My Dad and the Harley
My Uncle has always been a bike freak - the bigger and more grebo looking the better.

Anyway, after a few years in South America he decided, with my Aunt, to drive a few thousand miles north to North America and buy up motorcycles.

He bought a couple of Indians etc... and a couple of Harley.

One Harley in particular (1972 model of something or other) he took a liking to and decided to keep this as his main runaround.

Sadly, there was a problem with the starter motor. My Uncle, being a maths teacher knows a bit about this sort of thing, but my dad is more practical, so he takes the bike down to my dad's house to be looked at.

My dad take a look, pulls the starter motor out of the way to look at the electrics and as he has his hand halfway inside the engine, the case of the motor touched the frame and completed the circuit somehow (like I say, it needed som looking at).

His middle finger was still in the bike as the starter motor starts up and drags it through the mill, so to speak.

It crushed the top part of his finger and broke the bone there in 17 places. It carried on until it ripped his finger in two right the way back to the knuckle.

My dad is a proper bleeder. If he cuts himself shaving it bleeds torrents.

Blood was, as usual, everywhere.

Do you know what he did?

Wrapped it up in bog roll and went to the pub.

It was only after several pints that my uncle and I managed to convince him to go to the hospital; otherwise he had no intention of going.

After several months of plastic surgery and prodding, he finally had feeling in that finger again.

The surgeon said he was lucky!
(dchurch bah, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:42, Reply)