The day I started my love affair with motorcycles was the first day I ever rode one. I remember shooting hoops in the driveway in the late 1983 summer. As I was attempting my best Larry Bird impression (as embarrassingly unsuccessful as it was) my older brother came riding down the street on his almost brand-new Yamaha. After three long years in the military he had been discharged and was finally home. The sun was bouncing off his helmet and riding glasses and he had just completed a three day ride from Texas.
I was staring at him in complete awe.
He must have known straight away because after hugging me, he offered to let me have a ride of the bike up and down the street. Here I was, an 18-year-old punk without a motorcycle endorsed driver’s license, and my Army MP older brother is offering to let me take his bike for a spin. I did not need to be asked twice and even burned my leg on the exhaust pipe in my rush to get on it!
As soon as the riding glasses and helmet were in place and after he had given me a quick tutorial, I was off. In my enthusiasm I almost had the biker over my head because I bit the throttle too hard, just like most new bikers do. Thankfully there were some angels watching over me and I kept it on the ground. Needless to say I had one hell of a time - I only came back in because my brother began threatening me.
It was not long after that, that I headed out shopping for a motorcycle of my own. As a matter fact, before the snow started flying that December I had purchased my own slightly used Honda 550-Four… along with my own helmet and riding glasses.
And as the saying goes, the rest is history.
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