I started a thread asking about tips on Snowy Mtn Rides and it turned into folks reclining some miserable rides in rain and snow (after one guy advised serious caution on Snowy Mtn roads if it gets wet). 

I found the stories amusing to read, because motorcycle riding is like one of life's great equalizers, in the sense that it does not matter who you or what you do, riding two wheels is an experience and passion we all share. So anyone wish to share their miserable ride stories?!

My top two:

1. My father-in-law and I were off on a road trip. I was living in Canada at the time. It was May. We planned to leave Calabogie in north Ontario just west of Ottawa and head for the New York border on the way to the White Mtns in New Hampshire (NH). We had cold weather gear for NH and it was supposed to be about 5-10 degrees at 6am start time in Calabogie. I know, you're saying no way already! But it's Canada and if you can't ride in 5-10 degrees sell your hog! But it was 0 degrees instead. We set off regardless, fully rugged up in cold weather gear and each bike with heated grips. Whatever! About 1.5 hrs down the freeway later we stopped for fuel and sat in a Starbucks for 30 mins defrosting. Never been so chilled to the bone. 

2. Another Canada story. Returning from an east coast USA run via Montreal (Quebec) heading for Toronto. Stayed overnight in Montreal because I was tired even though I absolutely had to be back the next day and could have made it home had I kept going. Wake up to pouring rain. No choice but to ride. It is the 401 freeway all the way, but it rained 6 hours all the way. At some rest stop a trucker came up to me, said is that your red Harley out there (give away might have been the huge puddles of eater around me from soaked leathers), and then he tells me my headlight is out. The rain got in and blew it. It's Sunday, so no hope of repair, so I kept going. It was day time but basically 6 hours riding in heavy pouting rain fog mist and no headlight. That was fun. 

I rode from a round of the WSBK's at Phillip Island. Musta been about 1990ish. I was on my trusty 850 Guzzi, 13 hr trip and 8 and a half hours of it was pissing down. I hate riding in the rain.

Mention snow or hours and hours of rain takes the sting out of any ride US & Canada spring to mind straight up.
Was on a trip in late May 2010 in the US, got to Mt Rushmore after hours of cold travelling from the East via the 90,sat in the visitor centre for a hour or so to thaw, had a plan to do Crazy Horse as well ? When I was ready to head off to Crazy Horse a few riders came into the car park who had just come down from there, and said the road had been closed with 1.5 foot of snow, coming down the mountain was a pleasure and didn't miss not doing CH. The next few days were also remembered as some of the coldest days in the seat.

I was riding from Wollongong to Coffs Harbour a couple of weeks ago (an easy 8 hour trip) and it was stinking hot. I was wearing a leather jacket when I left at 8 am and rolled it up and stuck it in a saddle bag at 9.30. there was thunderstorms on the horizon and I was hoping I would ride into one. I rode for another couple of hours in the hot weather and HEY PRESTO! I got lucky and got rained on for about 10 minutes. I was soaked. I fukin loved it. the sky cleared and I got dry quick but had to stop about an hour up the road to remove my jocks cos they wernt drying. First time in my life I have prayed for rain on a bike.

Over the years I've been caught in some attricious conditions on runs from being soaked to the skin in torrential downpours and being shit scared from the sheets of water running across the road with very limited vision, to waking up in the swag shivering and covered in a layer of ice. Gusts of cross winds blowing me all over the road, or camping in a mud bowl, as many years ago I would head off in any conditions on runs to attend rallies.

I look back on it all these days with fond memories of great adventure, and even though I might have been pretty uncomfortable at the time, I cant really think of any time I can reflect on the ride as being miserable.

We do what we do, we make great friendships, and we make the most of life on the road, so's when we finally turn into fairweather softcocks like i am now at my age, we can reminisce about the days that were, and have a few campfire stories to relate to others.

I was waiting for a story like Beaglebasher's, because when I lived in Canada all misery stories were rain and snow related, but I'm sure there must be "too frakkin hot" misery stories in Oz!

And regarding Ranger's quip that at some stage we turn into fair weather riders and fondly reminisce about the misery rides, years ago I rented a Russian Minsk (125cc!) from Hanoi and took off for a week in the Tonkinese Alps of northern Vietnam. It was awesome. And the best part of the trip was Day 4, on a mountain pass, when a truck ran me off the road because he swerved around a water buffalo in the middle of it. Bike hit the guard rails and I flew like Superman. The front forks were toast but a mountain goat farmer helped me get the bike to his wooden hut perched on the side of the mountain with billion dollar views and no running water. We straightened the forks by bashing them and, being a Minsk, it started right up, got me to the next town, where a bike shop welded the cracked frame back together. And on I went for 3 more days (front handlebar slight off centre). The whole thing was awesome. I'd probably cry if that happened now. 

Supose the worst experience , was riding across the Hay plains , it started raining , the rain was that hard , it was bouncing probably a meter in the air , i could'nt see a thing , i could'nt pull over on to the side , it was that heavy the gravel was turning to mud and i was on a 1/2 ton cruiser , plus it was getting washed away . visibility was down to practicly zero , i was going at a crawl . and the facking big semis were refusing to slow down , and over taking me , with me copping the spray every time .

Probably the scariest moment on a bike for me ever

 

I submitted this to the Ulysses Club editor for inclusion in the next issue of Riding On. Some of you may get a laugh out of it...

Now I have been riding Japanese motorcycles on the road and on the track since a little old blue-haired lady ended my promising young football career with her Corolla back in 1983, but what happened last week after I picked up my new '99 Softail will stay with me for the rest of my days.

A little context for you...

I moved to Moranbah back in early 2011 after transferring to one of the underground coal mines in the Bowen Basin. The previous eight years has been spent in self-imposed exile on the tropical island paradise that is Groote Eylandt. Although I'd had a 750 GSX-R when I moved to Groote in 2013, there was but one highway on the island - and that was 17 kilometres of dead straight boredom. Ergo, the Gixxer got sold to a neighbour, who is probably still laughing since they sealed the twisty 80 klick road from Angurugu to Umbakumba just after my departure. 

To celebrate the move to a place with real roads, I bought a 2000 model TL1000R. I'd been looking for another GSX-R but after seeing and riding the twin, I was an instant convert. The Suzuki has been a great bike, and will no doubt be relegated to the man-cave in perpetuity.

Just recently a colleague not much older than me dropped dead of a heart attack at work. This made me take a good look at myself and wonder if I shouldn't start to tick a few items off the bucket list before it was too late. So I joined Ulysses and found a very tidy imported FXSTC with low mileage online. The bike was located in Nerang so I had it shipped to Mackay and took the day off to meet it there. 

Catching the bus from Moranbah, I spent the trip chatting to the driver as I was the only passenger. Alighting at the depot in Mackay I was immediately struck by the high humidity and scorching heat. Needing a new helmet, I trudged the 2 or 3 kilometres to the local Harley shop to browse. I was sweating profusely when I got there and spent an hour or so chatting to the manager while I waited for the bike to arrive on the truck (and while I cooled down and dried off - I didn't want to put my sweaty bonce into their display helmets).

The truck driver had rung me earlier and told me he'd be in Mackay around four, so I still had several hours to kill. He'd also mentioned he'd drop the bike at the dealership just in case it wouldn't start. Not wanting to appear indigent, I decided to visit the cinema, a good way back the way I came. Arriving hot and sweaty once more, I looked at the meagre offerings and decided on "Into The Woods." BZZZZT! Big mistake. Who knew it was a musical? I went from hot and sweaty to chilled in 15 minutes! Being school holidays the place was brimming with noisy kids and I gave it up and voted with my feet before it ended. Note to self: a little smartphone research before randomly picking a movie can't be overrated.

Rather than inflict a third cycle of dehydration upon my flagging body I called a cab and arrived back at the Harley shop with time to spare and still feeling comfortable - albeit getting antsy about the new toy. I had a coffee and picked up a few items to commemorate the occasion.

At last the truck pulled up and a short time later my new 1999 Softail Custom stood menacingly at the kerb. Custom mirrors, indicators, headlight, Vance & Hines big radius pipes, Lapera solo seat, new candy apple paint, new tyres and new brake pads. I was in heaven! I leapt astride and headed for home, keen to get my knees in the breeze.

I pulled into my favourite service station on the edge of Mackay to top up the fuel. Scanning the bowsers for premium 95 ULP, I grabbed the nozzle. Once I worked out how the hell to get the fuel cap off I started filling. I thought it was odd that the nozzle didn't fit right into the filler, but attributed it to the imported nature of the bike. America, sheesh! 

I'm sure you can see where this is going...

When I went to hang up the nozzle I saw it. That's right, the dirty big DIESEL sticker over the nozzle receptacle. I'd been looking at the Premium sticker advertising that they actually SOLD the stuff. AAARGH!

I couldn't believe my own stupidity. Of all days to have a brain fade, why did it have to be today?

The staff at the service station were worse than useless. Barely out of nappies, they looked at me with cow-eyed indifference when I related my tale of woe. When I told them I would drain the fuel straight onto the apron they bestirred themselves to tell me that I'd have to buy a Jerry can ($50). I discovered that pulling the fuel line off the petcock was no good without a vacuum to open the valve (duh). One of them found a bit of brake hose for me to use as a siphon so I took a good mouth full of petrol/diesel cocktail getting it flowing. Three, as it turned out before I'd drained the tank to my satisfaction. Spitting and cursing, I refilled with petrol, bought a bottle of Gatorade to wash some of the taste out and hit the road, keenly aware that it was getting late and I had two hours of riding into increasingly stormy conditions. 

Twenty kilometres before the Eton Range, the weather broke. First I got a few fat drops of rain, then it poured. Then it bucketed. Visibility dropped to virtually zero and traffic slowed to a crawl. If it wasn't for the airspace behind the visor I would have drowned. Airspace that frequently received fuel flavoured belches. This went on for about forty kilometres until I punched back out into the sunshine. Feeling like a drowned rat I made it to Nebo, where I decided to top up again with fuel to further dilute any traces of diesel in the tank. Not being used to the ergonomics of the bike, I touched my saturated leg against the exhaust upon dismount, eliciting an angry PSSST from my jeans and a startled yelp from me. That was going to leave a mark! This day was not getting any better...

I grabbed a stodgy, lukewarm Chiko Roll to sustain me and remounted, careful to look where I put my leg. I was acutely conscious of the bruised looking sky in front of me and the self-satisfied smirks of the cage drivers watching me. "Onward and upward," says I.

This time I made it to Coppabella before the heavens opened again, this time to the accompaniment of jagged bolts of lightning all around me, scaring the bejeebers out of me again and again. "Just perfect," I thought to myself. A lightning strike to the helmet was just what I needed to top the day off. 

The rain embraced me all the way to about 10 kilometres out of Moranbah. The lights of the town as I crested the last hill on the Peak Downs highway had never looked more inviting. But that 10 kilometres was the longest 10 on Earth. I was tired, wet, cold, sore and miserable. The bike was filthy from several road work sites and I just wanted to be home. 

But I was smiling. I had a Harley Davidson.

Dahlo.

Bad weather can be a real bummer.

A ride resulting with broken bones is not much chop either.

One with the loss of limbs even worse.

Loss of life, pretty hard to beat on the miserable stakes..

Laugh loudly at the bad weather, learn from that broken bone.

Trepidation seems to go straight out of the window when ya jump on ya bike.(Does to me anyway)

Isn't that what makes em so much fun?

My "thought for the day"

 

Miserable ride stories - its when the guys say there keen for a ride and bale out at the last minute with poor excuses !!! LoL

Dahlo, isn't "thou shalt not fill the hog with diesel" one of the seven deadly sins?!

What can I say? It was the only one I hadn't committed. I HATE to leave a job unfinished...

thanks for the laugh Dahlo, I've had plenty of shit rides in the stinkin hot or pourin rain but the worst one was a long time ago in Tassie. The ex and I moved down to Tassie for a change and she wanted to go home for a while. I am a Brissie boy so Tassie was very different for me especially seeing as it was winter there at the time. I was struggling to find work there as I was an outsider, the ex was working after the 3rd week. Anyway since I had little to do during the day I decided to get my bike licence. I had been riding dirt bikes in my youth so was keen to get on the road. Down there back then it was a bit like it is up here now. I had to get my learners first which was a full days course as they let you ride by yourself on a learners down there. Anyway when it came time to go for my P plates I had to go back to the same training place. It was more classroom stuff and then riding thru witches hats again. The following day was going to be a group ride for an hour or so to make sure we hadn't got any bad habits or forgotten anything. I was pretty excited to go on my first group ride until I woke up the next morning to rain. I was told we were still going even if its raining as that's not uncommon in Tassie, especially in winter. It started out okay around town but when we headed into the hinterland it started to snow, yay. The rain and snow were bad enough but we also uncounted some black ice, now that shit is scary. Its a bit like being in an ice skating rink but wearing roller skates. Some how we all got thru it some how but that was the most scared I have been on a bike.

Well, it wasn't really a miserable ride, just a few minutes of a great ride were tending miserable......

 

That's cow shit, by the way, although on the positive side, it did smell quite fresh!!

And really, to me it was one of those times when any miserable feeling was quickly overcome with a wry smile to myself. It was still quite amusing even if I was the victim!!

LOL Col   .

?? Funny as colstah

shortly after buying my first bike as a 16 year old in Scotland I started an apprenticeship. my mate (2nd year apprentice) lived around the corner and had progressed up to a 125cc engine, I was on a 50cc Honda MB 5. we were working at the same place and usually rode to work together. When I looked out the window that morning there was about 6 inches of snow so I phoned my mate and asked him what he reckoned. he said he didn't want to be late for work so lets go. I met him at the usual spot and he was waiting for me so we had 4 miles to go. we followed the tyre tracks of a car for a while and ended up riding the last 2 miles with our feet down pushing through snow. We got to work a bit late but so did everyone else. We had to thaw out that day so most of us made a bee line for big Archies forge. (Archie was the smithy). I don't remember what I learned that day cos big Archie was a cunt of a blacksmith and he used to cook his toast on the fire and I tried it but it tasted shit. When we rode home in the afternoon there was a fair bit of slush on the road but not as bad as the morning.

 

Now we're starting to get some misery on the table. " border="0" src="/DesktopModules/NTForums/themes/_default/emoticons/smile.gif" />

I've never had to contend with snow or black ice but as an 18 year old riding my Kwaka 9 or Honda 4 on the 20-odd Klicks into Mount Gambier from my crib in the pines, I remember well the winters and their associated roadside stops to slap some feeling into the tops of my thighs and rigger-gloved hands. MAN that was cold. 

Nice one, Colstah. Many a time in the South East I've sat in a car behind a stock crate and watched as the cows ejected their various excreta and patted myself on the back as I hit the windscreen washer wiper button. Good thing you had the bandanna...