Your origins of riding.

[ksquared]

My history with motorcycles has been a bit less amicable than most of you. I didn't like bikes for a long long time. I rode to be with my dad. My folks were divorced and my mom got custody, so my dad did whatever he could to make my time with him interesting. He had always had a bike. I often rode as a passenger and enjoyed that time, but then he decided to put me on a bike to ride on my own. I don't remember how old I was, but from what I remember it was a Yamaha Scrambler, I think 90cc hand me down. It weighed more than I did, was so tall I couldn't put both feet on the ground, and had a clutch that I couldn't pull with one hand. To make things more uncomfortable I didn't get to practice in a relatively clear safe place, we started off on 4x4 trails through the Sierra Nevadas with deep ruts, hard rocks and pointy branches. No fun on a bike that was too big for me, especially when I was trying to keep up with experienced riders. I never really got the chance to grow into the bike before home matters got shuffled around and the bike got decommissioned.

However despite a few years out of the saddle my dad managed to get a good deal on a 180 (190?) Honda Enduro for me, and a kawa 750 dirt bike for him. I was just out of my tweens and the new bike was still too tall for me (could touch the ground with the toes of both feet), but the clutch was actually manageable, and the 'me to bike' weight ratio was a lot more even. I finally felt like I was riding the bike rather than it running away with me holding on for dear life. So we went off into the hills again to hit the 4x4 trails, and after a few times I actually began to think I might enjoy riding, then I lost it. We had left the 4x4 trails for an actual bike trail and hit a hill with a few large rocks, and lots of loose gravel. He managed to negotiate his way up the hill, but I wiped out around halfway up. When I fell I was oriented legs up with my head further down the slope with my ankle wedged between two rocks. Naturally the bike fell on top of me, with the exhaust directly on my bare leg where my jeans had pulled up. With the leverage all wrong I couldn't get the bike off me so I had to wait a bit for my dad to get off his bike, get down the slippery hill and get the footing to get the bike off me, all while the exhaust cooked my leg. There wasn't any permanent damage, and a dozen years later the scar went away, but it soured me on bikes for a long while.

Then some more drama ensued, base closures, and ultimately family relocation. After I graduated college I ended up in Denver few years later my dad bought a Harley to replace his '93 Vulcan. At the time I was supporting myself, and my girlfriend on a lousy call in tech support job using a T-bird to get around. The T-bird wasn't the most efficient ride when it came to fuel and my dad started talking about giving me his Vulcan (also not particularly efficient in the realm of bikes, but better than my current ride). I accepted, but I didn't think I'd use it much if at all. I figured I'd give it a go and when I inevitably didn't like it I could sell it for some extra cash. Boy was I wrong.

When you're heading north on I-25 there's a portion around Colorado Blvd where the road dips down a bit and swings west. Coincidentally you've just passed through a commercial center, so the condos and office buildings are falling away to more traditional housing covered by trees. Suddenly you're faced with the Rockies, just trees, the highway, and those mountains. It was part of my every day commute, I had even passed it a few times on the Vulcan, but I'd never really noticed it. For some reason one day I noticed it, and I mean REALLY noticed it and I found myself surprised to think, "Holy ****, I LOVE this".

The rest of the story was posted in my intro, but the sum of it is that the Vulcan had some problems I couldn't afford to fix. By the time I had the cash I realized that the Vulcan wasn't going to be enough for me anymore so I started looking around, and ultimately fell for the Rocket.

Great story Chris. Glad you came to bikes in your own time - that's the BEST way. Here's to MANY more happy years and miles with the Beast!

 

[Barbarosa]

Started riding mini bikes around 9 or 10; didn't get into riding hardcore until about age 15 when the family of a girl I liked was big into dirt bike riding. They asked me to go on desert camp outs, so of course I said yes. I must have looked like a real moron trying to ride over jumps and such, but I learned really quick. From there the progression onto road bikes was simple.

 

[TOMCAT]

Crew of us kids used to take a 8 foot bondwood rowboat across local river and collect cowsh!t in potato sacks .. sell it to old ladies for their gardens. We'd save up and hit the mini-bikes at the Exhibition Showgrounds. You could hire them out by the hour , you'd ride them around the empty streets of sideshow alley. Owners had older teens hired to be cops .. had stop signs , speed limits etc .. trying to teach road safety I guess. We'd unscrew the governors on the carbies with a drink can ring-pull... and just go for it. Straight through stop signs , nearly run over the traffic cops .. get two maybe three laps in before we were all thrown out .. back to lumping cowsh!t till we'd saved again ..hahahaha

 

[Jeff Cameron]

I started with a Honda 50 then moved onto to -
1973 Yamaha 125 Enduro
1975 Honda CR125
1979 Honda CR125
? Yellow Honda Odyssey 250
Late 70s Kawasaki 250 triple 2 stroke (Hey I just realized - a baby Rocket!)
1977 Honda CB400F (Tiny 4 cylinder)
1981 Kawasaki KZ750 (My first new bike)
1984 Honda V45 Sabre with the Hondaline fairing and bags
2005 Yamaha FJR1300 (Major step up)
2005 Kawasaki Brute Force 750 Quad (I still have this)
2014 Triumph Rocket

 

[1olbull]

See avatar.
My first motor was made by my Dad, an Indian dealer in Tacoma, in 1950.

 

[HELBOY]

My grandson has a BMX bike and my Granddaughter got her first bike today. She named it "Sweet Lightning."

 

[ricochet]

My brother turned 16 years old and my dad bought him a Honda MBX50... my brother was pretty excited about it, and showed me how it worked.. I was only 9 years old, but he put me up infront of him on the seat so that I can control the shifter and the gas (i was too short to touch the ground) and I learned how to ride like that! Then it was until I was 20 that I got my own bike, never ridden again until that day but I didn't forget a thing all those years later.

 

[ksquared]

I so envy you guys who were supported - and even aided - by your parents in your motorcycling pursuits. My parents were avidly anti-motorcycle. When my father was a young man, he had a Cushman scooter. One day, the friend was at the curb talking to my dad. The friend had his GF on the back. Apparently, somehow or other the Cushman, which was running, managed to suddenly engage it's transmission and lurched forward. The girl, who wasn't expecting the sudden movement, fell off the back of the scooter, hit her head on the curb and died. My father was anti any motorcycle after that. When it became clear that I was going to have an interest in motorcycles, he and I had it out. I told him I didn't want it to ruin our relationship (we were very close then - and remained that way until his death at age 82) so I told him that I would garage it away from the house so he wouldn't have to be reminded of it all the time It worked and I bought my first new bike - a Bultaco Metralla 250. But he never warmed up to it or my riding.