http://cgi.ebay.com.au/Yamaha-...?hash=item25570406b0

Well it's back, but it actually hasn't gone anywhere.


Three out of the 641 people who asked questions or made comments about the Trike of Death insisted that I stop trying to be stupid and just write a normal ad. Just for them, here it goes:


Yelow trike runs well need to make moor roome cuz bying sumpfink faster hey no time waisters any questions plz ask no ofers.


And for the rest of us:


If you're like me, you've probably trodden in a fresh dog poo with bare feet. As bad as that sounds, at least you know straight away and can easily clean it off. With shoes on you may not even realise until you tread through someone's newly carpeted caravan, by which time it will be too late to escape the embarrassment even though it wasn't even your poo. Owning a trike is the same thing: At first you may not like it, but when you turn up to go riding and everyone else only has two wheelers or quads, you stand out for some really good reasons. Some might think, look, they can't balance on two wheels so they have a trike. They will soon be the ones with poo on their shoe once they see that the extra wheel does nothing for balance, unless the trike is standing still and chained to the ground.


In between the last two listings I thought I'd take the trike for another ride. Then I changed my mind, but it changed itself back three times until I found myself taking it for a ride. After dislocating my shoulder trying to start it with my left arm, I tried using my right arm but I had forgotten to turn the fuel on. It was a bit like going to the car and forgetting to take your keys with you, which you then realise are locked inside the house with your wallet and mobile phone. You break in via one of the windows, slicing through your jugular vein and end up dying eight times before you find your keys. Really annoying.


Once I got it going the trike was really out to get me. I took off up the gravel driveway and managed to keep it in a straight line by throwing my body weight around enough to end up underneath it, like a scene from Cape Fear. I got to the top of the driveway and thought that since it was taking a lot longer to sell than I expected, I may as well try it out on a tar road, after all, no bumps meant more speed.


I ended up riding up the road like a damsel in distress, mainly because I forgot my helmet once again. I felt really stable on the trike and was surprised how well the suspension soaked up bumps, until I hit a painted white line on the road which sent me so airborne that I ran out of oxygen and wet my pants. When I landed, I realised that I hadn't even left the road but my vivid imagination had gotten the better of me. I started thinking that it would be a good thing to get the trike registered so that I could ride it on the road and perhaps tour the world on it. I thought of how much fun it would be to ride to work and the enjoyment I would get when it stalled just as the lights turned green. But it was fast, and fast is what you need when you want to get to work on time. So what if you have a fractured skull and as much skin left as a peeled banana, surely your workmates won't mind that you can no longer talk and that every time you cough, teeth come flying out. As if having your bowel draped over your shoulder ever stopped anyone from doing an honest days work. At least it would be better than catching the train.


I thought about the difficulties in getting it registered, indicators, brakes, steering wheel, it was all going to be too much. I decided that the trike should spend the rest of its life locked in a garage or gazing on humans and grass on my farm.


I now have two trikes, which I think is called a plague of trikes. One of the Trike of Death's fans spotted another one on ebay and taunted me with the fact that the other trike had a bigger motor, a 200cc. I knew I had to act quickly, so I clicked the buy it now button and picked the trike up the next day. There was no way I was going to let some other trike prance around thinking they were tough just because of their extra 25cc, no way. I was going to bring the trike home and after putting them together to mate, set fire to it and post the ashes to India to be turned into cardamom powder. However I couldn't destroy the new trike, because it was harmless.


Yes, it has a 200cc motor, but it's a four stroke which means that it idles but doesn't rev past 19,000 RPM. It also has electric start, which takes the fun out of the unpredictable and sadistic starting habits of the Trike of Death. It has reverse, which is handy for when you get stuck in places you shouldn't be, like Amway meetings. The Trike of Death doesn't have reverse and probably for a few good reasons. When you crash the Trike of Death, there isn't much chance of your body being able to muster up the strength to select reverse gear, especially when there is a tree sticking through your torso with your kidneys hanging off the branches like over ripe apples. There's also the safety aspect, because if the Trike of Death had reverse, it could go backwards so fast that the hair on the back of your head would thread its way through your skull and make your brain itch. The uncontrollable itch of 'hair brain' would mean you would take your hands off the otherwise useless handlebars to scratch yourself, at which point your arms would fly off in the wind and take out the overhead power lines. The resultant blackout caused by the shut down of the power grid would make everyone leave their homes only to be run over by a trike moving backwards at 120 km/h. There's also the problem of the exhaust smoke being blown back onto your Trike of Death T shirt, making you look silly.


The Trike of Death has no racks, but my latest trike does. I think these were fitted knowing that if there was going to be a serious pile-up, the riders of the two stroke trike would be the ones needing transport to the nearest hospital, morgue or cemetery. The racks look like they could hold a lot of weight, perhaps even a leopard.


When I took the four stroke trike for a ride, I felt safe and secure, and compared to riding the Trike of Death, I was bored. I tried to wheelstand the 200, but the front wheel stayed stuck to the ground like a tick on a snake. I used all the five gears and still didn't crash and no matter what I did, I couldn't get it sideways. By comparison, the Trike of Death needed only first gear to declare war on anything within a five mile radius, including the rider. Even looking at the sticker which tells you that it has five gears gave me a headache and rash. The Trike of Death will wheelstand just by opening the fuel cap. It also goes sideways on one wheel without even trying too hard. The Trike of Death makes UFC look like Swedish massage.


I know there are other trikes out there which are much faster and far more dangerous than the Trike of Death, but like most venomous creatures do, they display their potential with vivid colours, like the blue ringed octopus, the red back spider and the pink striped fairy slapper. The Trike of Death is yellow, plain old diarrhoea yellow. Yellow is meant to mean safety (except yellow snow). Yellow is a colour that psychologists suggest you should paint your bedroom if you have trouble finding your black socks. Yellow is also mixed with blue to create green and green is the colour of many toothpastes, so it seems very safe. So Yamaha did a clever thing when they disguised the Trike of Death as a duckling with three black feet. Everyone wanted one.


Some of the good things that I should point out about the Trike of Death are:


1.
It takes up as much room as three normal bikes.
2.
It has the ability to tow a boat, but it is so fast that if you try you will tow the trailer from under the boat and leave the boat sitting in thin air for an hour.
3.
The trike could also be used at kids parties, where with a little bit of a tweak here and there it could be ridden in under wheelstand mode as Big Bird from Sesame Street; and the naughty kids could have a ride on him!
4.
There is no horn, so friends have to constantly watch you ride it or they will be run over.
5.
It has a pull start, which keeps you fit simply by flooding it when you use too much choke.
6.
It has an anti theft device, which is the pull start.
7.
It can survive under water for six days.
8.
It has only had two owners, and I'm still alive.


If I had two triangular sheds I would keep both my trikes. But because I'm so scared of damaging the trike as I cartwheel down a hill with the rear tyres examining my femur for defects while my broken thumb jams the throttle full on and my jaw gets turned into kidney stones, I hardly ride it. I'm not scared of hurting myself, it's just the trike. How many people want to buy crashed fighter planes? Not many. So that's why I'm looking after the trike so well. One day this thing will feature at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.


Christmas is just around the corner, so think of the cheer you could bring to someone's face by presenting them with this thing under the Christmas tree. Just don't tell them what it is.



WARNING:

If you choose to read past here, you will need to crack open a bottle of scotch or pour yourself another glass of acetone. The earlier ads are below for those who like a laugh at my expense!






Oh no, what a shame, the Trike of Death didn’t sell. Is it the price? Is it the colour? Is it the shape? Or is it the fact that the trike of death is connected wirelessly to ebay and automatically cancelling out any bids made by one of the 9,621 visitors to the ad? I agree with many of you, I should be paid by ebay for the attention that this trike drew last time around, but until I think of a better way to sell it, the trike will be re-listed over and over again until your great grand children will be talking about it if need be.

Let me take you back some time to when I first saw this trike on a lonely old website. Immediately I thought how handy, how versatile, how yellow and how unique. So I bought it. I was like a parent with a three headed baby when I picked it up; embarrassed by what I had, but at the same time proud of having something different. Fortunately the trike doesn’t have three bums to wipe or three mouths to feed.



When I arrived home with the trike there was much amazement from the onlookers as I pulled up outside my house with the strange yellow beast tethered securely to the back of my ute. Not being one to ask for help very often, I decided to get the trike off the back of the ute by myself. Of course, it has no reverse, so I had to roll it off which started out okay. However, I quickly realised that the lack of rear suspension had been cleverly overcome by the engineers at Yamaha; they simply put big bouncy tyres on it. I can still imagine them laughing at the time, thinking how funny it would look when their kimono clad samurai test pilot took it for a run-in lap around the Trike of Death headquarters in Sashimisoya, being bucked violently off the back after the first speed hump, ending up in the Honda factory next door making CT110s for the rest of their lives.



With tyres designed as practical jokes waiting to happen, the trike came off the back of the ute fairly well, but after the third bounce one of the rear mudflaps hit me in the kegs. It was only a rubber mud flap, however 26 years of vibration and exposure to the atmosphere had turned it from rubber into a wet towel, one of the most deadly weapons to be hit in the kegs with. The pain was intense and although it was like trying to breathe with a mouthful of Wassabi, I couldn’t show any pain because there were too many onlookers. I waited a week before I screamed. Being in agony I wasn’t concentrating much when I let the front wheel drop from the back of the ute, and although it didn’t bounce, the handlebars spun to the side and broke 23 of my ribs, making me breath like a squashed packet of corn chips. After just three minutes I had learned the true power of the trike.



I couldn’t wait to see if it started, because even though it looked as good as a glass of milk at a chilli eating competition, only the sweet hum of the motor would guarantee me that the trike was the real deal, and that I wasn’t having some dream that I’d returned to the ‘80s and robbed a motorbike shop.



I found some fuel and filled the tank, checked the oil tank and everything was good. Then I realised that it was zip start, not kick start like most sensible motorbike based machines. The zip start is also on the left hand side, meaning that it must either start easy or be one of those unusual pieces of equipment designed for left handers. However, being strong from just being winded and flicked in the jewels, I was able to pull the cord with ease. Problem was that the thing hadn’t been started for probably 10 years, so by the second pull I was knackered. On the third pull it fired into life and idled with that familiar unpredictable two stroke idle, sort of like a prolonged go, go, go, go stop go, go, go, go stop stop stop, go go. It did stop, so I started it again then decided to ride it up my driveway and park it in my shed.



I hadn’t done my research at all, and stupidly thought it was manual; after all it had a lever on each side of the handlebars, a throttle for your thumb and a brake lever on the right hand side. It almost had as many levers as a 1968 model Vespa. I was excited, so I lifted the gearshift into first and gave it some throttle before dropping the clutch. What the? Before I got a chance to drop the clutch, I’d removed two inches of top soil and pruned most of my front garden. I realised quickly that the trike has an automatic clutch and the lever on the left hand side is there for comfort, or perhaps something to do with Feng Shui. Whatever it does, it’s not a brake as we know it.



As I somehow managed to line the trike up with the driveway during the few seconds of seeing my life flash before my eyes, I thought to myself, hey, this is easy to ride. It’s better on my gravel driveway than any of the motorbikes I’ve had because it stays upright. Then when I tried steering for the first time I saw the humour in this thing. Trying to steer the trike is like trying to sign your name with your non writing hand, while watching it in a mirror. A bit tricky, but I’ve written this whole ad the same way. I knew that once I got the trike somewhere out in the open, then I’d really be able to put it through its paces.



A couple of weeks later, I loaded the trike onto the trailer and took it to the family farm. I thought that at least if I die up there I can be buried with the trike and one of the mudguards could be used as a headstone, with my name above one of the warning stickers which tell you to preserve nature.



On the farm the trike was so eager to get out and play that by the time I had opened the door of the ute, the trike had already filled itself with fuel, packed away the tie-downs and was holding its starter cord out for me to pull. I started it and did what most idiots do when they get something new and dangerous: I took off without a helmet.



Now the trike is not what you would class as overly powerful, I mean it only has a 175cc motor, I can drink that much bourbon without falling over. But whatever they did to this thing in Japan when they made it is a mystery. I’ve owned an IT175 before and the motor looks close to that of the trike’s, but the trike’s motor lies hidden beneath yellow plastic, so who really knows what lurks beneath. Being only 175cc, I thought all five gears would run out fairly quickly. Without a helmet I accelerated off into yesterday to the point that everything became a blur. The last thing I remember thinking was whatever I did, do not steer. I managed to come to a stop in the plasma wave created in front of the trike, with the blue smoke of two stroke exhaust catching up to me next Christmas. I had survived, the trike was unmarked and I had learned a very important lesson: Never underestimate something that looks like a lunar explorer designed by Big Bird.



I rode the trike around for a couple more hours and got quite used to the controls. Nothing on the farm had ever seen anything like it before. The cows were amazed, the kangaroos were shocked that something could bounce higher than them, and the trees turned autumn colours so as not to be outdone. It was a spectacle, and they say that other than the Great Wall of China, tyre tracks left by the Trike of Death are the only other things visible on earth from space (except for giant ants, which look like normal ants but in actual fact are ants on the inside of the shuttle’s windows after all the spilt experiments due to the ex Trike of Death factory worker taking up a shelf packing job at NASA).



The trike spent some time on the farm, fishing, drinking and having a good time. A couple of friends had one ride each, finding any excuse not to have a second go. One mate who dislocated both his ears just putting the factory helmet on claimed that the loss of three toes on his right foot after forgetting that the trike was wider than the front wheel and misjudging a gate, said he was too tired to have a second go. The other mate, who donated the skin off his back to one of the paddocks after ignoring my advice not to start it, claimed that it was much funnier watching other people fall off it. He was right. That’s what makes the trike fun for the whole family.



This isn’t a machine that you would take away by yourself. Apart from the fact that Brokeback Mountain would be a stupid movie if there was a scene with a man and a trike with its seat removed in a tent, but you could be depriving thousands from the joy this thing brings. They aren’t as dangerous as the mass cemeteries would lead you to believe. In fact, the lack of a first aid kit on this trike means that it must be safe. It also lacks life jackets and fire extinguishers, so it clearly isn’t an accident waiting to happen. Okay, so a hand grenade also lacks those accessories, but that’s because they would have to make them too big to fit it all, then soldiers would need bigger hands to throw them with and the problems just keep mounting up.



It has a headlight and a taillight, which I think are there so that when you flip it, people know which way it is pointing and whether to run or climb a tree. It lacks a speedometer, which is great for when you are pulled over by the highway patrol and they ask you if you know how fast you were going, because you didn’t. The distraction of what you are riding will be enough to cause them to forget to book you for all the other offences, and the rhythmic bounce of the trike caused by pulling it over will be enough to hypnotise them, allowing you to convince them that they have to get back into the police car where they will find that their partner’s groin has become a donut!



There is not a single place you can go where this trike will not be recognised. If you buy it, you will become an instant celebrity. Russel Crowe will drop his mobile phone just to wave hello. Super models will eat half a sandwich just so they can go for a ride on it without blowing off the back. Black cats will climb down ladders and paint themselves white just for a closer look. Towns will line up just be the first to cast giant monuments in its honour. The pyramids of Egypt will cast off one wall in envy. Genetic engineers will work overtime and listen to The Shins in an effort to clone it.



It’s not what the trike can do for you, it’s what you can do for the trike (with premium health cover). Take it, please, before I add the second part of this description.



For those that don’t feel like buying a book this year, I have added the last two descriptions below. I’m sure that buried somewhere amongst all those specifications is some useful information!




Yes, it's back. Did you really think that The Trike of Death would go away?

If you read to the end of this ad, you will receive automatic acceptance to the Facebook Yamaha Trike of Death E-shrine, where some of the best comments, pictures and stories will be posted. It will also be a place to visit for free abuse and to add to the 'what pissed me off today was...' discussion board. Don't forget to check out my scooter and the fashionable T shirt range in my other auctions, because even if you miss out on the Trike of Death, you can still be part of the action.

After the listing ended the last time, I received an email from a very lucky man from Nigeria who wanted me to help him secure his wealth, and in return I would receive 482 tribilliongazillion dollars.

Not being greedy, I declined his offer and have since been wondering what I should do with the trike.

I have fallen over it twice while it has been sitting there on its three big wheels in my workshop. The first time I fell I was lucky to escape injury, but the second time I wasn't so lucky; I landed on a dried out leaf from the surrounding turpentine trees, receiving a 2.5 mm scratch on my hand. After that ordeal I decided that either the leaf or the trike had to go. So to save me cleaning my workshop, I'm selling the trike.

Last time I listed it I copped some savage abuse from die hard trike fans, with some claiming that I had made fools of their interest. I apologise to all those who I offended by pointing out the trike's unusual features, but I was trying to be brutally honest. I actually think it is good that you have clubs where people can go and enjoy riding these things together. It reminds me of how the prisoners on death row have fun waiting for their turn on the electric chair. Fair enough, the trike isn't an electric chair, but it is about as safe and comfortable as one.

I was also reminded of the fact that it's not the machine, but the fool at the controls. So true! The bloke at the Yamaha factory who had the button in front of him saying 'ADD WHEELS' obviously wasn't like all his workmates who knew to only push the button twice or four times, never once or thrice. But good on him I say. He created something that people can form clubs over, nobody else in history has managed the same.

In reality, my trike is an amazing machine. It has survived over 20 years without being damaged. The original owner really looked after it by not riding it. That's right, this thing has hardly been ridden. In fact it still has the original tyres and probably some of the first tank of fuel still left in it. No, I lied about the fuel because last time I rode it I ran out of fuel and had to push it about 100 m to the shed. 100 m isn't far, but try pushing something yellow with three wheels, weighing in at 480 kg up a gravel road into a 45 knot head wind. You will go backwards, underneath the trike and get found five days later by Stuart Diver.

You may notice that I have added some new photographs, there is an explanation for that: A young lady that looked like a cross between Paris Hilton and André the Giant told me that the trike is in such good condition that it would sell itself. I took her word for it and left the garage door open one night. The trike was gone for a week and the photos show that it didn't sell itself, instead just galavanting around on its three big wheels, living it up at my expense.

Since the trike has been back, we have been getting on well together but it really needs a new home. If you want to come and take a look at it, I will probably be able to arrange something. I only have a short driveway and live in a suburban area, so taking it for a proper ride really isn't possible. Due to its turning circle, I would have to have a five acre block for you to turn it around on, and the lack of a driveway long enough to launch a B52 means that you will only be able to accelerate to about 50 km/h before crashing through the front door of the house across the road. After crashing through the door you would probably make it down their hallway and out the back door, through the clothes line, over the compost heap gaining enough air to clear the colorbond fence out the back, bounce of the carport of the house behind them and continue on into the valley of the shadow of death and, if you don't run out of fuel, around the block and back into my driveway.

The trike is safe around children, because there are few moving parts and if your child can choke on one of those big tyres then you have a big kid and you should get out of the house, now. The trike is too large and too heavy for most children to be able to put it in their hair while the wheels are turning, so you don't need to worry about that either.

I can't think of much else to add here, but I'm sure there will be others asking important questions. I have added my last listing description below in blue just in case you need more details from there.



Perhaps I was a bit negative when I described this lovely item last time around, so this time I'll just be positively honest.

This is a trike, meaning it has only three wheels. The only thing that makes it any more controllable than a shopping trolley is that it has brakes. Okay, so the brakes don't work that well when you are either airborne or in the middle of an horrific roll-over, but they are there nevertheless. Rather than brakes, I would call them 'inevitable delay systems'. You will crash, that is inevitable, but by using the brakes the crash will happen a little later.

The trike is also yellow, the same colour as canaries – a bird used as a sacrifice in early mining operations. The canary died when overcome by low levels of toxic gases, warning the miners that either someone had farted or perhaps worse. Fortunately mines didn't use trikes like this because Todd and Brandt would never have surfaced.

It is retro, true '80s madness. If you really want something retro that will see you living to retirement, buy an old caravan. This trike is as safe as an ejector seat in a helicopter. I say that purely because I have lived to tell the story. So many have been maimed or killed on these things and been unable to warn prospective buyers, but I for some reason have been spared huge losses of bark, broken limbs or brain damaged behind the controls of this three wheeled shredder.

Right now you might be thinking to yourself that you really need something like this to bring the spark back into your life. I honestly think you would be better off with a melanoma. You either have to be insane or have balls as big as the extra large fitness balls available from Rebel Sports, in red of course. I'm not joking about this. The measly 175cc air cooled motor may sound tame, but it is about as harmless as using a whipper snipper around the wrong way. For some reason, 175cc of oil burning two stroke is far more dangerous on three wheels than it is on two. Yes, I've ridden everything from 80cc motocross bikes to my beloved RSV1000, and although you would expect three wheels to be 50% safer than two, they aren't.

Most of you 943 people that visited my earlier ads would remember what I said about the trike last time and now wonder why the hell I'd be bagging something that I actually want to sell. Good question and I'll get to that later.

I bought this trike because it is a living example of something nasty. If you hang on to this thing for millions of years, letting it get buried under thousands of layers of sediment, then one day in the distant future (if we still have one after earth is invaded by aliens giving these things out as gifts) an archaeologist will dig this up and go, “Wow, a YTM175, these things became extinct in the 20th century, and look Nathan, it still has a skid mark on the seat from the last person who rode it.”.

If only these trikes came with optional extras like; electric start, suspension, disc brakes, reverse, horn, roll cage, air bags, ABS, traction control, garlic naans... What a great thing they would be.

Please, buy this thing and show the world that you care. You may just be saving my life because if I don't sell it, I'll take it back to the farm and no doubt injure myself while shooting the video for the up and coming website 'www.yamahatrikeofdeath.com.au' You can register that domain if you like.

On the positive side, if you buy this trike you will be a living legend (until you ride it). So many people know about this thing that I'm even thinking about having it cast in bronze and set up as a monument to human ingenuity.
I will endeavour to make myself and the trike available for viewing. I only have a short driveway to ride it in, but I can guarantee that no matter how much space, you won't be able to turn it around so just the one run will be enough to convince or kill you.

I am willing to swap it for fifteen hundred US dollars or anything else of interest, but I can't sell it for less because I think I've fallen in love with it. We all know what it's like; when you're in love you don't care about anything else until something better looking comes along. To date, I haven't seen anything better looking than this trike.

And to wrap up, the specs:

Carrying capacity:
Australia - 1 adult
India - 43 adults, 75 children, 2 sitars, a cow and an Optus call centre

Fuel: Cord blood

Wheels: Just three, big fat ones
Frame: Unfortunately not coffin shaped
Top Speed: One of the 11 wonders of the world
Weight: Five slabs
Transmission: Five speed semi automatic (like an Uzi)
Country of Origin: Hell
Colour: Diarrhoea yellow

I am ashamed.... I pissed my pants reading that