The first bike I ever rode was a friend's CB125. I cracked the throttle, let out the clutch and promptly crashed right into the back of a parked car. I bought my first bike, a '77 XL100, a few weeks later. After my dad and I got it out of the back of his pickup I kicked it to life, cracked the throttle, let out the clutch and tried to climb a huge elm tree.
Amazingly, I didn't crash again until one day I was riding it home from work and hit some loose sand in the street. That was the last time I ever rode without gloves after the bloody roadrash mess that was left of my palms.
Sand caused my only other crash when I was turning into an on-ramp and my '81 Yamaha 550 Maxim just slid out from under me. This time I was wearing leather, but I probably would have been OK in pajamas. I landed flat on my butt and just sat there watching sparks fly from the chrome exhaust.
Never got a scratch on my Sportster. In twelve years of riding those were the only mishaps I had on motorcycles. One nice thing about dual sports, if I do bang it up, battle scars are appreciated.
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