Back in the early 90's I'm 19 and dumb. I'm supposed to go to my families camp for the weekend but had to work friday night until 11pm. I decide I'll just shoot up on my VF500, normally a 3 hour drive should take me 2 on the bike. Only problem is I had never drove to camp and thus got lost. So at about 2am I'm cruising the back roads of northern Vermont on a completely moonless night. I'm going "slow" 50-55 looking for any easy turn around when something flashes by in my periphiral vision. I turn around a little ways down and come back though, this time my headlight catches what I had just missed by a foot, a freaking giant black steer standing in the middle of the road. I pulled off at a picnic area and slept on a table until morning.
Another time I'm working a Sunday morning and I'm early. I decide to zip up though this housing development. I come around a corner when I remember that there is a stop sign at the end of this down hill corner. I panic, stand the bike up grab the brakes and go straight out of the corner up on a banked lawn. I know if I'm still hitting the brakes when I get on the wet grass Im going down. I let off the brakes grab the throttle put one foot down and slide it like its flat tracker until she's pointed back to the road, didnt even think about it . That taught me to stop being an idiot.