The day I reached my sixteenth birthday, I was camped out at the local motor vehicle department ready to take my learner's permit test. Within a few short months, I found myself with a driver's license --having passed my road test-- and my first 200 dollar car, a Chevrolet. It was an ugly car, pale yellow with a torn black vinyl roof. Painting a black stripe down either side, and adding a flame at the end didn't help to disguise its ugliness, but the radio worked!
The day that I remember as if it was yesterday, however, was the day that I bought my first motorcycle. My love for two wheels started long before that day. As a young boy, probably around the age of twelve or thirteen, I was thrilled with motors and vehicles --or practically any thing that was capable of moving from point A to point B under its own power. Someday, I'll probably write about my first motorized contraption, but not now.
Prior to the purchase of my new Honda, I had built a couple of mini-bikes, by swapping and bartering different possessions of mine --including, but not limited to my pet raccoon that I had trained as a family pest. The mini-bikes were fun for a young and adventurous boy such as I, and they also helped to teach me about traffic laws and other rules and regulations about life and living in peaceful neighborhoods. I was well known in my town.
Many times during the winter of '72, I visited the Honda dealership in Ithaca, New York. That Spring, I went with my father to pick up my new bike, with sixteen hundred hard-earned dollars in hand. Times were different back in the seventies, and I was a young man extremely uneducated about motorcycles, driving and well, life in general. Dad and I took a two by six wood plank --you know, a motorcycle ramp-- along with us in his van to pick up my newest treasure. Tie downs? I didn't know what they were, and I didn't give any thought as to how to secure the bike for its trip home. "I guess I'll have to sit on the bike so it doesn't tip over", I said to dad, hoping no one at the dealership heard me.
Once home and unloaded, I remember rejoicing in the fact that I finally owned something new. My car, when I purchased it, was six years old and ugly. It ran and did its job, but it was ugly. My Honda was shiny and new. Uh, I need to be honest here though...it was ugly too. Apparently I didn't have very good taste in colors, when I was a much younger man. My new scoot was brown... plain ugly brown. To make matters worse, I let one of my older brothers give my new bike a test ride in our backyard, and he discovered quite quickly that front brakes and grassy surfaces don't quite go together. After his maiden voyage around our yard, my plain ugly brown Honda became a plain ugly brown Honda with a bent front turn signal. I kept my first motorcycle for a couple of years, and then traded it for a bigger, faster and not quite as ugly bike.
My ugly Honda served me well. It helped teach me the rules of the road, and also some safe driving habits. I had just one mishap on the bike, and it involved a collision with a dog. I won, but didn't feel as though I had. Actually I was fortunate, in that I kept the bike upright and I was only slightly injured. The dog didn't fair so well.I've watched the motorcycle industry come a long way. I've learned volumes about motorcycles, riding and safety on the road. From mini-bikes, to Hondas, to Harleys --I've enjoyed them all. Times were good back then. It's been a long, fun journey, and my days of bartering with raccoons are a thing of the past.
~Safe Riding~
-The Chief
