Part One
I was first introduced to motorcycles when I was 10 by my friend Ricky and his older brothers Ron and Scott, who all rode motocross bikes.
On our family drives, I’d gaze out the window and imagine myself riding a dirt bike alongside the van, doing wheelies, and jumping over all kinds of crossings – road, train, cattleguards, you name it.
It took me about two years of haranguing my mom to let me ride before she finally acquiesced – with the condition that I didn’t go solo and an older brother sit with/behind me. *facepalm mom* but thanks Ron!
It didn’t matter. I was 12 and had been mentally rehearsing how to shift ever since learning how the hands and feet worked from asking how it worked and watching Ricky and his brothers. Once I got on that bike, it was over.
The bike was a Honda 60, early 80s or late 70s, and with two of us on it it was not particularly quick or fast with two of us on it. That didn’t stop me from winding out every gear on their long, paved, driveway that stretched across the golden fields and over a distant hill. I got to ride up and down the driveway twice that day, and I was forever smitten.
Little did I know that I wouldn’t get the chance to ride again for five years…