Threads

 

Before we move on, let's look at what I will call memory threads. These will be those memories we all have that fill in the time between the more arching moments of our life and give us continuity with our past. Of course, more things happened in our high school years than any can attempt to recall, but here are a few that come to mind.

Things like fishing trips with my Dad, they would range from going down to the old muddy creek bank fishing, to fishing at the bluff on the Tennessee River. On those more special occasions, we would go to Pickwick and fish below the Dam. Those memories are specifically vivid, the earlier trips when I was younger made quite an impression. The place seemed so huge, the water especially turbulent and noisy. We would stop by a little fishing store on the way and buy a thing called a barracuda. It was a small shiny metal lure with one hook on the end. It was used to catch what we called Skip Jacks. They were not for eating, just catching. Dad would use their guts to bring home as bait for Catfish when we were fishing at the bluff. I suppose fishermen still do that, however, we just gutted them there on the bank and pitched what was left back in the river. I suspect you probably couldn't do that now, kind of a messy process. I enjoyed these trips with my Dad, but we never really talked. It was all about the fishing trip, usually, I just listened to the Conversations between my Dad and whoever went with us. Times like these are excellent opportunities to watch for ways to teach our children life lessons. We both missed that opportunity, we focused on the fishing and not each other. 

I realized I did much the same thing, I thought just spending time with my boys was being a good Dad. But I realize now our children need more than just time, we need to communicate to them how to live and what to expect out of life. Prepare them for many of the things we as parents have already walked through. We do much the same thing with our faith, we take them to church, but in actual life, we rarely ever communicate our faith to them. Such as studying with them in family devotions and answering their questions about faith and life issues. It is good to take our children to church and let them see our Christian faith lived out through family adventures. However, they need more than just time spent, they need us to communicate what we know to them. Later in life, there were things I needed to know, things I later felt too old to ask Dad about. It would have been helpful had he taken the initiative and given me more guidance. If you didn't get that guidance, that's not an excuse to lay at anyone's feet, just a helpful note we can apply to our own families.  

On another note, as the newfound friendships were developing from the Old Store adventures, there was a band of boys forming closer to home as well. A family from out of state had purchased a farm adjoining our property. As a matter of fact, that old abandoned road bed that we traveled through the woods to my cousin's house went right through the middle of it. This family built a really nice home on the farm and appeared financially wealthy as compared to my way of life. However, those boys never hinted that this might be the case.  You would have thought they never even noticed the old shack of a house we lived in. They were special boys, I know that because when they arrived they did so on Tora motorcycles. These bikes were made by Rockford and were rare in these parts.  

I had never seen a Tora, so a Tora friendship immediately sprang. I was quite amazed, especially at the youngest. He was too small to get both feet on the ground at the same time. He would start it while on the Kickstand, then take off and jump on it. If you have never ridden a motorcycle, you have no idea what an advantage you have if you can get your feet on the ground. My amazement was the places he was able to ride that thing while not being able to touch the ground. In those days if you were driving around the community, you would see little paths meeting the road's shoulder. These little paths would lead to a small bat cave-like entrance into the woods. These were trails that were interlinked which we traveled in our adventures. 

Times were a bit different back then, we had no idea whose property we were on and it never became a problem. We were just boys and we were just riding, it seemed the world was our playground. One such place was called "blue cliff." Again, we had no idea whose property it was, it never occurred to us that should matter. The name "blue cliff" was simply the name we gave it. It was a wooded area that dipped down into a valley. At the bottom was a branch that ran with water for most of the year. This particular part of the Branch or stream had this blue clay exposed in the bank. A portion of the bank had this cliff that was probably 25 feet or so high.  To us then, it looked more like 60. I guess it's that boy thing again, but we felt it necessary to climb it with our motorcycles. If you could, well, let's just say you gained the respect of this band of boys. We would spend our time helping each other get our bikes to the top, sit and talk about the fact we actually did it among other boy things. We even had some vines cut so we could swing the Tarzan way across the Branch. Our parents let us go off on these adventures, and many times we took our guns with us, if we killed anything we skinned it and cooked over an open fire. Then we would try to eat it if it was eatable! We always had our knives, like I said, times were a bit different then. 

There were 5 of us that met regularly at the blue cliff and the surrounding trails, it was a place for boys to go and feel like men. Once a group of real men who road big dirt bikes came through, they somehow knew about our trails and cut through them. It was an exciting day, we went down as soon as we saw them. They were gone by the time we got there, but we could see their tracks. We were amazed! Their bikes tore up the ground in our trials like we had never seen! We talked about it all day, it was one of those things you would take a picture of with your phone and post on Facebook! But if we had those things back then, there probably wouldn't have been any trails to start with. 

While we are on the subject of climbing hills, it must be a thing boys feel is necessary. There was a place about 40 miles or so from the house.  We had heard you could go there and ride your dirt bikes all day. Of course, having heard that, it had to be checked out! 

It was said there was a hill there that was about 300 feet high, one person was said to have already been killed trying to climb it. Now I remind you, I have never claimed to be a brave man. However, all this sure sounded intriguing. Remember that image I was trying to promote? I couldn't help considering that even trying to climb that hill would be a great boost to that endeavor! As it turn out, this truly was a great place to go and spend the day with friends and ride our bikes. There was an old country store within a short ride. After a full morning of riding, we would ride our bikes to this old store and buy ourselves some beanie weenies, crackers, cupcakes, and a Coke. I have never eaten beanie weenies anywhere that tasted as good as they did there. Dirt bikes, trails, friends, and beanie weenies, it was hard to even think of life being any better!

We made this trip at different times with different friends, and of course, tried to climb that big hill. This was no blue cliff, this was a monster! It was very steep and full of rocks and was indeed nearly 300ft to the top. I, nor anyone with me was ever successful in making it to the top, as much as I enjoyed bringing up the fact I had tried, it would never be as good as being able to say I actually did. In my Senior year of high school, my DKW friend and I decided to skip school and go over there and CLIMB THAT HILL. I think I was riding my CanAm 125cc at the time, I don't know how many times we tried. There was a 2 or 3-foot lip near the top that was practically straight up. We were able to make it there, but that lip stopped us every time. Once, I was able to throw the bike over the top of the lip. I then climbed over it myself and pushed the bike over the top. I will have to admit, sometimes when speaking of the hill, I would confess to climbing it without thinking to mention the part about pushing it over the top. Hey, after all, that fact is just a small technicality.

Those days were special, the hill and the trails associated with it are no longer available to be ridden. Times change as well as our lives, it is a reminder that our world as well as our lives are very short and temporary. At the time it seemed life would be forever, I took little thought of tomorrow or what course I was going to take in life. I suppose that's the way it is for most of us, however, should we not enjoy such moments while at the same time being aware of their brevity? Would that not prod us to consider our lives more seriously? As I consider all the things I was able to do as a young man, I am reminded of Joni Eareckson Tada. She was a young girl during this same period of time that was injured in a diving accident at the age of 17. I remember first hearing about her through a movie that came out about her life. Much like us, she was out with a group of friends having fun together. She has been a paraplegic now for over 50 years. Yet in all her difficulties, her faith in God and Christ as her Savior is so profound. She has grown spiritually so much more than I have. She is an inspiration to me, every time I feel the pain of aging or face some difficulty, all I have to do is consider her and I immediately turn to a grateful attitude with a humble heart. My problems suddenly look very small indeed. 

High school would end and another chapter would begin, but then, that's another story.

God bless,

David

Identity

The little green Honda would eventually give up. It would literally be ridden till the engine was nothing but a puff of smoke and barely pull itself back to the house, nevertheless, it seems the die was cast. There would follow in the next few years a number of motorcycles to fill the gap left by the passing of the little green bike. 

There would be an F-series 175 Kawasaki, Honda MT 250, Honda CR Elsinore 125, Ossa 350 Super Pioneer, and an MR 250 Honda. The one pictured here is a 1974 CanAm TNT 125. These would all fall within the high school years of 1975 through 1978.  I would not own them all at once, though sometime I would have two or three at the same time. They were used bikes with the exception of the Honda MR 250 which came about through a trade. I had acquired a wrecked Honda 350 four-road bike which I had little interest in and it made enough equity in the trade to obtain the MR 250 as a new bike. 

They were all nice bikes and I will admit it does seem odd for one young man to have so many motorcycles during his High School year. For reasons I still don't quite understand, my Dad was into this motorcycle thing as well, not riding mind you, but trading for them, he loved to trade on things. The family had acquired additional resources through the passing of my Papa and my Dad seemed more than willing to spend some of it on buying and trading on these bikes. I never asked for these bikes, just having one would have been sufficient, but I never turned one down either. Dad had a friend that was into motorcycles, and most of these bikes came secondhand through him. He would ride one down to the house and tell Dad what a great bike it was, and the next thing I knew it was mine. This sounds like it would be pretty neat and I suppose it was, but it was also a bit unnecessary. I just figured if Dad enjoyed trading, I would enjoy riding! 

Sometimes in my studies, I wander over into the psychological side of things and do some reading from psychology websites. I guess I'm drawn there because I find myself curious sometimes why people act the way they do. It seems there is a distinction made in psychology between personal identity and social identity. Personal identity forms from the way we view ourselves as different from others, whereas social identity is formed from the things we have in common with others, you could say our likeness. Thinking on this now, it seems perhaps my personal identity began to form in such a way I was associating my uniqueness with these motorcycles. It was something I began to feel I was good at and wanted to project that image to others. I suppose you might say I was looking at that image to make me popular, even admired. 

To project this image I took on certain behaviors, covering my wall with dirt bike posters, placing decals of bike names on my notebooks, covering my jacket with motorcycle emblems, and wearing a very unique belt buckle called the sunset rider, which really was a neat buckle. I even had a rider doing a cross-up placed within my class ring. 

This image became more and more important to me, probably more than it should. A number of times, while making some pretty important decisions, I found myself considering how that image would be affected, I let it have a pretty significant weight in my decision-making process. A couple of examples could be sighted, after high school, I once turned down a job opportunity because it was going to interfere with my weekend riding. I suppose at that age that's not a real big deal, maturity hopefully would overcome such thinking. But on a more serious note, my profession of faith began to suffer. Riding opportunities began to present themselves on Sunday, and that was Church day, therefore, I was going to have to choose what I was going to do. Do I honor my commitment and remain faithful to my church, or do I yield to the temptation of putting it aside for the ride? I was a young Christian and had been studying my bible, however, my ability to understand certain aspects of theology and Christian doctrine was limited by the teaching that was available. In those days theological thought and methods of study were not readily at hand. So knowledge came much slower if at all. I can still remember the first Sunday I made the choice to take the ride instead of setting it aside as a day to be with the Church. Had I a better understanding of church history, the character and nature of God, and the honor and value of having an opportunity to Worship, I might have made a more informed decision. But the value of these things was in their infancy and I well understood the joy of riding. 

I understand some might think this to be a religious burden, something that religion places on a person. That is to misunderstand it all together, church was not at all a burden, it was a joy in my life even as a young teenager. It was just placed in competition with another joy in my life, when that happens one has to determine which is the more important. It would result in a life of inconsistency, the weight of conscience compelling me to honor my commitment to the Lord on Sunday, only to choose not to do so at the next big riding opportunity. I was the Sunday School superintendent at the local church, and when I was gone someone else had to fill that responsibility. This reflected upon my character, I was proving to be unreliable, and you simply could not depend on me to be there, unless, of course, it was a bike ride. 

A distinction I think needs to be made here, there are reasons people can not be at church on Sundays. There are positions in life that require and are necessary for people to be at their post to serve. In our society, the system can't just stop and shut down for Sunday worship. Even sports are occupied by Christians which prevents them from serving in a local church assembly consistently. This was not one of those situations, this was simply a young man placing a desire to go ride his motorcycle in preference to being faithful in attendance and committed to fulfilling his responsibilities in the service. This would be the pattern of behavior I would follow for years. 

However, things at school began to change for the positive during these years, especially a friendship that would develop and last throughout my life. A new student was to arrive at the beginning of the school year, one whom I had already been told was going to be coming to school there. This guy, according to rumors, was better than anyone around on a motorcycle. It was said he rode a DKW, and that shook me, I knew if that was true, we were not talking about a regular guy here.  I was told this guy was going to put me to shame. I began to feel a bit threatened, my image might be in danger!  

Well, we met and at first I didn't know what to think of him, he seemed ok and did indeed ride a DKW. The threat slightly subsided, and of course, the day would come when we would actually ride together. This was another big moment, it was during the time I had just acquired my driver's license. I had not yet ventured out from home by myself. For the first time, I loaded up my bike in the back of Dad's 1969 Ford Bronco and headed out on this grand adventure.   

My world would again get a little bigger, I had started with red clay gullies, then I found some boys that had a gravel pit, and now I had met someone who had an entire Pine Company! This boy lived next to a Pine Company which was filled with miles of bike trails. I had never seen anything like this before. 

I knew this could be a test, so the bike I chose to take was the fastest thing I had. These little bikes were amazing, new to market, and Honda would change the game with these things in the years to follow. I didn't know what I would be up against, so I wanted the best weapon I had in my arsenal and that was a 1974 Honda 125cc CR Elsinore. We met, I unloaded, we took off, and the first open section of trail we came to I opened it up and made it maybe a 1000 ft and the engine blew and the little bike locked up. We drug it back to the truck and became the best of friends. We would eventually log many hours of riding time together and share many adventures. Later in life when in some of my most difficult times, he was a friend that stood with me and never let me down. His whole family helped me through those times, they may never know what that meant to me. Even to this day, that exceptional loyalty remains. 
 

 

Over time just being identified with a motorcycle wasn't enough. I began to see competition as a means to prove not that I was good but better than most. I had a couple of opportunities to race that came my way a few years earlier, however, the circumstances were such as neither came to pass. I was really wanting to push this image to the next level. I wanted a trophy, I had it in my mind a trophy would prove my ability, and I would have some clout. 

I talked Dad into letting me have a race on our property. I built the trial and laid it out, specifically catering the design to be in my favor. The bike I chose for this ride was the Ossa 350 Super Pioneer, it was a superb machine. This was a race I felt I had to win. Dad bought some trophies, set a date, and I invited everyone I knew. The advantages I had designed on the track were enough to allow me to come out on top that day. There I am, and there is the infamous trophy, I think it may still be up in the attic. Here is a life lesson, what seems so important one day, the next can have such little meaning. The grand place it was supposed to fill would be empty again. I now understand I was looking to my ability to ride a bike to define who I was. The better I could be the better person I would be, and the more respect I would have. I was a young man trying to inflate his own ego, placing value upon things in life that would never produce the things I desired. What was once a simple joy of riding a bike was becoming a tool to gain affirmation and popularity. God's kindness in his providence however worked a great good in all of this. The friendships that developed and the people I met through my associations with motorcycles were and are of the greatest value. The bikes were great, the weakness was in my character and the place I began to give them in my life. It would take me more than a decade to learn this lesson well, but then that's another story.

David 

"An Old Country Store" {To the ridge and back}

 

For several years this little bike was going to be my constant companion.  

You see, this young boy was quiet, to say shy would be an understatement. His world was very small, had never traveled over a few miles from home, and that never alone. He had friends at school but not as yet the kind to hang out with. It wasn't their fault, just the reserved nature of this young lad kept him to himself. 

He didn't participate in school sports, nor was he very athletic. His Dad had played basketball in High School and was quite good. So he tried out for ball once hoping to impress his Dad. However, being good at something doesn't just happen overnight, so he turned out to be a bench warmer. There was one home game his Dad came to watch, and as it turned out he got to play the last 3 minutes of the game. Yeah, we were getting beat that bad, he was just glad he didn't get the ball, he never really understood the game very well either. He knew if the ball was ever passed to him, he wouldn't know what to do with it. That's not the coach's fault either, for some reason in practice, it just didn't click. The coach would go over the plays and the game, but it just didn't fixate in the mind. He worked his way up the next year to water boy, at least that gave him some connection to the real guys. 

The real thrill was getting through the day and getting home to that little green motorcycle. From the ages of 13 to 15, this little bike was the focus of fun.  As boys do, He began to push the limits a bit as he circled the field in front of the house. He had mastered the clutch/throttle coordination quite well. The corner speed was increasing and using his newly acquired clutch/throttle control he began to get the front wheel off the ground from time to time. It's hard to express what those days were like, it was such a wonderful time. His cousin down the road still had his Honda CL 100, and now a tent. Oh, the nights they set up that tent and rode their bikes to the campsite. Right behind his house of course. 

Soon another cousin had gotten a motorcycle, it was a Honda SL 90cc, it was a used one, but hey, who's complaining. It was then this young man's world got a little bigger. His cousin lived on the other side of town, but with a little pioneering spirit, they discovered an old farm road through the woods that would connect their homes. It had been abandoned for years and was several miles through overgrown and very wooded terrain. The traffic over the next several months would beat that overgrowth down to a nice path. He stayed a bit too long a couple of times, needless to say, it got quite dark in them there woods around dusk. He have never boasted of being a brave man, so he would always try to keep a watch on the time, didn't like those dark trips back home through the woods. Time would outdate the used SL 90 and his cousin's Dad would buy him a new 1973 Honda XL 250cc. He was extremely impressed with His cousin's new ride!

During this time something monumental happened that was going to change everything. There was a small community a few miles east of his house that hosted one of those old familiar country stores. His Mom asked him one day if He thought He could ride over and pick her up a few items on his bike.

This was a big deal, this would be the greatest distance away from home by himself he had ever gone. He was excited about the new adventure and soon made the trip successfully and that lead to a regular occurrence from then on.  He thought it was something necessary, you understand they only had one old car and his Dad was gone in it during the day. However, years later, he began to wonder if his Mom really needed those items or if she recognized an opportunity for him to expand and grow a little. 

Well, expand it did to limits he didn't even know existed in his world. On one of those trips, He met another motorcycle coming down the road. They got acquainted and discovered much in common, even their first names were the same. Like his side of the world, he had trails of his own and mentions other motorcycles and other boys.  He invited him over to ride, so after returning home he told his Mom about the encounter and asked if he could go over and ride with him.  She gave him an hour, so he was in motion immediately.

This changed everything, He would eventually meet Anthony, Mark, Gary, Ronnie, Brad, Rickie, Randy, Buddy, Phill, Greg, Jimmy, and Jeff, and the list would grow, and they all had motorcycles!  He had red clay gullies, they had a gravel pit! He very soon discovered an hour was nowhere near enough time for all this. So after discussing the situation again with Mom, (omitting carefully the thing about the gravel pit) she gave him 2 hours. Of course, as He grew older and time progressed those two hours turned into all day. It was there He spent his summers, these new acquaintances went to a different school, so as it turned out. all his hang-out friends would be over there. He would develop friendships that would last for years. It was there he would meet a girl, who rode a motorcycle! He didn't know that kind of girl existed and he would make a fool of himself trying to impress her. He would ride wheelies down the road in front of her house, ride by standing up on the seat, laying down on the seat with his legs over the handlebars, ride by squatting down on the side of the motorcycle, hanging off one side with one foot on one-foot peg. He would turn around and sit on the seat sideways like he was sitting on a couch and ride down the road. He once faked a big crash, He wanted her to see how quick He could get up and how tough he was. I think sometimes he must have strapped his helmet on too tight and squeezed his brain too much. He thought he was being impressive, it was of course impressing her parents! Miss Edder next door called his Mom one day and told her what he was doing, she was afraid he was going to get hurt. It somehow never occurred to him what all this looked like, just another one of those things that didn't click right away. Somehow, his foolishness was overlooked and eventually, this evolved into his first date and his first kiss. It would be a short-lived romance, but Wow, had his little world grown during those summers riding that little green motorcycle. 

He was so involved in riding this little bike he had not learned to drive a car. His Dad and Mom tried to encourage him, but he had his motorcycle, and learning to drive a car was quite scary in his mind. However, meeting this girl gave him some much-needed motivation. He was really wanting to ask her out on a date, but he couldn't drive. He would finally acquire his driver's license after his 17th birthday and was able to secure the date. He still couldn't drive very well, but somehow he managed to get to the movies and back without any mishaps. So much happened during those summers, it was during this time he made a profession of faith, was Baptized, and joined the Baptist church. This was more than a passing thing for the young man, it changed the way he would think for the rest of his life. The course of his life was being set in so many directions, yet at the time he had no idea so much was taking place. This girl thing would soon break his heart as most young hearts are prone to do, so he put his hands on the handlebars and kept on riding, maybe not into the sunset, but riding nonetheless. 

I wish I could give you a picture of what these summer experiences were like. That old country store was a huge part of it. It was the go-to place, they would all eventually wind up there, gas up their bikes, get their snacks, and gather under the big tree that rested out front. Oh, the talk of trails, hills, mud holes, and crashes. The breeze would be blowing on their faces and the sound of a passing car and the rustling leaves among the laughter. A wonderful older couple owned the old store, and as this bunch of boys busted in buying snacks and talking with one another, they were always inquisitive about what they had been into. There was an oil can out front by the gas pump, one of those small cans with a finger pump on it. They would all grab it and give their chains a good oiling. He never thought about it until much later, but they never paid for that oil, and in all those summers that oil can never run dry. This young man had no idea how blessed he was for those times. 

There were not many places in the world where young boys could experience such peaceful and innocent times. There are even fewer now, what a wonderful country we have known. I think about our children and grandchildren today, those old country stores are all but gone now. Those summers seemed to last forever, time moved much slower then. We had very few things to distract us from our bikes and shade trees, but now there is so much calling for the attention of our youth, it seems they are in a constant rush. I wish they could experience the slowness of the times we knew, I think they would enjoy it. We were somewhat shielded from the world's corruption in those days. We would eventually find out it's really not a perfect world, but we would be older and better prepared. Now there is a constant flow of all that is shameful and unhealthy for the young mind through our many media outlets. Among all the rush, they have all this to process as the course of their lives is being set. I know times always change, but should we not try and bring the best of what we have with us as we move forward? 

 

It was during those summers He participated in his first enterprise in the economic market. During one of those shade tree sessions, a local farmer came soliciting for some young hands to haul some hay. He had never done anything like that, but some of the other boys had so he joined up. He was on the ground pitching the hay up to the stackers on the truck and that day discovered how much fun hard work can be, as well as rewarding! I think He got $8.00 for the afternoon, somehow, that money felt different than any money he had previously ever held in his hands. It's been more than 50 years and I assure you he still remembers that day and that old farmer handing him that money. They worked hard, they laughed, and they pushed each other to go faster that day. Seems there's not much of that around anymore, I'm glad he was there that day to experience it. The last of those summer experiences would include a gathering at one of the boys garage's in the afternoons and late evenings talking and working on bikes. His parents were very kind to them, I'm sure they messed up the shop, don't know how that could have been avoided. But it was always made available to them. Still, new adventures lie ahead, but that's another story.

Thanks for reading,

David 

Papa to the rescue!

 

My first real motorcycle! 1972 Honda SL 100cc. Metallic green in color, gray frame with chrome rims, muffler heat shield, and light mounts. The tank and side panel decals were yellow/gold-trimmed in black. It was the prettiest bike I had ever seen (of course)!

It was going to carry me farther than I could have ever imagined. Beyond the sheer joy of riding, it would eventually take me to new acquaintances,  adventures away from home, a first date, and my first kiss, and would build my self-esteem which I was in great need of. In some ways it would set to course I would follow for decades. How's that for a little green motorcycle?

Many major events were occurring for this young lad and his world was growing faster than he could keep up with. We left the story last time with the little red Hornet mini-bike losing its luster in my estimation. That is not all that was deteriorating, things at home were going south also. My Dads drinking was creating problems which resulted in my Mom leaving home and taking me with her. She rented a house in a town nearby and we lived there for a while. 

It is here I need to introduce my Papa, he was one of those Grandparents that grandchildren are blessed to have. I never knew my grandmother on my Dads side, she had passed away when I was two. They were late in years when my Dad was born so Papa was well into his years when I came along.

Mom and Dad finally began to work things out and we were going back home. This was good news for this young lad, it was all too confusing, I needed my home and my Mom and Dad together. I don't know the details, I suppose I was too young to be confided in, but I understood it was agreed upon that my Dad would stop his drinking and fix up the house a bit, most people's barns were in better shape. It was built in the late 1860s and had never been painted and it leaked really bad. We had several cooking pots we set around when it rained to catch the drips. 

I highly suspect my Papa had come to my rescue, I doubt my Dad had the money to fix up the old house and Dad probably got some instruction concerning his behavior also. We put a new tin roof on, some siding, paneled the old walls inside, added new linoleum on the floor, added a room for me and ran water to the house, and build a bathroom. It was a great improvement, no more trips down to the outhouse on those cold winter days. Things went along pretty good for a while, but it wasn't long till my Dad started slipping back to his drinking. It was never as bad as before, but it was still a problem. He was never violent with us, but he would often say hurtful things when he had sipped a bit too much. Mostly for me, it was just an embarrassment. It seems strange to say that because at the same time, I looked up to Dad with such respect. I hated the drinking because it changed him so much. I guess my Mom just decided to tough it out, she never mentioned leaving home again and she stayed with him till the end. 

Papa came over to the house every Saturday and played with me or took me back home with him. At his house would go for walks, fish in the pond, run corn through the sheller, sit on the porch, and just talk. When we ran out of things to do, he would go get a hand full of old size D flashlight batters and get down on the floor with me and we would see who could get them to spin the longest. Dad didn't talk with me like that, I don't remember as a boy ever discussing anything about my life with Dad. We hunted and fished together, but that was all about the hunt and the fish. I never really liked the hunting, I was just cut from a different mold I suppose. I never killed anything I wasn't keenly aware of the fact I had just taken the life of a creature and inflicted pain and suffering. So once I was out on my own I let the hunting thing go. 

It was this motorcycle thing that was catching my attention. I don't know how it came about, Papa somehow picked up on that. I never asked him to buy me one, perhaps Dad said something to him. But one Saturday when Papa came over I was asked if I wanted to go look at some motorcycles with him and Dad. Are you kidding!!! Papa had come to the rescue again! We spent most of the day out shopping for a bike. We went first to a little place between Parsons and Perryville that had Hodaka motorcycles. I like them all, but the guy at the shop said they would not make a good first bike for a young boy. They were a bit more powerful than I would need.  I kind of thought that's what I wanted, but it spooked Papa. 

We next found ourselves at the Kawasaki dealer in Lexington. They had a bright red 100cc bike hanging from the ceiling, I thought we need look no further! They were discussing things and it was mentioned it was a two-stroke and used gas/oil mixture. My Papa didn't like that, I was beginning to think I needed to explain things to Papa a little better, this wasn't working out right. 

We found ourselves next at the Honda place, there in the showroom was this metallic green SL 100, I was getting really nervous by now, what would be the problem with this one? I listened intently to the conversation and I discovered my Papa knew Mr. Creasy somehow. It sounded like they were working out a deal! They were! Before the day was over it was mine! Of course, Papa would not be satisfied unless I had a good helmet, he picked me out the best one they had. It was gold metallic to match the gold decals on the bike. I got a bubble shield to go on it, and they suggested some crash bars in case I fell over, to keep the bike from falling on me. Papa had them put a set on it. Wow! Now I had chrome crash bars too! I would eventually bend them up so bad I had to take them off, but that's another story.

There were still a lot of things in my world that were not so good, but this was pretty good! I remember sitting on it when we got home, it felt so big. I had to learn to use the manual clutch with throttle control which is a task for any beginner. I killed the engine several times before I got it to move forward. Wow! When it went it went, it was so awesome! I rode it in 1st gear for a while and then got the nerve to try 2nd. That was twice as awesome! The other 3 gears would come later, each one being even more awesome than the one before. My first trip down the driveway was my first test of those crash bars, it was that darn clutch and throttle control thing while turning around. I picked it up as fast as I could, I don't think anyone saw me, nothing was ever said, I sure didn't mention it. I took such care of that little bike, I washed it when it got the least dirty, waxed it, even put wax on the rims, and boy did it shine! 

I started making the circle around the field in front of the house, I could use 3rd gear out there. I rode that circle day and night. I never got tired of riding, Mom would come get me at night to make me go to bed. I eventually wore all the grass off the circle and I then had my own dust bole. I don't know what exactly it cost Papa, seems I remember about $450.00 total, I think he paid some down and the rest out per month. This was the summer of 1972, Papa would have a stroke the next year and I would lose him soon after that, speaking of it here still weighs heavy upon my emotions. I received one of the greatest blessings that year, I was able to care for Papa after he came home from the hospital. He needed cleaning from time to time, Dad was gone during the day and it was uncomfortable for my Mom to do it. So I took the task to hand and served my Papa that summer till he passed away. He was never able to talk after that, his speech was affected, so our talks went away, but I knew, and he knew. After I would get him clean, we would look at each other, I knew he love me! I was so blessed to be able to serve and show him just how much I loved him. 

These kinds of things are hard and life is full of them. I would never have wanted my Papa to have a stroke and become dependent on others. But had it never happened as it did, I could never have said with words "I love you" and had them convey the dept of love as my service was able to say. He never came to my rescue expecting something in return, but as it turned out I was able to give a little bit of rescue back to him. Many times we ask the why in such hard times, maybe entertain the idea God let us down or perhaps cared not. But I have come to understand over the years, it is best to trust His Providences, both the pleasurable and the hard ones, and let the questions work themselves out. 

My Papa was gone now, but the little green motorcycle he got me was going to fill my next few years with many adventures, next time we'll talk about some of those perhaps.

David  

Where it all began

 

We were in Parsons TN. I was riding in the back seat with my parents, I have no idea why we were in town. As we drove down the main street, just before the traffic light, I was looking out the window and this little red mini-bike caught my eye. I don't recall thinking much about motorcycles until that moment, I guess it's just a boy thing, I don't know, but I got excited enough to direct my Dad's attention to it. I guess it's just a Dad thing, but as we were coming back on the way home my Dad pulled over at the store. It was sitting out on the sidewalk in front of the store, the only one they had. I ask what we were doing, I don't remember the exact words, but my Dad was going to take a look at this little red mini-bike.

To my complete surprise, before I was able to process what was going on, we were loading this thing in the trunk of the car. I didn't know what was happening was the beginning of something that would last me a lifetime, I just know it felt pretty exciting. 

By the time we arrived home, it had rained and the grass was wet, but that didn't stop me from my first adventure! My Dad rigged up a makeshift cardboard rear finder to keep the mud and water somewhat intact, pulled on the recoil starter rope, and fired the massive 2.5 hp Briggs up! The seat felt soft and comfortable, and the footpegs were metal and slick. There was one brake lever on the side of the frame, it was necessary to remove your foot from the footrest and place your whole foot on the brake lever the operate it. This brake design was simply a crooked rode with a metal flap welded to it that rubbed against the rear tire when applied. Simple but suffieient!

I placed my hands on the handlebars and felt the vibrations of the massive Briggs engine hitting those heavy strokes! I twisted the throttle grip and the automatic centrifugal clutch began to engage. The movement I felt in response to the throttle, well, I can't quite describe it. But I was hooked, life would never be the same now, there was no going back! I was 11 years old, the year was 1970, and that summer was absolutely amazing! 

This was absolutely a total surprise, we didn't have much as far as possessions go. Heck, we were still going to the outhouse, no running water yet. Dad was a sawyer at a local sawmill, Mom was home with me and my little brother. I never expected to have something like a mini-bike, it cost nearly $100.00, seems like $88.00 was on the tag. That was a lot of money for us then, heck, just having a bicycle put you in an upper-class category, especially if it was one of those spider bikes with the banana seat. 

There was a path between two fields that lead up to my Great Uncles' yard, I literally wore the grass off that summer going up and down that path. Before long it was time to venture out a little more with this newfound freedom. I talked Mom into letting me ride it out to my neighbor's house, a cousin of mine lived there and we played together quite a bit. It was my first ride down the road for about 1,500 feet, but it was enough to get the wind in my face. Micheal saw it and before I knew it, his Dad had him one also, I guess Dads are just like that. 

Of course, the path and the yard were soon not enough, we needed more! Trails began to form, and red clay gullies were discovered. The next few years were awesome, we were soon asking more of our little bikes than they could deliver for us. Clutches burned out, chains broke, and throttle cables gave way. We did not have hills to climb, but some of those red clay gullies came pretty close. The bottom of the mini would hang at the top and then we had that awesome wheel spin! Sweat, smoke, tire burn, hot oil smell, and those times just sitting and talking, letting it all cool down made for an indescribable summertime!  

Our family still had their struggles, my Dad was drinking more and the atmosphere at home was sometimes a bit of a challenge, but it seems that little red mini-bike sweetened it just a bit, if things went bad, I could grab those handles bars and to some small degree put those things out of my mind. We were not going to church yet, I knew little about the church and the Gospel. I suppose I knew it was out there, but I didn't think much about it. My world was still small, a little red mini-bike called a Hornet (it had a black Hornet emblem on the front) and a few trails. But it was enough to have some wonderful summers and make some of these memories to share.

However, my world began to enlarge, and I discovered Motorcycle magazines!  I saw bikes in there much more impressive than my little red Hornet. I began to paste them on the wall in my room. I eventually had the wall covered, so I started to paste them on the ceiling. I didn't realize it then, but my Mom sure was gracious in letting me do that to her house! I started dreaming about having a real dirt bike, and I did everything I could to hint at it. The hints were not getting me anywhere, so I finally started just plain out asking for one. Dad explained to me they were too expensive, we simply couldn't afford one. I was going to just have to make do with the little red Hornet. I really understood, but I was getting bigger and the little Hornet was staying the same size. Then my cousin Micheal got an upgrade, a yellow Honda CL 100cc. Wow! It had blinkers and chrome, lights, a speedometer, gears, a manual clutch, and spoke wheels, it was a real motorcycle! I was glad for him, but it was devasting for me! 

I was learning that things in this life, as wonderful as they are in the moment, are only that, for the moment. The feeling I had when I first got that little red Hornet mini-bike was no longer there. It no longer gave me the rush it did in the beginning. I began to feel deprived, I deserved more! Now I was a good kid, I didn't give my Dad any lip over it. I still understood it was out of our reach to get me a real motorcycle. Nor did I hold hard feelings toward my Dad or disrespect him in any way for not getting me one. But it is what I felt inside, it didn't seem fair. Having to make do with that little red mini-bike was causing all kinds of uncomfortable feelings, and the summers didn't look so good anymore. 

Some would say I didn't deserve it, and if I wanted one, I should have gotten out and worked for it. They would be right, but somehow I didn't have that understanding yet. I was shy and not very socially oriented, I was not afraid of working, I just somehow didn't know how to put all that together. I lived in the rural country area of Tennessee, and my world was still small even though it was getting bigger. I would eventually put some of these things together, but it would be a few years down the road. That's for another story. We simply have to walk through things in our lives, sometimes they work out and get better, and sometimes they don't. When I get time for another post, we'll look at what happened next. 

Thanks for reading,

David