My Dad always talked about riding his motorcycles in the late 40's and 50's. He rode just about everywhere, and when he talks about riding, I can tell he still enjoys the memories.
Dad fixed me up an old mini bike when I pretty young. We were trying to start it for the first time, but it wasn't cooperating. I kept asking Dad if it was getting spark, he would tell me yes and then I would ask again after another try. Well he must have got sick of me asking the same question, so he told me to hold the end of the wire. He pulled the rope. I didn't ask again. I can still see him laughing at the look on my face. I'm laughing just thinking about it.
It had a manual pull rope, no recoil. I would start it and tie the rope around the frame, pull on my purple Arthur Fulmer helmet, and ride it as hard as it would go.We lived on a dead end gravel road that was about 1 mile long, with some good curves and elevation changes, my own personal race track. I soon learned about road rash and how gravel becomes embedded in skin.
My Dads youngest brother always had motorcycles. One summer he bought a couple of Rupps. He let me ride them all of the time.I was moving up in the world. We would go out in the fields and woods near our house. I remember him talking me into doing some stupid stuff, and then laughing at me when I crashed.
After I rode the mini bikes for a while. I started begging for a bigger bike. I wanted a Kawasaki 100.
I never got the Kawasaki, I got something better.
Mom and Dad bought one of my Uncles used motorcycles he made them a good deal. It was a few years old but in great shape. It was a Yamaha 175 Enduro.
My first real motorcycle!!!!
