Jump to content

A reflection.


Recommended Posts

A reflection..


A prepubescent’s migratory range of my youth was limited by the vocal chords of the parents and the hearing of the intended recipient. The outer reaches of this realm were often explored or tested with brief forays into the unknown. One day I awoke to the realization that my cousin David and I were way out of bounds. At no fault of our own we had been lured by a trail system that always seemed to just end around the next bend. Some hours after dark having feared imaginary dangers that lurked in the shadows of the darkening woods we arrived home to the usual parental chorus “where have you been.” After hearing the words “worried sick” for the umpteenth time we were packed off to bed to think about what we had done. Lying in bed staring up at the popcorn ceiling all that would come to mind was what an excellent day it had been and that whoever invented such a ceiling should be shot. We had gone where we had never been before, flew down an unfamiliar trail by waning light scared of what we could not see and what we would meet at home. Sweat and dust had fused to our skinny arms and legs, our eyes itched from trail grit, our bikes bore the signs of having travelled. We had grown. It was at this same time that I noticed my mother’s hair brush seemed to be growing its own hair. I kept expecting to find dropping around the bathroom sink.


The highlight of Christmas that year was the new machine that materialized at the end of gift unwrapping. By this time all hope had been lost, indeed the new corduroy pants would be the highlight of the day. I could see my friend Jeff outside on his new Schwinn, bastard. I could still beat him to the end of the block on my old bike I thought. Then from thin air a new bike appeared. I had the impression my mom thought she was giving me a loaded gun, she was. In that year I made three visits to the local ER for broken bones and a concussion. The cast for my arm was cool, Cindy Menart drew a big heart on it, my first kiss. There were other occasions I was very lucky to not see a doctor, the hair brush now bore tinges of grey.


That one year was filled with the events that eventually led to my desire for motorcycle travel as an adult.


What brought you here?


Link to comment

Retired and sold my biz plane. Next best ride was a moto so I started riding. Still miss flying!

Link to comment

As I look back, I have to admit I'm not really sure how I got here. I think I was born wanting to fly, but despite a long and continuing love affair with bicycles and long distance riding, I think my interest in 'motorbikes' somehow grew at an unconscious level during college until it forced it's way to the surface when I started rationalizing to my parents how they could make my weekend college commute cheaper if only they'd cosign on a loan for a R100RS :wave:

(of course, they, shall we say, demured).


I do notice though, that most of my favorite activities, flying and motorcycling for example, require/demand a very strong, almost meditative focus on the present moment, and give that feedback of being 'in the groove' when I'm properly in synch with the immediate demands of the activity.


Marty, if I ever get this damned Cozy finished you can come fly with me any time!

Link to comment

Jerry, many thanks, I'm waiting :thumbsup: ...Building on your second sentence, in both cases the pilot is in command! :grin:

Link to comment
Paul Mihalka

For me I think it was like a birth defect :) . At about age 6 I already knew that my uncle was riding a NSU. Military bikes fascinated me and I knew the differences between a BMW and a Zündapp. Emigration to Venezuela, age 16, a adult friend had a DKW 125 and let me ride it. Out of my photography hobby I started taking and selling pictures at motorcycle races. Out of that I got my part-time job at a bike dealer, bought my first bike and started racing. The rest is history.

Link to comment

For me, it started on bicycles... Stingrays and wheelie contests, BMX,then I got a 3.5 HP briggs powered mini bike. I used to ride it up to the high school and do laps on the running track like I was King Kenny.


My brother (8 years older)got a dirt bike that he had to leave at our house. I learned how to hot wire it and ride it around the yard.


When I got my license, my uncle used to toss me the keys to his GT380 or GT550 Suzukis to go ride and leave the grown ups alone to talk... My mom was really anti-motorcycle, sure that I would die owning one so she never blessed it.


About 5 years after she died, I found the bug again when a friend got stationed here with his bike. He left it with me and a borrowed helmet. I was hooked. A few months later I bought my first ever bike. A few months after that I crashed said bike.


There's been ups and downs, a couple ER visits and now I have returned the favor to my brother for the abuses that old CR125 took. I gave him a bike a few years back to rekindle the spirit while he was in some down times. He needed an outlet.


He got it running again and did some wheeling and dealing and eventually found his way back into prosperity. His wife got her license but prefers the back seat. My wife got her license and prefers the feel of the handlebars.


Now, I'm riding where and when I can, learning my limits and getting education to get closer to the bike's limits. It's a good life, one that I am glad I finally chose.

Link to comment

Since I have my father's gift of gab I try hard not to talk when I have nothing say but when you start talking motorcycles and add in airplanes I can't resist because just as Jerry and Marty point out, they are very much intertwined activities...


When I was in first grade my dad told my 6th grade brother he could have a motorcycle when he turned 55. A year later we moved, bought a Ford dealership and a dairy farm. It was 1968. Motorcyling was growing hugely and all the farmers in our rural areas were buying bikes to work the farm with. First my uncle, then his son, so my parents relented and bought my brother a twin cylinder 125CC Honda. A year later I got my Honda CT "Trail 70". Five years later motocross swept thru the community and I saved up for an MX100 and our family was so hooked we opened a Honda dealership. Raced until I graduated HS, eventually earned AMA pro license, went to college, earned my private pilot certfificate and forgot about 2 wheelers. Joined the AF started flying jets and life was good. Until my kids were old enough to ride. Went to the local dealer to "look" and left with 2 bikes. Eight years and 13 bikes later I think I'm hooked for life.


Marty, enjoyed our visit yesterday...

Link to comment

I was originally bitten by a 5HP Rupp minibike a friend let me ride when I was about 10 or 11. In a couple of years I got a Honda CT 70 and ran all over hill and dale and gravel pit and dirt road. In high school a friends older brother had a bad wreck and his parents told him to "sell the bike or move out" I got the Yamaha DT175 for $150, got a permit and started riding on the roads. After HS I joined the Navy and while stationed in Jacksonville, FL bought a KZ440 rode that all over north FL and south GA. After re-enlisting I had a big wad of cash burning a hole in my pocket and bought a 1983 Sportster which served me well for many years. I had a lull for about 10 years then while visiting Matt in Jacksonville he talked me into taking a ride on his RT and the fire was rekindled. I came home and did some shopping and bought my '02 RT and the rest they say is history.

Link to comment

After rolling the family Chevy Impala, I had to have wheels, but couldn't afford a car. Enter a brand new Honda CB400F.........

Link to comment
They refused to give me the keys to an F-14


DAMN, Had you looked closely you would have seen that there are no keys needed. :grin:

Link to comment

The Klarsfeld's had a minibike and no supervising adult to say "No, you are too little".


I loved the air rushing past my face and all the scents rushing in my nose.

Link to comment
... I had a lull for about 10 years then while visiting Matt in Jacksonville he talked me into taking a ride on his RT and the fire was rekindled...


This kind of talk keeps up, I'm gonna get a reputation! :wave:

Link to comment

It's all Sharon's fault. I had wanted a bike as a teenager, but my dad talked me out of it, and I never thought of it again. Then 5 years ago Sharon wanted me to take the MSF course. The rest is history.


There is a story behind Sharon wanting me to take that course, but that is her story.



Link to comment

My Dad who raced sports cars with his buddies, brought home a Honda 50 when I was 8 or 9 years old. Before long, my older brother and I were riding it around the back yard. Before I knew it, I had a little red and white BSA 65cc bike that I rode around on a few undeveloped areas around our house.


My Dad was into BMW's by then, and found me a 1959 R26 to ride. I rode the stripped down R26 for a few years, then my Dad restored it to street legal status and I got my M/C license at age 15.




I rode the R26 back and forth to High School and then to college in Fort Worth. When I moved away from home, I left the R26 in care of my Dad.


In 2004, he was trying to divest himself of some bikes and I agreed that it was time to bring the R26 to Utah. After I got the bike running again, and took it out for a spin, I was hooked. I had simply forgotten how much fun it was to ride.


I suggested to Jan (he was pestering me to take a "class" with him) that we should take the MSF class so that he would know how to ride the R26 "in case of an emergency." ;)


We took the class together in September 2004 and the rest is history.

Link to comment
Allen Rowand

I must have been around 8, and my father wanted a Hodaka dual purpose bike. He took me with him to the dealer and there it was- a little blue 50cc motocrosser with an automatic tranny by Italjet. We both walked out with bikes that day.


I outgrew it and moved on to a Honda XR100, then a 200x ATV that was my transportation to school; we lived on a farm that was 2 miles into the woods on a dirt road, and I'd ride the trike out to the pavement to catch the bus.


Once I got my license I was all about cars, with a number of half-hearted attempts to get back on a bike- until I saw Oreo…

Link to comment






As in chemo and time to kill.




I think the relevant corollary is, "what keeps you here?".

But please, don't hijack this excellent thread.


After arriving, I eventually grew up, sorta, and found some friends, many of whom are now part of my daily life.



Marty, if only your pilot show idea for Pimp my Plane had been picked up by the networks...


Link to comment

My motivation is a lot more mundane. I travel A LOT in the Northern California Bay Area, and I can't lane-split in a Crown Victoria.


That aside, I've always loved two wheels, and I've rode a bicycle since a young age. Still do. They're even more fun when you don't have to pedal them.

Link to comment
They refused to give me the keys to an F-14


DAMN, Had you looked closely you would have seen that there are no keys needed. :grin:


It's that button - lever - switch sequence thing though...

Link to comment

Saw one of the first TT's on one of the first tv sets back in the early 60's..... and decided that besides being a pilot I wanted to be a racing driver and a motorcycle racer.


Never got to race it, but at 12 years old I had my first 'motorcycle' (my granny's old Solex !! *cough*) back up running after 15 years of sitting in a shed.... many automotive 'ventures' followed, from mopeds to touring car racing..... and most stopped after getting married.


When the career went south some 6 years ago I happened to see a few riders in the early March sunshine, and decided it was time to get back onto the freedom f riding, if only to forget about all the troubles in life at that time.


Got my license again, bought the RT, and been a fanatic ever since again.....



Link to comment


This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

  • Create New...