowed into him. Both vehicles did a 180 degree turn and I broke the side glass with my head (seat belts were not a big thing then).
Off went the truck to a towing yard and I spent possibly the worst night of my life, strapped to a gurney for about 6 hours in the lobby of the Jackson Memorial Hospital. I spent the entire time listening to a guy near me screaming about his gunshot. He was shot by the cops while attempting to rob something or someone. I have no idea about the extent of his injury, I had my forehead, arms and legs strapped to the backboard the paramedics put me on and could only look up into the ceiling. My ears, on the other hand worked wonderfully.
Finally around 8 am the doctor looked at my x-rays and determined there was no injury to my spine, (by that time I thought I would never walk again. My entire body was numb. The only thing that kept telling me I was alive was a splitting headache). He cleaned the would of some glass, calmly said I would not need stitches and sent me packing.
I went home more sore than a cheap hooker and started riding my Virago everywhere.
I lived and worked in Hialeah, Florida at the time. If you are not familiar with the place I will tell you this: back then, when it rained anywhere in the world, the streets of Hialeah flooded.
I went to the Army / Navy surplus store and bought me a two piece rain gear that was bulky but did the job perfectly.
So I went everywhere in my purple motorcycle, clad in my olive green gear. The pants were overalls, similar to waders, only there were no feet. The legs would strap around my ankles over my boots. I started carrying spare socks in my backpack and a towel every time I went out.
I must say the bike was a trooper. I rode through foot deep water like it was a jet sky and not once did it cutoff on me.
I really enjoyed that motorcycle!
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