dcarver
Well-known member
That's what you get for Activism... 
What Do You Call an '05 FJR Without Gasoline?
- Thread starter James Burleigh
- Start date
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7xray
Well-known member
Yeah, but I bet he hasn't run out of gas for his activish! Go for it JB.That's what you get for Activism...
palerider
Well-known member
Dammit, that's what I was gonna say.What Do You Call an '05 FJR Without Gasoline?
A big ass paperweight.
Khunajawdge
Toto El Mundo!
Stuck!
There's nothing more pathetic than an FJR1300 out of gas, alongside the road on a beautiful day :glare:
Here's a photo taken last weekend, just to serve as a bench mark.
There's nothing more pathetic than an FJR1300 out of gas, alongside the road on a beautiful day :glare:
Here's a photo taken last weekend, just to serve as a bench mark.
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madmike2
Shtirrenuppenmeister
I've heard that some riders actually refill their gas tanks when they get to the "reserve" notification (or before, if they understand they are going to be riding some distance)....just to avoid this particular scenario.
Obviously...YMMV. :dribble:
Obviously...YMMV. :dribble:
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MCML
Not All Who Wander Are Lost
After I ran out of fuel on my SV650 years ago I started carrying a siphon hose with me. It has ensured that I have never needed it!
I know, I know. I surely have set myself up on this on this one.
I know, I know. I surely have set myself up on this on this one.
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Khunajawdge
Toto El Mundo!
OK, being as you and I are the SAME age MCML, take a gander at that bike pictured a couple of frames up. Guess what? I had a siphon hose under that seat. Before Steve ran off to get me fuel see; Click It, I tried the 'ol siphon on the gas in his tank by sucking through a hose..Pheeeuuueeww! I couldn't do it!
The fumes alone were like No gasolene I have sampled from the past. The fumes were immediately devastating to my taste buds, and sinus. A couple of hours later when I burped, I thought my tonsils were going to melt off. Good thing I don't smoke! I'm getting a siphon bulb post haste.
thegunslinger
Well-known member
A hunk of shiny metal.... :angry2:
So coming home tonight, on a 6-lane divided arterial 4 miles from the barn, I thread my way up to the front of the stop light between the mass of metal 4-wheeled cages all around me. I am Superman and they are puny earthlings. They disgust me! :glare:
The light turns green, and I engage the controls with my typical amazing dexterity of the type that makes my fellow motorcyclists weep to behold and my blue steed fly ahead of the pitiful mortals.
I get 20 feet out ahead and...bleeeeeeeech. I ain't got nothin'. Someone threw kryptonite my way. The fiend! It's all I can do to get to the side before a thousand tons of steel and plastic goes over the top of me in the rush to get home first.
So here's what I figure: I get about 32 (shitty little) miles to the gallon. So if the reserve is a gallon and a half roughly, I ought to get at least into the 40s on my reserve tripometer. Add to my optimism the fact that all you liars out there claim you get 142 miles to the gallon and stuff like that (the same ones who want a 6th gear--me, I cruise the freeway in 4th at 6 or 7 K).
My motorcycle has just turned into a useless (and very heavy!) object of art. And I had only 38 miles on my reserve tripometer. F**k!
------------------------
Epilogue: I waved down a utility pick-up truck. The guy slows, and I ask if he's got any gas. He says no, but his shop is half a mile away; he'll be right back. Great. While waiting I notice a gardner working a blower a couple blocks away. Gasoline! But soon Mr. Truck comes back. I fill up the tank, then ask George (my new best friend) how I can repay him. "Don't worry about it," he says with a smile, packs up, and pulls away with a wave.
I love people. (It's mankind I can't stand....
Jb
A hunk of shiny metal.... :angry2:
So coming home tonight, on a 6-lane divided arterial 4 miles from the barn, I thread my way up to the front of the stop light between the mass of metal 4-wheeled cages all around me. I am Superman and they are puny earthlings. They disgust me! :glare:
The light turns green, and I engage the controls with my typical amazing dexterity of the type that makes my fellow motorcyclists weep to behold and my blue steed fly ahead of the pitiful mortals.
I get 20 feet out ahead and...bleeeeeeeech. I ain't got nothin'. Someone threw kryptonite my way. The fiend! It's all I can do to get to the side before a thousand tons of steel and plastic goes over the top of me in the rush to get home first.
So here's what I figure: I get about 32 (shitty little) miles to the gallon. So if the reserve is a gallon and a half roughly, I ought to get at least into the 40s on my reserve tripometer. Add to my optimism the fact that all you liars out there claim you get 142 miles to the gallon and stuff like that (the same ones who want a 6th gear--me, I cruise the freeway in 4th at 6 or 7 K).
My motorcycle has just turned into a useless (and very heavy!) object of art. And I had only 38 miles on my reserve tripometer. F**k!
------------------------
Epilogue: I waved down a utility pick-up truck. The guy slows, and I ask if he's got any gas. He says no, but his shop is half a mile away; he'll be right back. Great. While waiting I notice a gardner working a blower a couple blocks away. Gasoline! But soon Mr. Truck comes back. I fill up the tank, then ask George (my new best friend) how I can repay him. "Don't worry about it," he says with a smile, packs up, and pulls away with a wave.
I love people. (It's mankind I can't stand....
Jb
A hunk of shiny metal.... :angry2:
So coming home tonight, on a 6-lane divided arterial 4 miles from the barn, I thread my way up to the front of the stop light between the mass of metal 4-wheeled cages all around me. I am Superman and they are puny earthlings. They disgust me! :glare:
The light turns green, and I engage the controls with my typical amazing dexterity of the type that makes my fellow motorcyclists weep to behold and my blue steed fly ahead of the pitiful mortals.
I get 20 feet out ahead and...bleeeeeeeech. I ain't got nothin'. Someone threw kryptonite my way. The fiend! It's all I can do to get to the side before a thousand tons of steel and plastic goes over the top of me in the rush to get home first.
So here's what I figure: I get about 32 (shitty little) miles to the gallon. So if the reserve is a gallon and a half roughly, I ought to get at least into the 40s on my reserve tripometer. Add to my optimism the fact that all you liars out there claim you get 142 miles to the gallon and stuff like that (the same ones who want a 6th gear--me, I cruise the freeway in 4th at 6 or 7 K).
My motorcycle has just turned into a useless (and very heavy!) object of art. And I had only 38 miles on my reserve tripometer. F**k!
------------------------
Epilogue: I waved down a utility pick-up truck. The guy slows, and I ask if he's got any gas. He says no, but his shop is half a mile away; he'll be right back. Great. While waiting I notice a gardner working a blower a couple blocks away. Gasoline! But soon Mr. Truck comes back. I fill up the tank, then ask George (my new best friend) how I can repay him. "Don't worry about it," he says with a smile, packs up, and pulls away with a wave.
I love people. (It's mankind I can't stand....
Jb
EXPDSGT
Well-known member
Well we know you weren't in Oakland don't we.
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rocketdoc
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2005
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What do you call an FJR out of gas? Nothing. The bike doesn't give a shit what you call it. But the rider...what do you call the rider? Running out of gas on a motorcycle can be a very dangerous situation, especially with a rider like yourself who tends to be hooked on G's related to accelation. Glad you were not in the middle lane of a crawling rush hour situation, or cranked over in a big sweeper when the beast hiccuped.
Plan ahead.
:stunned:
Plan ahead.
:stunned:
Niehart
Pie Smuggler
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palerider
Well-known member
A Harley.
