My Harley Disaster...

[Mike_Hunt]

Did your lady boyfriend riding a pillion help you pick up the bike?

[FriscoKid]

17 minutes ago, Robert_Smith said:

They all from this imposter!

 

regards,

Bob.

Who is he impersonating?

[Harrisfan]

22 minutes ago, Robert_Smith said:

My ar$e!

 

regards,

Bob.

Talking to yourself

[FriscoKid]

37 minutes ago, FolkGuitar said:

Best to date! Finally a well-written piece of interesting fiction.

Whoever this 'Bob' is, he should get to wear the name.

 

However, any decent bike rider knows enough not to tailgate, especially on a street where the drivers are all rubber-necking, trying to pick out their pumps for the night.  This guy is NOT a biker, despite his fancy leathers.

Actually, even decent bike riders fall over on heavy motorcycles like that moving at slow speed. Some even just fall over parked at a red light. When a bike isn't really moving then suddenly you have to really balance all the weight. Much easier to balance when the bike is moving fast.

[Robert_Smith]

17 minutes ago, FriscoKid said:

Who is he impersonating?

Me you fool! But this difference between me and chumpsy is that I don't use AI to write my posts....

 

regards,

bob.

[CHdiver]

You must have missed the Tip from Lek: Oiiii Papa, you go buy Wave. More easy to pick up for you. 

[FriscoKid]

1 minute ago, Robert_Smith said:

Me you fool! But this difference between me and chumpsy is that I don't use AI to write my posts....

 

regards,

bob.

Fool? Who are you? You have a brand new user account. And you don't write anything like this guy does. I don't see the connection. You want to be like him or something? Get a grip bro.

[Robert_Smith]

1 minute ago, FriscoKid said:

Fool? Who are you?

Who are you?

I'm Bob Smith. I Was here long before you were...

Get a grip of yourself, Kid.

 

regards,

Bob.

[Harsh Jones]

4 hours ago, save the frogs said:

the real bob's threads get more attention. i guess he's the real legend who cannot be outshined. 

 

 

The real Bob is cringe and a compulsive liar that lives in his own alternate reality, who should be limited to 5 posts a day

[iLuvThai]

4 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

If that's true then you where following to close to stop safely end of story.

[Ralf001]

54 minutes ago, FolkGuitar said:

Best to date! Finally a well-written piece of interesting fiction.

Whoever this 'Bob' is, he should get to wear the name.

 

However, any decent bike rider knows enough not to tailgate, especially on a street where the drivers are all rubber-necking, trying to pick out their pumps for the night.  This guy is NOT a biker, despite his fancy leathers.

Bob in his leathers.

 

t

[ColeBOzbourne]

I stopped reading after the first word, first paragraph..."Mates,". 

[FriscoKid]

10 minutes ago, Robert_Smith said:

Who are you?

I'm Bob Smith. I Was here long before you were...

Get a grip of yourself, Kid.

 

regards,

Bob.

Wonderful. Congratulations. Whoever that is. But I still don't understand the imposter issue? I don't see any likeness between the few posts you've made over the last few days and the OP. 

 

Just have a lie down bro. Still drunk from last night? Pop a benzo if that helps. I think you should relax before you cause yourself an unnecessary conniption. 

[FriscoKid]

6 minutes ago, Ralf001 said:

Bob in his leathers.

 

t

Did you steal that from the Trump anthem?

[Ralf001]

3 minutes ago, FriscoKid said:

Did you steal that from the Trump anthem?

 

What is a Trump anthem ?

[advancebooking]

If he ran up the rear end of your bike then it would be his fault. 

[FolkGuitar]

37 minutes ago, FriscoKid said:

Actually, even decent bike riders fall over on heavy motorcycles like that moving at slow speed. Some even just fall over parked at a red light. When a bike isn't really moving then suddenly you have to really balance all the weight. Much easier to balance when the bike is moving fast.

 

If you can't keep a big bike under control in ALL riding conditions, fast or slow, you are not a decent rider. It's THAT simple.
Hell, just to pass the Big bike license exam in Japan you have to ride a 20cm wide  2cm thick plank, very slowly, for 15 meters in MORE than 10 seconds without falling off. You are required to ride a Figure-8 without touching the line. The average number of attempts to pass the test is 6 attempts. Even the CHP, when they came for a visit, didn't pass the riding test on their first try.
No... if you can't handle your bike, regardless of its size, you are NOT a decent rider. There are many small Japanese women in the motorcycle police corps in Japan. They have no trouble with big bikes, even at traffic lights.

[Andre0720]

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM.

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

Typically one who drives too fast is to blame... But at 10km an hour, able to brake, front wheel lock up, handlebars wobble, but too late... Must be the type of motorbike is the problem..

 

Hummmm Reminds me of this police accident report, that read like this: "An invisible car, came out of nowhere, struck me, then vanished".

 

 

 

[Dan O]

5 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Mates, let me tell you, I don’t know what it is, but the universe seems to have it out for me lately. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s bad luck. Or maybe it’s just that Thailand simply cannot handle a man of my stature, good looks, and wealth roaring through the streets on a 900-pound chromed Milwaukee masterpiece.

 

So, there I was, yesterday afternoon, taking my beloved Harley down Soi 6, heading to meet my old mate Pete the Porker for a few tins. I’m feeling good, looking sharp, got my aviators on, leather vest in this 36-degree heat because fashion is pain, and the engine purring like a high-class BJ Queen.

 

I glide down the soi, weaving through the usual mix of punters, bar sluts, and wide-eyed first-timers still trying to process the sheer carnage of what they’ve just walked into. A few lovely ladies give me the nod (standard for a baller like me), and I’m thinking, Yeah, Bob, you know you’ve still got it.

 

And then, disaster.

 

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM—I’m down. Bob, the king of Soi 6, now lying in the middle of the one lane Soi like a bruised mango, my Harley keeled over like a beached whale.

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own rage boiling over. And then, the laughter. Of course, the peanut gallery absolutely loved that one. Slappers cackling, motocy taxi drivers pointing, even some pasty bloke in cargo shorts gave me a thumbs up. Real funny, yeah? Watching a man’s ego get obliterated in broad daylight?

 

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe. He’s stepped out of his car now, a middle-aged local bloke in knockoff Ray-Bans and a shirt that says “Red Bull Champions 2014.” The type who probably spends his days cutting people off in traffic and his nights trying to convince karaoke girls that he’s a pilot.

 

I hit him with my best intimidating mug-shot stare.

 

“Mate, what the actual f*** was that?”

 

The bloke shrugs. Shrugs! Like I just asked him what his favorite noodle stall is. Then he hits me with, “Farang not careful.”

 

Farang not careful?! I nearly blew a gasket on the spot. I was gliding through that soi like a majestic panther before this absolute numpty of the highest order decided to pull a handbrake turn for no reason.

 

I point to my bike. “You see that, yeah? That’s 2,800,000 baht of pure American steel you just laid out like a cheap deck chair.”

 

Does he care? No. In fact, now he’s getting annoyed at me, like I’m the inconvenience in his day! A small crowd is gathering. More bar girls watching now, some old expat lads leaning against a bar railing, enjoying the show.

 

Then, out of nowhere, this fella tries to walk back to his car like it’s case closed.

 

Oh, no. Not today. Bob's not having it. 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

He sighs, takes off his sunglasses, and says the words:

 

“Not my problem farang.”

 

And that’s when I knew it was game over. This was one of those classic Thailand moments where, no matter what, the farang is always in the wrong. I could have had a dashcam, sworn witness statements, and a handwritten apology from the grandfather of Pattaya himself, and I’d still be the one walking away with a lighter wallet and a fresh dose of humiliation. 

 

And sure enough, before I can argue further, a couple of motocy taxi runts start shaking their fingers at me. One even says, “You go too fast farang.”

 

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

But what can you do? Welcome to Pattaya. I’m left standing there, sweaty, pissed off, my Harley scuffed up, while the fella hops back in his Toyota sh*tbox and drives off like nothing happened.

 

And Pete the Porker? The useless sod is already at the bar, texting me “where u at bruv?” as I stand there in the middle of Soi 6, trying to piece together what’s left of my sense of humor.

 

Moral of the story, lads? Driving in Thailand is like Thai go-go bar tabs, you never quite know how badly you’re getting shafted until it’s all already too late.

 

Best regards,

The Original Bob.

First off, I dont believe this load of bs. Secondly if it were true, you are an idiot and it's your fault for following too close and not knowing how to ride a bike. Thirdly its a shame the guy behind you didn't run over your fictious a$$ and lastly its a shame that the typical throng of locals didnt come out beat you. Then you would have a more believable story

[Dan O]

1 hour ago, Robert_Smith said:

Me you fool! But this difference between me and chumpsy is that I don't use AI to write my posts....

 

regards,

bob.

no, but both of you post bs made up crap, just for different reasons

[Wuvu2]

6 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe.

You rear-ended a pickup truck. The idiot responsible for the catastrophe is you 🙄

[Ralf001]

3 minutes ago, Wuvu2 said:

You rear-ended a pickup truck. The idiot responsible for the catastrophe is you 🙄

 

It was a toyota sedan.... but the idiot remains the same !

[Liverpool Lou]

4 hours ago, Ralf001 said:

 

Your at fault.. you pay to fix your tractor... and his toyota.

It didn't happen!   No fault, no payment for fixes, no tractor, no Toyota.

[PB172111]

You had me at Harley. Still laughing 🤣🤣

[JoeRan]

Another fat old bald farang on a scooter going 10k/hr gawking at the ladyboys whining because he rear ended someone instead of him getting rear ended. 
Maybe tonight you’ll get it your way. 

[KhunLA]

Seems OP bought a scooter he can't handle, or knows how to drive, let alone drive defensively.   

 

Although if even close to factual, more than enough distractions while cruising through soi 6.

 

Maybe a 3 wheel mobility scooter in the future, you won't fall over, and bruise your ego as easiy ... after you wake up from you fantasy dream.

 

[chickenslegs]

If this story was true it would be all over the Pattaya social media by now, with concerned "netizens" passing judgement on the angry farang.

[gargamon]

4 minutes ago, chickenslegs said:

If this story was true it would be all over the Pattaya social media by now, with concerned "netizens" passing judgement on the angry farang.

The OP is just another Bob bot used to generate traffic.

[Merrill]

8 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Mates, let me tell you, I don’t know what it is, but the universe seems to have it out for me lately. Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s bad luck. Or maybe it’s just that Thailand simply cannot handle a man of my stature, good looks, and wealth roaring through the streets on a 900-pound chromed Milwaukee masterpiece.

 

So, there I was, yesterday afternoon, taking my beloved Harley down Soi 6, heading to meet my old mate Pete the Porker for a few tins. I’m feeling good, looking sharp, got my aviators on, leather vest in this 36-degree heat because fashion is pain, and the engine purring like a high-class BJ Queen.

 

I glide down the soi, weaving through the usual mix of punters, bar sluts, and wide-eyed first-timers still trying to process the sheer carnage of what they’ve just walked into. A few lovely ladies give me the nod (standard for a baller like me), and I’m thinking, Yeah, Bob, you know you’ve still got it.

 

And then, disaster.

 

Out of nowhere, some absolute tosser in a battered old Toyota Altis, looking like it's an old repainted Bangkok taxi, decides to stomp on the brakes right in front of me. No indication, no warning, nothing. I yank the brakes, but it’s too late. The front wheel locks up, the handlebars wobble, and suddenly, BOOM—I’m down. Bob, the king of Soi 6, now lying in the middle of the one lane Soi like a bruised mango, my Harley keeled over like a beached whale.

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own rage boiling over. And then, the laughter. Of course, the peanut gallery absolutely loved that one. Slappers cackling, motocy taxi drivers pointing, even some pasty bloke in cargo shorts gave me a thumbs up. Real funny, yeah? Watching a man’s ego get obliterated in broad daylight?

 

I pick myself up, dust off my jeans, wipe off my boots, and turn to the idiot responsible for this catastrophe. He’s stepped out of his car now, a middle-aged local bloke in knockoff Ray-Bans and a shirt that says “Red Bull Champions 2014.” The type who probably spends his days cutting people off in traffic and his nights trying to convince karaoke girls that he’s a pilot.

 

I hit him with my best intimidating mug-shot stare.

 

“Mate, what the actual f*** was that?”

 

The bloke shrugs. Shrugs! Like I just asked him what his favorite noodle stall is. Then he hits me with, “Farang not careful.”

 

Farang not careful?! I nearly blew a gasket on the spot. I was gliding through that soi like a majestic panther before this absolute numpty of the highest order decided to pull a handbrake turn for no reason.

 

I point to my bike. “You see that, yeah? That’s 2,800,000 baht of pure American steel you just laid out like a cheap deck chair.”

 

Does he care? No. In fact, now he’s getting annoyed at me, like I’m the inconvenience in his day! A small crowd is gathering. More bar girls watching now, some old expat lads leaning against a bar railing, enjoying the show.

 

Then, out of nowhere, this fella tries to walk back to his car like it’s case closed.

 

Oh, no. Not today. Bob's not having it. 

 

I step in front of his door. “Oi, mate, not so fast. Who’s paying for the damage to my Harley?”

 

He sighs, takes off his sunglasses, and says the words:

 

“Not my problem farang.”

 

And that’s when I knew it was game over. This was one of those classic Thailand moments where, no matter what, the farang is always in the wrong. I could have had a dashcam, sworn witness statements, and a handwritten apology from the grandfather of Pattaya himself, and I’d still be the one walking away with a lighter wallet and a fresh dose of humiliation. 

 

And sure enough, before I can argue further, a couple of motocy taxi runts start shaking their fingers at me. One even says, “You go too fast farang.”

 

Mate, I was going ten kilometers an hour. I’ve seen coconuts roll faster.

 

But what can you do? Welcome to Pattaya. I’m left standing there, sweaty, pissed off, my Harley scuffed up, while the fella hops back in his Toyota sh*tbox and drives off like nothing happened.

 

And Pete the Porker? The useless sod is already at the bar, texting me “where u at bruv?” as I stand there in the middle of Soi 6, trying to piece together what’s left of my sense of humor.

 

Moral of the story, lads? Driving in Thailand is like Thai go-go bar tabs, you never quite know how badly you’re getting shafted until it’s all already too late.

 

Best regards,

The Original Bob.

Bob you out of anyone should know better concentrate you were looking at the ladies, of course someone is going to do the unpredictable in front of you it’s Thailand 

[Keep Right]

Hey Bob,

 

I think I saw you riding around on your "Harley" the other day: