My bike took its 0.015 oz of flesh.
There is a disruptive force in the house that has thrown the gravity well around our little universe out of balance. What was up is now down. What was left is now right. So dressing down the bike after our ride on Monday had me going to the left side instead of the normal right. Having removed my armored pants left my exposed little knee a prime target for the mean exhaust can to reach out and suck the flesh from it. Which it did quite eagerly.
The sharp scream of pain had Mr. Oilburner running to find out what had happened. Ensuing chaos then sent my camera tumbling off of the saddle onto the floor. Luckily it was in it's padded backpack. Though I still haven't tested if the lenses are okay, I'm sure they are. This isn't really the first time they have taken some hard knocks.
This is the third time in my life a leg has been burned by motorcycle exhaust. First time was age 11 while riding my mother's Honda 90. I misjudged a u-turn and rode the bike into some ice-plant on a slope. The bike promptly slide out and placed the back of me knee in direct contact with the pipes. That was a painful experience and healing process. The second time was 3 years ago with Mr. Oilburner's first Harley. He was adamant about me sitting on it before purchasing. I didn't want to since I had no intention of riding it. Stupid me did it anyways...in shorts. And had a nice triangular shaped scar for 2 years on my calf. It wasn't even my bike and it was abusing me already! This time I can't blame my bike. She has been very good to me. This damn black hole in the house needs to be corrected!