In January of 2009, after retiring in July 2008, I decided I need to get a new motorcycle after not having one for over 10 years. I bought a Star Silverado 1700, and put 16,700 miles on it by September going on road trips. At that point I wanted more, and went back to the brand I learned to ride on - Triumph. I traded the Star in on a Rocket III, and I now have my dream bike. Slowly getting her ready for my first planned road trip - June of 2010 will head for California to Ride Highway 1 along the coast from north of LA to San Francisco.
My older brother Jim's best friend when he was a Junior in High School was a guy named Thomas M. Thomas owned the Honda Super 90, and my brother and him would pop all over Las Vegas, (where we lived at the time), to do different errands and just run around town and be teenagers. Many times my brother would head off by himself on the small Honda, and I was TRULY envious! I was a year behind him … a sophomore in high school … and the year was 1968. At that time in Nevada, a minor could own and operate a motorcycle at 14 years of age providing the cycle was less than 100 CC. Once the kid reached 16 years of age, he could purchase any bike regardless of the size of the engine. Because the regular Honda 90 had a square tank rather than the more streamlined tank of the “Super 90”, I thought it made the bike look bigger ... and I wanted one with all of my heart. My dad was dead-set against any of us owning a motorcycle for he had almost been killed on an Indian just prior to WWII. (He was in a gang at the time before he was drafted and, (more or less), he was kind of wild and crazy at the time.) He was absolutely ADAMENT that no child of his would follow in his wild ways ... and to him the way to protect us was to refuse to ever let us own motorcycles. The only argument I ever had in my life where I caused my father to cry was over that desired Honda 90 when I was in my early teens. The day I purchased my first motorcycle, I was a grown man with children of my own, and owned my own photography lab and one hour photo. My Pop was retired at that time, and “worked” at my little place of business helping customers and flirting with my female employees. I pulled up on my “new” motorcycle and proudly showed it off to my employees and my dad … but he just looked at it, quietly took his car keys from his pocket, got in his vehicle and drove away. I understood his fear and disapproval … but it still hurt. My Dad passed away about thirty years ago … my Son Christopher was killed in an auto accident in 1995 six weeks before his 19th birthday … my Mom died almost ten years ago … and my brother Jim passed away almost three years ago. I miss all of them with all my heart, and loosing most of my personal family has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Over the years being a “biker” has evolved from just being a “cool” thing for me to be to being a very important part of my life. I would have never believed that this “sport” could, (and did), become all consuming at times. Like Cruiser Customizing founder Uwe, for several years I didn’t even own a car at all. If it was raining, I wore a rain suit. It was freezing, I layered my clothing. (I never felt the “need” to purchase the electrically heated garments.) If it was storming with wind and lightning, I just “hunkered down” and kept on going. I even drove through a hurricane once … a wild and crazy ride to be sure! As I’ve grown older, I’ve hopefully matured a little, and now at least own a sweet 2005 Trail Blazer that I bought brand new out-of-the-box with all the buzzers and bells. I enjoy my car, and find myself driving it more and more as my health continues to deteriorate … but my first and greatest love and choice for transportation will always be motorcycles. As I was riding through yesterday’s beautiful weather, I found myself feeling sorry for the “cage trapped” people riding along around me … for they don’t even have a clue of the constant rush of “freedom” and joy I feel every time I ride. There is so much sadness in this old world. Loved ones die and are gone forever. In a very real way, “escaping” on one of my motorbikes or the other is the one “bestest” way to keep me sane sometimes. I have a sticker on one of my brain-buckets … (stickers’ are one or two line truths that we sometimes plaster on our helmets) … and one of my favorite stickers states simply, “You will never see a motorcycle parked outside a psychiatrists’ office”. That is so true! We are coming up on the Thanksgiving holiday. Perhaps it would be a good thing to add this thing we are grateful for ... this simple little thing … to the list that we are thankful for. “Dear God, thank you so much for this sport that enables me to keep a modicum of my sanity … and to in small little way to help me deal with my life.”
My first bike. I look to be about 13-14 here(scanned it in, sorry it's a little blurry). I got the ole' Tote-goat at about 11-12. It only had 1 speed but if you could keep it upright it would go up a tree. We kept it up at our cabin in Grand Lake Colorado. Used to ride it over small fallen trees, rocks, etc. through the forest. Went over a rock once (full throttle of course) and the steel foot peg that once had a rubber footrest on it went through my lower ankle both sides right in front of my achilles tendon. 40+ years later you can very faintly see the scar. I owe my current sense of motorcycle balance to the years I spent bouncing through the wood on my Tote-goat.
This is my 2007 Shadow Aero before I put my new sissy bar on tomorrow!