Let's see, we have flipped Ed's bike over in the air for a 1 1/2 gainer, tossing him 16 feet up a hillside, busting off both his footpegs (with the bottoms of his feet no less) and putting an air mated tire tread mark in the middle of his back that was clearly visible as a skin bruise/abrasion a whole day later.
Plus we put a half a bushel basket of dug up fern plants in the middle of the road to "X marks the spot" for future reference (plus the oil pool mark from his busted side cover, which is still there btw).
Smashed up Toymaker's KawaBarcalounger twice, busted the footpeg off his Savage once and skinned him up once. (Ed was actually quick and over and done with, Toymaker collected damage for YEARS after that).
Shelled the primary drive splines off MM's previous porkchop.
Busted Old-Rider's lower vertebra (still not healed).
Skinned up my leg once.
Killed a half-dozen forest critters who were minding their own business.
Wisely avoided hitting that stupid roadside young bear cub though.
(Momma Bear up in the bushes would have taken it harshly, I think)
That's all the kill count that comes to mind at the moment.
Unless you want to count the sparkin' slidin' simultaneous dual dead Hurleys that is. 
But in between the little first aid trips and murdering a few forest critters, we have had literally THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of miles of the most fun you can possibly do on two wheels.
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