The "FARK" Heard 'round the World

Nothing makes a screw-up heal faster than hearing the tale of a guy who messed-up just a bit more than you.

WORDS: Rob Cimeno

Nothing makes a screw-up heal faster than hearing the tale of a guy who messed-up just a bit more than you.

So I was reading Motorcyclist and one particular little story really ignited a flashback moment for me. It was called "FARK" I think, some guy tipped over an MV Augusta and everyone turned to look when he yelled out a loud "FARK!"
I don't even recall what he actually did to tip it over, something unintentionally foolish. Similarly Homer Simpson would have belched out a hearty "Doh !" if he knocked over a pricey MV Augusta F41000.

My Fark moment was many years ago, 1982 to be exact. It was a cold, wet and windy fall day. I had just purchased a used Yamaha RD 400 Daytona Special and had reluctantly decided to put it away for the approaching winter. My Dad had a storage building that I could keep the RD in and it was there that my Fark moment was to occur. Attached to the side of the building was a deck with a small ramp to move bikes in and out from.
I tried riding up the ramp but it was wet and the heavy bike was unable to climb the slick plywood ramp.

Being the clever 20 year old that I was, I put the one and only Idea I had into motion. Gain more speed when approaching the ramp.
Good idea, lets go. I got a good running start at the ramp, wow, up I went, and went and then went some more. It hadn't occurred to me that the deck would be as slick as the ramp and being as the deck had no railings, I slid past the intended target doorway and skidded right off the other end. "FARK!" It was a good 5 foot drop too. The RD sunk like a stone, its front tire hitting the ground first and planting itself into the mud, with me still holding on. My brain was still lagging behind focused on the slippery deck, wondering how it could have overlooked that obvious oversight, I still wasn't positively certain this was really occurring yet. Forward momentum sent the rear end of the bike over on top of me, jamming my head hard into the ground, my body somersaulting behind. Oh yeah, this is happening alright, the weight of the RD relieving me of all the air from my lungs and squishing me firmly into the mud.

Am I sill alive? Yes, you survived. What a dope I whispered to myself. Reflecting back, I was lucky for the muddy ground, a serious spinal injury just narrowly avoided. As I lay there, the gas from the tank started to pour over me, absolute misery. The bike was now perfectly upside down with me pinned underneath. I looked up into the sky and caught a glimpse of my poor father looking down from a second story window. He was shaking his head from side to side, a look of disbelief on his face. He must have been so proud, looking down at Junior upside down, wheels till spinning. I fear Evil Kneivel himself would have been disgusted with that poor showing.

After my Dad pulled me out from underneath the bike, we wheeled it into the garage the easy way, why didn't I think of that? I proceeded to strip it down to the bare frame. Getting lost in removing every last nut and bolt. I would rebuild it, all traces of that fall day and the damage erased. Every time I hear a new "Fark" story or another poor guy having a "DOH!" moment I'm reminded of that day.
Thank Fark, I can laugh at it now.