Was on my way to work on a 1981 CX500 I'd just finished fixing up, so I was taking it pretty easy. As the road opened up past town, a small pickup truck towing a trailer started to pull alongside me. I figured, geez, he was in one heck of a hurry. Then I saw he was pointing at me.
Crap.
So, I immediately pull over to see what was wrong with the bike, expecting anything from a dead taillight to billowing flames.
In fact, I had just dragged a 50-foot, bright yellow extension cord almost five miles from my driveway, snagged on my kickstand. Down a gravel driveway, a dirt road, three 90-degree turns, a set of s-curves, and a good 3 miles at 60 MPH, with only a vague idea that the 25-year-old rear shocks would have to go
