Sometimes, the adventure finds you
My mom and dad own this great motorcycle. It's a '64 Street Dress Honda.
That'd be me, perched on the Street Dress, taking a short break from buzzing all over the alfalfa field on it. I not only love the way that this bike looks, it's got a rounded tank that makes it look retro-futuristic and the gas tank is chrome, it's also exactly the right size for me. I sit comfortably in the saddle and my feet are flat on the ground. It also shifts 4 down, instead of a combination of down and up, like most other motorcycles, which makes it easier to operate, too.
I love riding this bike. I spent as much time riding as I could while I was home, and I got pretty comfortable with it. Mom also has a 4-wheeler. It's new to her and she loves riding it, but I prefer two-wheeled transportation. It was especially fun to ride since I had been without the moped for about a week.
Monday, I was getting in another ride while I had the chance. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, with a clear blue sky and dragonflies all over the field. I was down at the end of the field where the hay had been stacked and I made a wide turn that took me into some tall weeds. All was going well until the front wheel found a big gopher hole. I couldn't see it because of the weeds and the ground was exceptionally sandy where the gopher had been digging. I hit it squarely and I ended up laying the bike over.
My dad had taught me how to fall on a motorcycle when I got my first dirtbike, when I was eight. I was surprised at how the muscle memory took over when I realized that I was going to wreck. Immediately, I brought my knees up, tucking my legs away from the pegs, engine, and muffler. I landed. There were some sandburrs. The Honda was still running as I sat up and started to pick sandburrs out of my legs, side, and arms.
I picked up the bike and realized that I was bleeding where the fuel shutoff lever had gotten me in the knee. Of course, the motorcycle had died.
I got back on the seat and kickstarted it. The Honda fired right back up, which was a huge relief to me, because it meant that I hadn't hurt the motorcycle when I laid it over. I was already riding back across the field when my dad met me to see if I was okay. He noticed the blood immediately and handed me a rag-which had oil on it, but I didn't really care. I explained that I hit a gopher hole and I was pretty sure I was okay, except the whole blood thing and that was minor. I proceeded to make at least four more rounds around the hayfield, just because I could. Mostly, I was proving to myself that the problem had all been holding the handlebars sitting in the seat rather than anything else.
Of course, now, I've got bruises down both legs and a great crop of strawberries on one of them.
It doesn't change a thing, though, because I STILL want that motorcycle.
My moped is back now, too, so I need to take it on a test run. I plan on being careful, though.
That'd be me, perched on the Street Dress, taking a short break from buzzing all over the alfalfa field on it. I not only love the way that this bike looks, it's got a rounded tank that makes it look retro-futuristic and the gas tank is chrome, it's also exactly the right size for me. I sit comfortably in the saddle and my feet are flat on the ground. It also shifts 4 down, instead of a combination of down and up, like most other motorcycles, which makes it easier to operate, too.
I love riding this bike. I spent as much time riding as I could while I was home, and I got pretty comfortable with it. Mom also has a 4-wheeler. It's new to her and she loves riding it, but I prefer two-wheeled transportation. It was especially fun to ride since I had been without the moped for about a week.
Monday, I was getting in another ride while I had the chance. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, with a clear blue sky and dragonflies all over the field. I was down at the end of the field where the hay had been stacked and I made a wide turn that took me into some tall weeds. All was going well until the front wheel found a big gopher hole. I couldn't see it because of the weeds and the ground was exceptionally sandy where the gopher had been digging. I hit it squarely and I ended up laying the bike over.
My dad had taught me how to fall on a motorcycle when I got my first dirtbike, when I was eight. I was surprised at how the muscle memory took over when I realized that I was going to wreck. Immediately, I brought my knees up, tucking my legs away from the pegs, engine, and muffler. I landed. There were some sandburrs. The Honda was still running as I sat up and started to pick sandburrs out of my legs, side, and arms.
I picked up the bike and realized that I was bleeding where the fuel shutoff lever had gotten me in the knee. Of course, the motorcycle had died.
I got back on the seat and kickstarted it. The Honda fired right back up, which was a huge relief to me, because it meant that I hadn't hurt the motorcycle when I laid it over. I was already riding back across the field when my dad met me to see if I was okay. He noticed the blood immediately and handed me a rag-which had oil on it, but I didn't really care. I explained that I hit a gopher hole and I was pretty sure I was okay, except the whole blood thing and that was minor. I proceeded to make at least four more rounds around the hayfield, just because I could. Mostly, I was proving to myself that the problem had all been holding the handlebars sitting in the seat rather than anything else.
Of course, now, I've got bruises down both legs and a great crop of strawberries on one of them.
It doesn't change a thing, though, because I STILL want that motorcycle.
My moped is back now, too, so I need to take it on a test run. I plan on being careful, though.