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For Sale - custom clutch lever - $100
- Thread starter xjwmx
- Start date
Patches
XS650 Junkie
Only $100 for a truly one of a kind custom clutch lever? That my friend is a steal.
Robbo
Robbo
mind if I copy your design.. Oh and if I could ask what sized car is used in this customisation?
If Patches doesn't take it I might!
AussieHard
AussieHardTail
At least he didn't customise your whole bike!
Will he come back and do the matching brake lever?
I guess I am rich cause I have box of levers that look remarkably like that one.
I guess I am rich cause I have box of levers that look remarkably like that one.
Last edited:
twinsarehot
fu*cking lurker
I was looking for this picture, but ended up reading this little article.
911
Friday, April 29, 2011
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“There’s been an accident… I need a cop here right now!”
“Sir, ok… What happened?”
“I need a cop here now!”
“Where? Where are you? Is anyone hurt?”
“I’m in the parking lot of MaGerks Pub! In Flourtown! On Skippack Pike!”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Sir, who’s hurt? What happened?”
I chose my words carefully, “My bike is hurt! Some bitch just backed into it and sandwiched it between her cage and a sign post!”
The next several minutes were intense. Waiting for the cops to arrive seemed an eternity.
I mean mugged the perpetrator as she sat behind the security of her steering wheel. I placed myself at her front bumper as it was only a moment before that she attempted to rabbit. Her engine was still running and I swear she was gathering the gumption to run my ass over. She had refused to share any insurance info or identification with me. So now we waited.
A crowd had gathered; patrons and staff of the restaurant. A voice from the sidelines, “Hey man! I saw the whole thing! She tried to murder your ride, son!”
Johnny Law arrives on the scene at which time the perp jumps from her car and into the assumed safety of the presence of the authorities.
Quantum physics danced in my mind and the following equation evolved… A large black motorcyclist plus a middle aged to older suburban woman divided by my bike lying on its side at the heel of her rear bumper in a very suburban neighborhood would equal: Bang! Bang! I lose.
The woman pleaded her case as the officer collected our info and headed to his patrol car. “What’s the big deal?” she said. “It’s just a bike.”
“The big deal is that it was mine.” I snarled.
My heart raced, pupils dilated. My pulse quickened. The law man returned shortly from his vehicle.
I looked to him for a glimmer of justice. He spoke.
“Mr. Lane,” he returned my paperwork. “I’ve seen you on the Speed Channel, haven’t I?”
“You may have.” Were the tides changing?
“That show with Jason Britton… Superbikes, right?”
“Yep! That’s the one! Do you ride?”
“I do actually…” He continued as we walked to the point of impact. I prevented anyone from moving or touching my bike so the crime scene remained untainted.
The officer paused. “Is that a Ducati?”
“Yes, sir… it is.” I cocked my head and rolled my eyes at the criminal. “Moron” may as well been tattooed across her forehead.
Four weeks later, a check from her insurance company arrived in my mailbox.
Game over. I win.
http://iconmotosports.net
911
Friday, April 29, 2011
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“There’s been an accident… I need a cop here right now!”
“Sir, ok… What happened?”
“I need a cop here now!”
“Where? Where are you? Is anyone hurt?”
“I’m in the parking lot of MaGerks Pub! In Flourtown! On Skippack Pike!”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Sir, who’s hurt? What happened?”
I chose my words carefully, “My bike is hurt! Some bitch just backed into it and sandwiched it between her cage and a sign post!”
The next several minutes were intense. Waiting for the cops to arrive seemed an eternity.
I mean mugged the perpetrator as she sat behind the security of her steering wheel. I placed myself at her front bumper as it was only a moment before that she attempted to rabbit. Her engine was still running and I swear she was gathering the gumption to run my ass over. She had refused to share any insurance info or identification with me. So now we waited.
A crowd had gathered; patrons and staff of the restaurant. A voice from the sidelines, “Hey man! I saw the whole thing! She tried to murder your ride, son!”
Johnny Law arrives on the scene at which time the perp jumps from her car and into the assumed safety of the presence of the authorities.
Quantum physics danced in my mind and the following equation evolved… A large black motorcyclist plus a middle aged to older suburban woman divided by my bike lying on its side at the heel of her rear bumper in a very suburban neighborhood would equal: Bang! Bang! I lose.
The woman pleaded her case as the officer collected our info and headed to his patrol car. “What’s the big deal?” she said. “It’s just a bike.”
“The big deal is that it was mine.” I snarled.
My heart raced, pupils dilated. My pulse quickened. The law man returned shortly from his vehicle.
I looked to him for a glimmer of justice. He spoke.
“Mr. Lane,” he returned my paperwork. “I’ve seen you on the Speed Channel, haven’t I?”
“You may have.” Were the tides changing?
“That show with Jason Britton… Superbikes, right?”
“Yep! That’s the one! Do you ride?”
“I do actually…” He continued as we walked to the point of impact. I prevented anyone from moving or touching my bike so the crime scene remained untainted.
The officer paused. “Is that a Ducati?”
“Yes, sir… it is.” I cocked my head and rolled my eyes at the criminal. “Moron” may as well been tattooed across her forehead.
Four weeks later, a check from her insurance company arrived in my mailbox.
Game over. I win.
http://iconmotosports.net
I can straighten that!
7.5 years... 
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1981 Yamaha XS650 Special II