True story: When I was a teenager in the army my friend's mustang died in an inconvenient location on post (army word for base). No wait, this story is related, you'll see. The military is positively anal about keeping things looking neat and orderly. For example, we used to paint the large rocks that lined pathways in preparation for IG inspection. At any rate, the point is, you can't leave your POV (privately owned vehicle) just anywhere, it will get towed the very next day, and you will get in a heap of annoying trouble that you really would rather not have.

So, being broke soldiers, calling a tow truck was out of the question. I had no car, we were driving in his. But, he did have a motorcycle. I hope that you're seeing where this is going now. Ok, so, we grab some rope and ride the motorcycle out to where the car is located, it's about 2AM, we have to get the mustang back to the barracks by morning.

So, yes, we tied the motorcyle to the mustang with about thirty feet of rope.

Here's the thing though, I was not going to try and drive the motorcycle because that would mean guaranteed clutch replacement the next day. I just wasn't an experienced rider at that time. In fact, I wasn't an experienced driver at all. In any case, one of us had to drive the bike, and the other one had to drive the car. So, after a brief tutorial and a stern warning from my friend about safety and keeping the right distance, I got in the car, and he slowly pulled away.

There we were, towing a beat up late sixties mustang along mostly flat, straight, but sometimes gently curved roads with a middle of the road 400cc kawasaki street bike. Things were going swimmingly, we were totally going to make it, this was cake, until hill.

Ok, not much of a hill, really just a sort of an extended dip in the otherwise featureless military roadscape. Until that moment, we were chugging along nicely at about fifteen miles an hour. All of a sudden, the mustang starts to speed up and the rope began to go seriously slack. I was afraid that it was going to roll under the car and get caught up in something that was moving. I should have just held my cool, but well, I didn't.

I hit the brakes, smoothly I thought, but, well, I didn't really know smooth at nineteen. SNAP! The rope went instantly taut and for a split second in time seemed like it was going to hold as my friend struggled madly to keep the bike upright. Before I could finish exhaling, however, I realized that the rope was broken, the car was quickly coming to a stop and my friend was really really angry.

He swings around and before he could get off the bike he's yelling at me and telling me what a shitty driver I am. My borderline autistic mind, with it's infinitely logical perspective honed from years of watching Mr Spock on Startrek reruns, argued, to the contrary. This single incident, which could be viewed as an outlier in terms of driving skill tests, did not define who I was as a driver. This continued for a couple of minutes, he yelled, I logic-ed, he yelled some more, I logic-ed in return.

Then, headlights, slowing down, stopping. We stopped arguing immediately. You see, we didn't even have to look at the vehicle to know who it was. There simply aren't any vehicles out at three in the morning except for idiots like us, and the military police.

As he walks up to us he looks down and sees the broken bits of rope tied to the motorcyle frame and the mustang's bumper and the first words out of his mouth were, naturally, "were you two trying to tow this car with that motorcyle?" In unison, "no." If ever it was obvious that the perps were lying to the cops this had to be it. Unlike me, however, he kept his cool and said, "well that's good, because that would be really dangerous." Strangely, he didn't ask more questions. My friend gave him some song and dance story that was obviously bullshit and he left us there, off to do whatever military cops do at three in the morning.

So, there we were, rope now too short to tow the car with and a problem to solve. We were only about a mile or so from the barracks, so, we did what grunts know best. My friend parked his bike in a nearby parking lot and we pushed that thing up the "hill" and the rest of the way to his barracks. Then we walked back to the motorcycle and he drove me back to my barracks just in time to make first call. No sleep, but a great memory, seems fair to me.

tl; dr: You can always just use a motorcyle to tow the car out of the garage.