The very moment you knew that you had to ride motorcycles

[oldbike54]

 We had a thread about this some years ago , but apparently it is lost in cyberspace . So.. tell us when you knew that this isn't a choice but a compulsion .

 Dusty

[acogoff]

     When my brother gave me a ride on his left handed '47 Indian Chief, I was 11.

[BAT 11]

Back in 1967 I was 15. My parents went out  and l hauled out the Yamaha 90 and rode it around the backyard. The wheel tracks were obvious so I then mowed the lawn. Ha

[Guzzistajohn]

My Neighbor Ricky got a brand new Honda 750. That was THE COOLEST thing I had ever seen. Later on another dude moved in the house that had a Harley café bike (what ever those were called) he said "the only bike that ever out ran this was a Moto Guzzi LeMans" I had to have one : )

[Guzzi Gal]

I wanted to be Pinky Tuscadero. 

[Chet Rugg]

 then came  bronson man    I'm going to be just like him! 

[Tusayan]

A big kid down the street (he was 11) had motorcycles because his dad was a VW/Yamaha dealer (imagine such a thing in the same showroom!).  I can remember very clearly watching him from the school bus window.  Soon I'd buddied up and was riding his CT70. A while after that I had a Tecumseh powered mini bike I bought myself, then seeing my enthusiasm my dad bought me a used Mini Enduro at age 10, super discounted by the dealer dad down the street.  I rode the wheels off it.

[giusto]

     When my brother gave me a ride on his left handed '47 Indian Chief, I was 11.

Wow we have a similar tale
I was 9...1968...Joey Ruffo lived across the street from our home on suburban Long Island...he had recently returned home from a tour in Vietnam and dug out his 51 Chief and would terrorize the neighborhood...I'd run out whenever I heard him start it up...I'd watch him pull out of their driveway with a big smile...I'd wave...so he asks if I wanted to go for a ride...he puts me up on the tank...shows me where first second and third gear were on the left hand shift knob and tells me when to shift...man that was about as good as it gets. I got many rides on that bike...it felt like a little truck.
Thanks Joey!

[rodekyll]

I wanted to be Pinky Tuscadero. 

The cover girl for Pepto Bismal . ..   

When I was about 4 or 5 I got to hug the back of the front seat of a Piper Tomahawk.  I remember that the name was cool, and climbing in over the wing, where I watched in fear and fascination as the ground fell away -- just like in Sky King.  It was the late 50s.  I knew right there that I wanted to fly.

That same summer, the pilot of that PA38 went to work for my dad, who was building a boat in the back yard.  This was a step forward for dad, who had built the last one in the livingroom and had to remove the picture window and parts of the wall to get it out.  But it was a little boat -- maybe 17'.  It became the skiff for the backyard boat, which was 34'.  Mom wasn't having it in the house.  And I don't blame her.  Once that window and wall were gone, the sawdust blew everywhere.  But once again, I digress.

The pilot guy was Curtis Jones.  I still remember that because he was my personal hero at 4 or 5.  He was a charter and ferry pilot when he could get a gig, and a knockabout odd-jobber the rest of the time, which seemed to be most of the time.  So when he rattled up to work for my disapproving dad on a war surplus Harley with the drab green paint and the headlight sticking up from the handlebar and the oil smoke everywhere, I knew I also had to ride.

[Kev m]

My story is weird... Big surprise.

As a kid I idolized Evil Kenevil.

But fast forward with heavy parental propaganda and you see a 17 y/o heading off to college but totally into muscle cars with bikes not even on his radar.

Graduate from college, sell your Olds Rally 350 and pick up a really beat up pickup truck. Start working with other gearheads at Chilton (literally half of whom ride) and suddenly you want a bike again.

$300 Suzuki, and suddenly you are hooked.

More than a decade later, you're trying to pay for your second marriage and you try to sell your now only bike (the R1100RSa you bought the day you heard your first child's heartbeat) and it takes only months for your fiance to say "buy a new bike already!"

And in the more than decade and a half since she's recognized the connection between your mental health and your motorcycles.

I don't need to analyze it more... I've been smacked in the face enough to just accept it.

[Tusayan]

When I was about 4 or 5 I got to hug the back of the front seat of a Piper Tomahawk.  I remember that the name was cool, and climbing in over the wing, where I watched in fear and fascination as the ground fell away -- just like in Sky King.  It was the late 50s.  I knew right there that I wanted to fly.

I'm confused by that story...   The Traumahawk was introduced in the late 70s.

[rodekyll]

I'm confused by that story...   The Traumahawk was introduced in the late 70s.

You're right, of course.  Made me rethink it -- almost 60 years ago.  I think my first ride with him was probably in an Apache.   My Tomahawk time came after I moved to Alaska.

[tazio]

I wanted to be Pinky Tuscadero. 

I wanted Pinky Tuscadero...

[Antietam Classic Cycle]

Probably the first time I saw a motorcycle? I don't remember ever making a conscious decision, it seemed to be a natural progression from a bicycle.

[Shorty]

Someone gave one of the neighborhood kids a Zundapp with a blown engine. We would push the thing up to the top of the hill, just to ride it back down. My mom and dad had a small displacement CZ and a Benelli mini bike, both street legal, which I would "borrow" when dad went off to work. So, I wanted to ride a motorcycle since my tween years. I knew I had to ride after my first life changing accident. Lost a year's work, got a concussion, memory loss, a permanent limp, probably 100 stitches, skin grafts, and my face has been twisted  ever since.  After being too afraid to ride for about 4 years, I took up flying, to be "safe."  I realised that I would never be happy without riding motorcycles. The flying has come and gone a couple times, (got my PPL, but no medical) but I ride on, despite having to slow down due to balance and vision issues, and despite serious injury or death to some good friends on a bike. The biggest difference from my youthful days is that I care not one whit to go fast, compete, etc.. I also enjoy smaller and smaller bikes as I age. I got a 3 wheeler for days I'm a little "off" (not a word Dusty  ). Barring any major disability, I'll be doing this until "the thrill is gone."

[oldbike54]

^^^

 Who , me ? 

 I love these stories , keep 'em coming folks .

 Dusty

[nick949]

I was up the side of a mountain in Snowdonia, overlooking the Nant Frrancon valley when an old British single (Ariel Red Hunter - I think) tore down the valley below on his way to the Mountain Rescue post. The whole picture was so cool. The exhaust reverberated from the valley walls.  Totally hooked. Still am.

Nick

[Luap McKeever]

I've known since I was 4 when I received my first motorcycle for Christmas.  Sure, it was battery powered with training wheels, but my first real motorcycle nonetheless.

[Aaron D.]

I was a total motor geek at a Very early age-around age 6 or 7 my parents asked me to identify cars they saw on the road.

So I watched the scooters and motorcycles go by, as well. Just seemed natural. Got the first time at the controls at age 8 or 9 , started saving and getting odd jobs until at some point my parents mentioned a  bike for sale (Kawasaki C2SS 120) and took me over to get it.

[Gliderjohn]

When an older cousin got the below and allowed me to ride it when I was 10. Took me to age 22 to actually own one. The pictured Honda sits in my garage at this time.



GliderJohn

[webmost]

Dad was the luckiest man in WWII. When he graduated OCS, the life expectancy of a 2nd Lieutenant was three weeks: One week to ship to Italy, one week to find your unit, one week for a German to shoot the guy in the fold-up hat. Instead, he got posted to the Caribbean as an MP. Luck of the draw. Spent his war riding round in an Indian with a suicide clutch and a corporal in the sidecar, 45 on his hip, busting drunks and keeping peace in brothels. Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Curacao, Aruba. Returned with a thirst for motorcycles and a war bride. Alas, bride and brood trumped bikes.

Dial forward a dozen years. I'm about ten. Dad began buying trashed trail bikes off his work buddies. Maico, Hodaka Pabatco, and such. He and I bonded in the garage. All two-smokes, so that, given enough kicks and a new spark plug they would always start at least somewhat. File the points. Tighten bruised spokes. Trap a bent handlebar under the Rambler tire and grunt it back into shape. Frequently, the shifter splines would have been stripped in a wreck, so that we had to drill a hole thru the shifter & splines, then drop a bolt thru there to make that work. Wee drum brakes never worked worth a crap no matter what. In a week or three, we might get lucky enough to where she'd not just start up but even idle.

Bout then, Mom would come out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel, complaining: "Pete, he's going to wreck that thing", and Dad would reply: "I hope he does." Not being one to disappoint, I'd ride out in the adjacent desert and proceed to.

Truth be told, I was addicted to the garage part of the experience first; the riding second. But when I went to college, my ride was an Allstate 175, made by Puch, sold by Sears, two headers, two cylinders, one spark plug... named her Pooch, cause I didn't want to call her Puke ::



Her life ended shortly after graduation when I hit a dog and cracked the case. Yes, that's right -- a dog screwed the Pooch.

In the sixty years since, I've maybe owned a cage five years.There was a pickup when I was a boatbuilder for picking up materials. There was a Subaru when I was a door to door salesman. There was a Monza briefly; until I gave it away. There was a Greenbrier... but that was for the old lady. Otherwise, always a daily rider.

So I'm gonna say, it was the day Mom came out wringing her hands, the moment Dad replied "I hope he does".

[Sheepdog]

After developing a great love for bicycles and fooling around with minibikes and go-carts, I met a fellow with a powder blue Motobecane Mobylette moped (like the one pictured below). I rode that bike all around the neighborhood one day and was hooked. It took a while to set up, but I lied about my age, got a union book, and worked shutdowns at a local refinery during Christmas vacation. I earned enough to buy a 1968 Honda CL-70 and gifts for the whole family. It was 1970 and I was fourteen.

[chuck peterson]

My bedroom walls were plastered with magazine ads, all brands, but the parents said no, no, no, no, no, no,no....

Bought one anyway, (1970 R5) and stuck it in the garage when my dad was gone. Mom shrieked and demanded to have it removed from the garage. 

So, I pushed it thru the living room, past the bathroom, thru two 90 degree bends in the hallway, and put it............in my bedroom!

Yeah, I'd say that was it...

Dad came down hard, but said I could ride it if I finished high school, two months away. That was about 40 yrs and 300k miles ago...

[Chuck in Indiana]

My half brother Phil was 9 years older than me, and the old man bought him a shiny new maroon Whizzer when he was 15. I rode on the tank on the way home, and never forgot it.

[Dilliw]

For the whole Christmas season, back when the season was only between Thanksgiving and Christmas of course, my Mom would play and sing "The Marvelous Toy" on the piano.  Turns out Dad had ordered a Herter's 5hp min-bike for my Christmas present.  From that Christmas morning on I was hooked! I can still hear Mom singing:

It went zip when it moved
Bop when it stopped
Whirrr when it stood still
I never knew just what it was
And I guess I never will

[Vince in Milwaukee]

My story starts a bit later in age than most on here.  My lifelong friend Gregg had a Moto Guzzi California II. He would take me for rides when I'd come home on leave from the Marines.  About a year or two later, my second and final enlistment came to an end (1988) and I was home for good.  Being young (25) and in pretty decent shape, I realized I had to have a bike of my own.  By chance, one of the engineers where we both worked, had a Le Mans III for sale.  It had been rode hard and put away wet.  Long story short, that Le Mans became mine and I've had it ever since.  Those initial rides on the Cal II have pretty much hooked me for life. 

[Phang]

it was a natural progression from my primary mode of transport (bicycle) when I  was a kid

motorcycle is intermimediate phase for most of the people in my home country (Malaysia) before they eventually settled for the car

I am the odd one that go back to two wheels with combustion engine after driving for 10 years

[Guzzi Gal]

The cover girl for Pepto Bismal . ..   

When I was about 4 or 5 I got to hug the back of the front seat of a Piper Tomahawk.  I remember that the name was cool, and climbing in over the wing, where I watched in fear and fascination as the ground fell away -- just like in Sky King.  It was the late 50s.  I knew right there that I wanted to fly.

That same summer, the pilot of that PA38 went to work for my dad, who was building a boat in the back yard.  This was a step forward for dad, who had built the last one in the livingroom and had to remove the picture window and parts of the wall to get it out.  But it was a little boat -- maybe 17'.  It became the skiff for the backyard boat, which was 34'.  Mom wasn't having it in the house.  And I don't blame her.  Once that window and wall were gone, the sawdust blew everywhere.  But once again, I digress.

The pilot guy was Curtis Jones.  I still remember that because he was my personal hero at 4 or 5.  He was a charter and ferry pilot when he could get a gig, and a knockabout odd-jobber the rest of the time, which seemed to be most of the time.  So when he rattled up to work for my disapproving dad on a war surplus Harley with the drab green paint and the headlight sticking up from the handlebar and the oil smoke everywhere, I knew I also had to ride.

Pepto, HA!  I wasn't into the pink, but I wanted to be a motorcycle riding, demolition derby driving badass!  My grampa would take me to the demolition derby when it hit town and just about every car show in Ohio.  He was a car buff, ex-racer, dealership owner, and general tall-tale teller, who was so much fun (when taken with a big grain of salt).

My other grampa was a pilot who flew a little Piper of some sort, and his son, my birth father (a merchant seaman by trade) had an old Mooney he upgraded to fly by wire.  I grew up hanging out of a plane, or an old car going at ridiculous speeds, which means I came by my lead foot honestly.    

[rtbickel]

I was 5 or 6 at the time and my dad told me to climb on behind him on my uncle's post-war Harley-something and tore around the neighborhood.  When we got back, mom was standing in the driveway giving all three of us the stink eye. I was hooked!

[RinkRat II]

 In '64 or '65  we went to visit an ex next door neighbor that had moved to Lancaster Cal. He and his wife had started a Honda dealership a few years earlier, Larry Lilley Honda. They went on to be one of the largest Honda dealers in the U S . He took us to his dealership and we picked out some demo bikes to ride around in the desert. He had a pre-US z50 and  Trail 70's we didn't want to get off of. Oh what a sunday that was! I was Hooked!
                                                                                                       
        Paul B