And motorcycles are fun, but oh so dangerous. Several of my childhood peers lost their lives in accidents. Nevertheless, my friends and I all wanted one. I was 13 years old when a close friend got a Honda Trail 70, and we spent every moment on it that we could, racing around a nearby school property and building crude ramps to see who could jump the furthest.
This is when I put the pressure on at home. My parents were separated by then, so it was all on Mom, and finally she relented, but on two conditions: 1) that she would take me to the police station, where she'd already arranged to show me pictures of fatal accidents; and 2) that I would not be living under her roof as of the moment I bought one. Needless to say it did not happen, which, risk-taker that I was, very well could have preserved my life.
Still I sought opportunities to drive one (off-road because I never got a license). Later in life my childhood friend Brent got a mid-size model and we occasionally went trail riding. One of those times my little brother was on the back of this motorcycle with Brent driving. They were going down this trail when a rabbit, startled by the noise, darted in front of them and ran down the trail in an attempt to outrun the bike. Brent happened to have on him a holstered .22 pistol so, while barreling down the trail, he drew that thing and started to shoot at the rabbit between the handlebars. Brent missed, and it didn't take long for the rabbit to choose another route.
Even now - or maybe especially now - that I'm 61, the idea of owning a big touring bike is an attractive prospect. Who knows? Maybe me and my Motorcycle Mama will see you out there some day...
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