My Life on Two Wheels

What red-blooded American male has not, at least once in his life, entertained the notion of riding a motorcycle?  I'm here to tell you, my blood is as red as anyone else's.  Just the concept of "not having to pedal" was the initial motivation for myself and my good friend Randy. 

I dated/"went steady" with a girl in junior high and part of my high school years.  One of her brothers had an old, beat-up, should-have-been-scrapped Cushman scooter with a foot clutch and hand shifter.  I think it only had two speeds.  It probably looked similar to this picture when it was new in the 60's.  By the time Robbie (her little brother) got it, it had been through the mill.  But, the engine still ran, even though you had to start it by jumping it off a car battery.  The procedure was:  unwind the two wires from around the handlebars, jump the starter off the car, keep the throttle open enough to stay running, wind the wires back out of the way, step on the clutch, shift into gear, and go.  We just rode it around the yard, and prayed that it didn't die, because then you had to push it back over to the car with the battery.  Even with all the missing parts, the thing still must have weighed close to 250 pounds or so. But that was my introduction to controlling a powered two-wheeler.  Her brother later got a "real" motorcycle, a Yamaha 80cc road-burner that topped out around 50 mph or thereabouts.  I was kinda jealous, because he was still in junior high at the time, and he already had a motorcycle.  Of course, he wasn't supposed to ride it on the street, but he did anyway.  I was allowed to ride it with his permission, and I had a driver's license, so occasionally his sister and I would go for rides or "run errands" on it.  It was a fun motorcycle to ride and learn on, and Randy and I would occasionally borrow it to go ride around.  Robbie, after the initial "newness" wore off, was willing to let us take it for hours at a time.  It got its share of scratches and dents, but it originally looked kinda like this.

After my junior year, her father asked me if I wanted a job for the summer.  I guess he figured that if I was going to date his daughter, I should be able to spend some hard-earned money on her.  He happened to be an electrician and had his own business.  The building was right next to their house.  I started working for him as a helper/apprentice the next day.  I had use of my family's station wagon to drive to work, so I had transportation.  But it was a big, heavy, gas-guzzling car, and although it was great for dates and such, it was not "my" vehicle.  I decided to bite the bullet and buy a motorcycle.  After all, I now had an income.  I shopped around the local bike shops, and tried to find a suitable motorcycle at an affordable price.  I ended up trying to decide between a Yamaha 175 enduro, and a Yamaha 200 street bike.  They were the same price,($659) and I did want to be able to go "trail riding", but the street bike had more power and more "seat".  In the end, I ended up with the street bike.  I rode it whenever the weather was good, and frequently when it was not-so-good.  I took it out trail-riding quite a bit.  It was a fun motorcycle.  When I graduated from high school, I did something that most people thought was crazy:  I rode my 200 cc two-stroke motorcycle from Florida to Missouri, a trip of roughly 1000 miles.

One morning, in the summer of 1972, I packed a shaving kit with: deodorant, a comb or brush, socks and underwear.  I wrapped two days' worth of clothes (jeans and a couple of t-shirts) around it and  wrapped that up in a green Boy Scout poncho.  The entire package was strapped to the rear half of the motorcycle seat with one bungee cord.  I rolled up an old cargo parachute that I had acquired (from Captain Mitchell up the street) and tied it to my handlebars.  My initial plan was to use the chute as a tent/sleeping bag and camp all the way to Missouri.  At (literally) the last minute, Dad handed me a $20 bill and told me to use motels "for my first trip".  I kicked the engine over, waved to everyone, and left to find my destiny.  I was in no real hurry, I figured that if I broke down, I'd get a short-term job at the closest town til I had enough to fix it, and press onward.  I planned to take two or three days for the trip, only traveling 300-400 miles a day.  I stopped at darn near every rest stop, stayed off the interstate, and traveled "the roads less traveled" when I could.  I rarely exceeded 50 mph.  (Doing so seemed like it might stress the engine, although it probably wouldn't have made any difference.)  I stopped at truck stops, chatted with truck drivers who on occasion would pay for my lunch, stayed in older but clean motels that were $6 - $8 a night (thanks, Dad), met all kinds of incredible people, came to understand what the "freedom of the open road" truly meant, and GREW UP.  I made the trip in two-and-a-half days, spent 3 weeks at my grandparents' house, and figured I better start back to Florida.  Almost the same departure scenario occurred.  I still had a small amount of cash, and was fully prepared to camp if necessary, when Grandpa held out THREE twenty-dollar bills.  He told me it was my "graduation money".  I hugged and kissed them goodbye and headed back to Florida.  Again, I stopped at truck stops, rest areas, ate with truckers (once I encountered a trucker I had met three weeks earlier in a truckstop that was hundreds of miles from the one I was in), got my meals paid for a couple of times, stayed in low-cost motels, and made it home in two and a half days.  (And, I still had a little "graduation" money left.)

I realized that now that I was out of school, the next obligation to myself was to find permanent employment.  Anything would do as a starting point, so I took a job as a busboy at the local Sheraton.  Things went well, I had occasional squabbles with the "Hostess" (a fire-breathing b*tch of a dragon if there ever was one), and made some lifelong friends with some of the staff.  But, it was Autumn now, and that motorcycle ride in the morning (around 5:00 a.m.) was getting cold.  I also wanted to start forming my career.  I applied at a local defense contractor, and they liked my application, but could not hire me yet because I was not 18 yet.  But either way, I needed to replace my two wheels with four wheels.  I said goodbye to my purple motorcycle, and traded it in on my car.

I drove the car for roughly five years, during which I had it parked in Mom's garage for a year or so after I had gotten mugged and lost the keys.  Not thinking that I might have the money to repair it (there were a couple of things that needed fixing) I figured I would get another motorcycle.  A friend of a friend had an enduro for sale, (and I had just gotten my tax refund) and very soon I was the owner of a Yamaha 175 Enduro. I rode it everywhere, got good gas mileage, it was a very enjoyable bike, but somewhat lacking in seating room.
Since the young woman I was dating at the time actually enjoyed riding on the back of a motorcycle, I set about finding a suitable street bike that could move two people around without too much difficulty.

Again, I went down to the local Yamaha-Triumph store and looked for a motorcycle.  I figured a 650 would have the power I needed, and except for a few bikes like Harleys and some Honda and Suzuki 750's the 650's were among the largest motorcycles available.  I had almost decided on a 650 when the dealer called me over to the counter and handed me some snapshots.  "These are from a bike show we just went to.  Yamaha is coming out with some new bikes".  I looked at the pictures, and fell in love.  Yamaha was bringing out what they called "Specials": a 650 and a 750 motorcycle that looked almost chopped.  On the spot, I picked out the 650 Special.  "I want one of these!", I told him.  He then told me that there were none of them out yet, but they should be on showroom floors in roughly three months' time. I told him I wanted the first one that they got.

I continued to ride the 175 and at times, actually forgot about the 650.  Then one day, I got a call at work: "Your motorcycle came in.  Do you want black or burgundy?"  I told him burgundy, and he said it would be ready around lunchtime.  Randy drove me to the shop at lunch, and I first laid eyes on THE FIRST 1978 650 Special in town, Northwest Florida, maybe the whole state, and possibly the Country!  I rode it back to work and worked the Longest afternoon in History.  I couldn't wait to ride it around town.  When the day was FINALLY over, and I had punched out, I took it out for a spin.  That motorcycle was incredible.  It only took about half a block, and you felt like you had been born on it.  You didn't "ride" it, you "wore" it.  It became an extension of one's body.  Anxious to see how it handled with two riders, I went to my girlfriend's house picked her up and we went for a ride.  Same story.  Smooth riding, excellent handling, and very distictive styling.

 
I rode the 650 for many years.  I rode it from West Palm Beach to Fort Walton Beach, a trip of a little over 600 miles, in one day.  It was a long day, but the bike performed flawlessly. . .even in the three-hour rain storm that I went through.  Actually, I don't know if I went "through" it, or if it camped out on top of me for a couple hundred miles. 

I moved to Utah, and commuted 80 miles (one way) to work.  That worked out to 800 miles a week on the motorcycle.  After a few years in Utah, I stumbled across an enduro (my 175 had been gone for a few years) that was for sale.  I ended up owning a Yamaha 360 Enduro.  I rode the "crap" out of it in the mountains.  I took it on an overnight camping trip, and went riding as the sun was coming up.  I saw deer, elk, and some ghost owls gliding across a valley.  Just totally awesome.

I went without a bike for quite a few years (20 or so).  Now, on the back side of 50, I decided I needed to get back on two wheels.  I found a beautifully restored 650 Special, and even test rode it.  The guy wanted a couple of grand for it (new in 1978, mine cost $1889).  I bit the bullet, borrowed against my 401k, and almost bought the 650.  But, I had not actually gotten the check yet, and I noticed that he was dropping his price.  I decided to play a waiting game, and kept shopping.  I had always wanted to ride a "V-twin", (like the Harley engines,) but Harleys were just way out of my price range.  I did find one of the first Japanese V-twins, a Virago 750 (yes another Yamaha).  I ended up buying the Virago because I started nibbling away at my cash pile, and was determined to buy a bike with it.  I kinda wish I had shopped a little longer.  I love the Virago, it has plenty of power, but I would like a little more horsepower and mass underneath me. 

So, a few months ago, I started window shopping for a Harley.  It has not necessarily been on purpose, but every motorcycle I have ever owned has been a Yamaha.  I believe that they (as well as Honda, Kawasaki, and Suzuki) make quality motorcycles for (sometimes) affordable prices.  I have even had compliments from Harley riders that, (regarding my 650) if they couldn't ride Harley, they might consider riding a Yamaha.  But, there is something about owning a Harley.
I had ridden a friend's Sportster a few year back, and found it to be an enjoyable, although far too short in duration, experience.  So I started shopping for Sportsters.  I found one I liked online, and talked the wife and daughter into humoring me and stopping by the Harley shop to look at it.  It turned out to be an Anniversary Edition (105th) Sportster.  It was parked next to a white Sportster that was also worthy of interest.

Before we left the Harley shop, my wife and daughter had not only expressed interest in learning to ride, but had already picked out their prospective bikes.  The wife wanted the white one, and the daughter had her eye on a smaller Sportster 883.  The two bikes above are both 1200's.

 

  This little encounter created not one, but three monsters.  Computer wallpapers rapidly changed from flowers and landscapes and island paradises to Harleys.  Big ones.  Bigger ones.
We visited a couple of Harley shops, sat on a multitude of bikes, changed our minds, changed them back, and now are as confused as we are determined to get bikes.  I have gone from the Sportster to what they call a "Softtail Slim" for my preference, and then on to what they call a Dyna.  So far, I have not found a bike that fits my butt or my size like the Dyna.  But we'll see what happens NEXT week.

Stay tuned.

The Perils of Growing Older

I had a blog going for a couple of years, and it was good therapy for me.  I received some interesting comments, most of which were complimentary.  I deleted the others.  When I initially started with nothing but a idea, I had no idea just how EASY it was to set up a blog that could be read by anyone on Earth with access to the internet.  So, I had my wife help me set it up.  We used one of her email addresses, and a password that I could remember. At least for a couple of years, anyway.  After being "on the web" for a couple of years, I figured that maybe I could add my own email to the administration of the blog.  So, I set everything up, only to find that I needed to "allow" the sharing of administration by authority granted by the original "owner".  Simple, I'd just log in on the old account and give myself permission to add the new one.  That's where the trouble started. 

Let me break in for just a minute here.  I am only 57 years old (okay, my 58th is this weekend).  But I'm not (you know,) 'THAT' old yet.

I should have had no trouble remembering how to log in using the old account.  Except I suddenly went BLANK.  I could not remember the password.  Over the course of a few months, I occasionally remembered what it MIGHT be, and also remembered that I had associated the old account with one that I had set up just for the blog and junk mail.  Now all of a sudden I had THREE user login email addresses, with any number of possible passwords (okay, I wrote down all the passwords on a piece of paper, and there were eight that I have used, and "rotated" when I had to).  What seemed simple at first had mushroomed into a possible 84 combinations!  So I sat by the wayside and stewed.  I had things to say!  And no way to say it!  <light bulb> Hey, I'll just create a new blog, go into the old one, cut and paste into the new one!  Okay, I got the copy/paste done, but I had to reload my Office suite so I could use Word.  Only one problem, I have exceeded the number of installations on my license.  WHAT!?  I uninstalled it when I got my new computer!  After two months of dragging my feet, I finally got my Office "authorized" to use again.  Now, it's just too much trouble to copy the old one www.fighterpilotsdoitbetter.blogspot.com  into this new one, where Fighter Pilots Still Do It Better.  Maybe in time, I'll get it moved over.  After I've rested, maybe. 

Anyway, if you would like background and want to read the original, please visit the site above.  Then come back here.  I have the login written down.  Three different places. (I just hope I remember where they are).