bikes

     As I mentioned in a previous post, I was never an athlete. Sure I love a good game of softball, some 1 on 1 b-ball, and was a pretty fearsome flag football player in high school, but I never got into team sports. I didn't dislike playing with teams, I just never fit into that mold very well. At least when I was younger. Now that I am older and wiser and in management, I preach the gospel of teamwork.

Yeah I know. Life is funny.

     The one activity, the one thing I loved doing, and was pretty OK at it too, was motorcycling. Over the past 53 years (almost) I have owned and ridden a variety of bikes, and enjoyed them all. I caught the bug for bikes when I was about 12 years old. I was visiting my brother with my parents and got to ride a minibike that he had built himself. He was in the Air Force at the time, so I suspect this was a very well built minibike. It didn't take me long to figure out that fast is fun, and faster is better. Always a kid at heart, my dad caught the bug too, which is important not only to this story, but an insight to that man.

     A few months after that visit, I was going through a rough time, lots of worries and anxieties, and my dad thought it might be fun to build a go kart with an old lawnmower engine we had laying around. That plan never got off the ground, as dad was pretty busy working a couple jobs, so one day he came home with a brand new Western Auto minibike, some assembly required. Dad  said that once he got it together, I could have the first ride. So he put it together, poured some gas in the tank, gave the rope a pull, and promptly took off down the street. So I got the second ride. It was at the beginning of summer, so I spent days riding along the railroad tracks and the fields around Dixon. I soon became part of the minbike / dirtbike counterculture of our hometown. I beat the crap out of that minibike, learned alot about small engines, clutches, wheels, cables, sprockets and chains. In a year I had pretty much worn it out. After much cajoling, I convinced Dad to part with a couple hundred bucks and buy a Honda Trail 70. These are now collector items and can fetch between 800 and 4,000 dollars. The Trail 70 was a step above the minibike, but not really a motorcycle. It's 5 horsepower overhead valve engine could propel me up to a whopping 45 miles per hour. The gas tank was under the seat, and the handlebars would fold up so the whole bike could fit into the trunk of a car. (we're talking cars built in the 60s and 70s, to be clear) I punished this bike for a couple years until I literally outgrew it. I then entered a hiatus from motorcycles that lasted a few months. I scraped some money together and bought my first 'real' motorcycle that could be ridden (legally) on the street, a Hodaka Ace 100. This was a two stroke on/off road bike that was built in Oregon from parts made in Japan and elsewhere. Truly, a harbinger of the world economy we live in now. The Ace 100 was a fun bike when it ran. However, I spent more time fixing the Ace 100 than actually riding it. Thanks to my brother in law Dave who would do parts runs for me when he came to go fishing with my dad. My mechanical knowledge increased, and my bank account withered. Ironically, I sold it to a kid from Oregon, so the Ace went back home, never to be heard from again.

     I now entered another bike hiatus. During this time, I got around on a Peugot 10 speed bike, which was quite chic and light, but not the horsepower I needed. 

After a summer of mowing lawns and taking any odd job I could, I saved enough money to buy my first brand new motorcycle, a Kawasaki KS 125. The KS was another on / off road bike, and was a joy to ride. It would turn a little over 70 MPH in the quarter mile, utilized a 2 stroke engine with a rotary valve, and had decent styling. It cost $18 every 6 months to insure, and mixed the oil and gas automatically. I got to be pretty good at riding wheelies on this bike, going for over a 1/4 mile on the bike tire only in the dirt, considerably shorter on the street. My mom really frowned on this wheelie stuff, having seen me coming down the street from school one day like that. No sense of adventure. I rode the KS through my junior year in high school, and into my senior. But by the time I was a senior, I wanted a car. So in one of the more catastrophic decisions of my life, I sold the KS to a snotty kid in town and bought my first car, a Chevy Vega.

Yeah, I know. Life is funny.

     Several years passed before the next bike, which was almost an accidental purchase. One Sunday morning, I was going through the free want ads in the local paper and saw an ad for a street bike for $60. I called the guy, thinking it was a typo. No, the price is $60 he says, he just wants to get rid of it. I shagged over to his house, and there was a near perfect 1978 Honda CM 400 with fairing. The guy had just bought a new bike and wanted to get rid of the Honda. Cash please, so I found an ATM, pulled out some 20s and bought the bike before the guy changed his mind. I rode that old tired Honda for a few years then sold it for $500. Ah, if only I had more investments like that.  I entered another dry spell that lasted about 12 years. Life got busy and in the way. Although during that time I bought a '68 Camaro. Yes, topic for another post.

     In the late 90's I bought a '77 Yamaha 650 Special from the original owner. I actually think he cried when I drove it off. This was a sweet bike, very stylish and very reliable. I spent a few years on that bike until neck and shoulder problems convinced me to take another break. I sold the bike and bought a laptop computer. I still have the laptop, although it is quite outdated and useless now. I'm guessing the Yamaha is still on the street, and worth twice what I sold it for. The laptop is in a closet somewhere.

     Which brings me to my latest toy. In the mid 80's Honda ran some TV ads for their new line of bikes, kind of pre-crotch rocket muscle bikes that were made to burn up a quarter mile very fast. The commercial starts with a guy walking the bike to a starting line, burning out until smoke obscured the whole bike, then eating up a quarter mile in less than 10 seconds. You have my attention. All I needed was the money.......

Yeah I know. Life is funny.

     So this year, I resolved to get that bike. Living in the Northern Plains, motorcycles age well, as they are used only half the year, and the UV is not as harsh as the sun belt. A perk to living somewhere where winter lasts 6 months. Anyhow, I went shopping on a beautiful March day when the skies were sunny and the temps were in the upper 70s and low 80s.  I found a beautiful V65 Magna, low miles, good shape, and 116 horsepower. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

     In the days since, our temps have returned to normal so I am now enduring some cold rainy weather while the Magna sits in the garage. But warm weather is almost here and I envision many rides, zooming down bucolic country roads, meeting interesting people along the way, and having adventures. Or maybe riding to Home Depot, work, and school. Either way, the open road beckons, and whether it is Main Street or Route 66, it feels good to be back in the saddle. 

the boys of summer

   Today I watched a baseball movie, "Moneyball". I thought it was a pretty good movie, in that it was balanced between the romantic notions of baseball and the ugly realities of professional sports. We love the game, but it is a business. A big fricking money making business. Ball players are just as much entertainers as they are athletes. You have to be an entertainer to get someone to pony up hard earned cash to watch you hit, run, and catch.  Easy for me to say, I was never an athlete. Never had dreams of smacking a homer in the bottom of the ninth, down by a run with two outs. My dreams were on 2 or four wheels, more about that in another entry, later.

   I really was not introduced to pro baseball until the fall of 1987, when I was able to get two tickets to the playoffs from my sister (at cost; family is family but remember, baseball is business) I got the tickets and invited my buddy Eric to the game. I knew Eric was a big ball fan, and he liked to drink beer, so how can this fail? We went out to Candlestick Park (this is before stupid corporate names were attached to ball parks and stadiums, for all I know it's probably called Amway Park now or some other silly ass name) and watched the Giants lose to the St Louis Cardinals. I can't remember much about the game, but I remember having a good time and drinking beer with a good friend on a sunny day, it don't get much better than that. 

   In the years that followed, Eric and I spent many Sunday afternoons and Friday evenings (watching the f**king Dodgers) play the Giants. We could buy some nose bleed seats for about $6 and just enjoy the game. Unlike football, where everyone watches the clock, baseball is leisurely. We have at least 9 innings, so don't get excited. Anything can happen. And, we can buy beer until the 7th inning, so pace yourselves. We had nine innings to comment on the game, discuss the geopolitical situation, movie quotes, women, work, life. When the season was over, Eric and I would change venue to the bowling alley. The sport changed, and we became participants, but the discussion continued. And, like baseball, bowling is leisurely. The next frame can wait while we get another beer. And after the game, there is the lounge. Truly, the sport of kings.

   When I moved away, I left behind these great times and a good friend. A very good friend. But my friend taught me about how to enjoy, appreciate baseball. 

thanks, Eric.

   In my new home, I discovered minor league baseball. Same game, more mistakes maybe, but tons of fun. Cheaper tickets, cheaper beer, more fun. Yes, there is a major league team in town, but somehow, it's not the same. The game is there, the beer is there, the leisurely pace continues. But it's not the same. The discussions are gone. Those esoteric talks about everything and nothing are just echoes of the past. We came, we drank, we watched. Then one day, I headed east. My friend stayed in the west.
   A few years ago, I caught a Giants game with Eric at the new downtown ballpark in San Francisco. The beers were expensive. The seats were good. The view of the city and bay was great. And the conversation was the best.