Our Motorcycle Family - Part 2

As I got a little better, I was given the opportunity to ride dad's bike. To my young eyes, it was a huge monster.  I couldn't touch the ground, it was loud, and it was powerful. I don't know who besides my dad and I were there, but one time we were out riding somewhere near the Stuck River in Auburn and came to a long semi-steep section of gravel road a lot of other riders were having fun on.  I don't remember if dad asked me if I wanted to climb in on his S90 or if he told me to, but the fact remains: I did it.  Well, almost. I was young and couldn't touch the ground while on it, but I could easily touch the foot pegs and controls.
(I've already related this event in a past post on another blog, but it basically went like this:)
At the bottom of the hill he held it running while I climbed on.  All the other riders stayed off to the side, watching and giving the next rider their attention and respect as riders do.  He gave me instructions as he held me up.  He knew I could ride it, but this hill unfolding before me was a monster to my young eyes.
  "Keep your foot down on the gearshift so a rock doesn't knock it into neutral," he said, adding, "just hold the gas wide open and keep it straight."
My eyes were probably big as saucers.  I'm sure all the guys on the hill (I'm thinking there were a dozen or so) were focused on my 'rite of passage' on dads motorcycle.
  "Ready?" he asked.  I nodded nervously.  "Okay, here we go!"
He steadied me as I let out the clutch and gave it gas.  As I started going he let go and hollered, "hold it open!"
I held it open all right, and for a little while I did pretty good, but I picked up speed, and with that speed came some fishtailing, and pretty soon I was going from side to side, and finally crashed.  I was crying like crazy as the closest guys helped me up and picked the bike up.  Dad caught up with me, laughing.  Probably somewhat proud at how far I had went before crashing.  Me, I was overwhelmed by everything.  It was huge.  I think I got whoops and hollers from the guys out there that day.

Posing for my picture

As I got older I was able to ride on my own, and would be occasionally be granted permission to ride on our dirt track during the day when dad was at work.  It's odd to think that I would be out there blasting around the track crazily with no helmet and no adult in sight.  I remember our policeman, Rick Baird, would occasionally stop and watch me go around and around as he had his lunch in his cop car.

Dad's 100cc Bultaco Lobito

There became a time when my dad's S90 was not good enough for him or he just wanted something completely different.  When that notion hit him he bought himself a brand new Bultaco Lobito 100.  It was different than what I was used to.  Way different.  Instead of a vroom sound, it made a sharp crackling, "ying, ying, ying" sound, sort of like a chainsaw but different.  Powerful sounding.  It was unmuffled, and the crackle the exhaust made actually hurt my ears a little.  Besides the different sound of it, it had it's foot controls reversed.  Instead of shifting with my left foot and braking with my right, it was the other way around.  It was also crazy fast.  Unlike anything I had ever ridden.  It scared the hell out of me.  I did eventually get comfortable on it, but still respected it immensely.  I would occasionally get permission to take it over to the Interurban trail and ride it between Algona and Auburn.  No helmet, no supervision.  It's a wonder I didn't kill myself.