Biker introduction

I posted an introduction of myself to a new local biker group this morning. It tells a bit about me that I thought would be appropriate here. Another intro to a local book group will follow in a moment.

Here we go.

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Hello, everyone. K. invited me to check out the group and consider joining up. Thank you, K. Very much appreciate the thought.

It was a close call, whether or not to join. For the most part, it has to do with the fact that I already prowl around four different motorcycle forums, a gun forum, a book forum and wish I had time for several others in which I've participated over the last couple of years. It just takes time to be a worthwhile participant in such a forum, that's all! I don't do too many things halfway and when I do, it's guilt-trip time! Unfortunately, I have to pick and choose. I hope I can contribute here in a worthwhile way.

In my profile, I said my interests are something like, piano, motorcycles, books and guns. If you ever figure that one out, let me know. I'm still working on it. I should say, those are my primary interests. If something catches my eye, I'll dabble in it for a while to see if it sticks.

I've been riding motorcycles of various flavors for 35 years, give or take a year or two. I don't recall how old I was when a buddy let me try to ride his motorcycle. I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10 years old. I got on it and he said, "Pull in the clutch." I pulled it in. He said, "Kick start it." I kick started it. He said, "Give it some gas." I gave it some gas. He said, "Now, let go of the clutch!"

I let go of the clutch.

In an instant, I was on the ground, the motorcycle was 20 feet away on its side. The kicker was not that he was mad or that I was hurt (I wasn't) or that the bike was damaged (It was, slightly). The kicker was that there were about six of my friends standing around at the time, watching. One or two of them nearly got tagged by the runaway bike. Try to live that down over the years!

I was hooked. Naturally.

"Dad, can I have a bike," I asked a couple of days later.

"Sure, son. Save up the money and I'll help you buy one. In fact, I'll pay for half of it."

"Really?"

"Sure, son. What kind of bike do you want?"

"I want one like Ron Harris has."

My dad went a little pale and he lowered his newspaper to stare me down. It was that decidedly un-fatherly stare that let's you know that what's about to be said next is the gospel truth, you aren't going to be given a chance to debate the truth of it and if you do, you're going to learn the truth through the seat of your pants 'cause you were too stupid to learn it through the other end of your anatomy.

"You mean the motorcycle?"

"Yeah, Dad." It was difficult to put any excitement back into my voice because "the look" had already answered my original request. Dad put his paper back up to reading position and I couldn't see his face any more as he ended the conversation with the atomic bomb:

"No, son, you can't have a motorcycle. You'll kill yourself with it."

I love that movie, "A Christmas Story." You can see why. You also understand, if you know the movie, that the surest way to make a kid want something is to tell him he can't have it. In fact, with the exception of books, most or all of my interests today have stemmed from the stern denials of my parents. I spent days trying to figure out the best way to dramatically end my life in such a way that my parents would agonize forever over how badly they had treated me. Good grief, Charlie Brown, I mean Ralphie, I mean Wag!! LMAO

I wanted a motorcycle so bad that for years, I was in pain and suffering. Especially since I had to watch ALL of my peers since they ALL had motorcycles. Ron was not really a friend after I wrecked his bike in that glorious tenth of a second. He sure wasn't going to let me ride his bike any more. A couple of years later, his family moved and I never saw them again.

Another kid moved to our school and he and his family had LOTS of motorcycles and they were the newest and bestest of the day. I had to sneak in my bike riding because, of course, my abusive father and mother would've literally killed me if I had been caught riding a motorcycle. I had an uncle with an old beat up Yamaha (I think) which my dad would let us ride from time to time because we were being "supervised" by my uncle, as my father thought. But my buddy had a great RM125 and and an RM80 among others and we would sneak in rides as often as possible. Our secret, somehow, never leaked.

My bosom buddy didn't necessarily tell me that his bike was my bike but he acted like it and let me ride whenever he could.

My family moved halfway across the country when I was between my junior and senior year and that ended my bike riding days. Sad, too, because we moved to the hill country of Missouri and the riding there would have been perfect. But the hunting was great too! I wasn't allowed to have a gun but was allowed to borrow grandad's 20 guage for hunting squirrels and birds of various kinds. Just couldn't have one of my own. Dammit. Oh, well. Guess what I started buying lots of as soon as I moved out and could afford it?

Before that, however, the moment I could afford it, I bought a CB400. Mostly, I bought the motorcycle so I could commute without having to take the bus. The freedom was exhilarating! It was my first ever motorcycle, of course. A few months later, a hit and run driver took me out as he ran a red light. Bastid. I mostly recovered in a couple months from relatively minor injuries.

Back on the bus. It was about two years later that I bought a 750 Shadow. Very much like the Magna of the time, not at all like the Shadow of today. I rode it for a year or so, but it developed some expensive repair needs that I didn't have the equipment or the money to solve. So, I sold it to a guy who had the willingness and the wherewithal to deal with it's issues. A couple years after that, I bought an 1100 Katana and absolutely loved it.

It had been bored out to a 1260 and had the engine blueprinted, a full system exhaust and airbox mod and a couple other things, I don't recall. It was keeping up with the 1100 Gixxer race bikes of the day and my world was complete! I kept that bike for about two years and then sold it to my sister's brother. I don't think she was all that happy about it. Took the proceeds and bought a piano to resume work as a musician. Different story there for a different time.

I went 12 years without a bike and regretted every moment of it. Every time I saw a motorcycle on the road, my heart nearly broke in two. But money was tight and it just wasn't feasible. It would have been one thing if I HAD to ride, but I didn't so I waited for the right opportunity. In truth, I really thought I'd never ride again. In the meantime, I kept up with the other important things in my life but the hole that was left in my heart just wouldn't heal up.

Finally, at the end of 2004, I finally got a bonus which made it possible to start shopping around. I found a 2003 Hayabusa for sale with only 4,000 miles on it and some custom mods. I didn't even know what I was buying, really, I just liked the sound of the bike when the sales guy started it up!

Sold!

Now that Busa has 50,000+ miles on it and will likely get another 50K in short order. I can only hope!

There are more details to the story but I'm sure they will get filled in over time.

Looking forward to meeting some of you I don't know and refreshing other acquaintances. Cheers!

--Wag--