Tweet
Getting Back Onto the Saddle
Copyright © 1989 JP Honeywell ~ all rights reserved
Getting Back Onto the Saddle:
Becoming a Motorcyclist for the Second Time
by JP Honeywell
I was seventeen when I got my first motorcycle. It was a used 1973 Honda CL-350. I had to keep it hidden in a friend's garage so my parents wouldn't find out about it. Not a smart thing to do, I know, but I had to have that bike. It was like the legendary sirens' call, luring me, perhaps to my doom. When my Mom found out I had a bike, it almost was.
Mom didn't like the idea of me on a motorcycle. She still doesn't. But she's sort of resigned herself to the idea that I like riding and that it's important to me. I've come to appreciate that she's uncomfortable and I don't bring the subject up. I guess it's just something that most Moms just don't understand. Dad understands better. After all, there's a Honda Silver Wing in his garage.
That was the first of three bikes I had In the next three years. I'm sure that part of it was the thrill of the open road, but there was something else, too. Sort of a feeling of "completeness." I probably don't have to explain it to any veteran riders, they know the feeling.
Separation Anxiety
I joined the Army shortly after high school and soon found myself without a motorcycle. Understandably, when you join the armed services, you give up a certain amount of control over your life. Boot camp makes you realize just how much you have given up. While other guys were counting the days until they saw their girlfriends or wives, I couldn't wait to twist that throttle again. That sense of freedom that riding gives you is dearly missed when all you have is a photo or two to remind you of all the memories. I was transferred from boot camp to Denver, Colorado and once again that feeling returned with the purchase of my last bike. I quickly forgot about any separation anxiety that I had felt. Little did I know that when I left Denver I would not ride another bike for twelve years.
When I was transferred overseas I felt lost. I couldn't tell how much of that feeling was the culture shock of being in a foreign country and how much was not having a motorcycle. Looking back, I realize that I missed my bike much more than I thought. A lot of things happened in the following years. I went back to school and got a degree. I went to work and got myself a pretty good job at a place where I seem to fit in. And I got another motorcycle.
Looking for Mr. Goodbike
As luck would have it, I happened to be taking a class with a guy who turned out to be the service manager for a bike shop in the suburbs. I wasn't planning on getting another bike although the thought had been crossing my mind more and more often. I casually suggested that since I had helped him figure out a difficult part of the class, he should cut me a good deal on a bike. Well, he didn't manage to get price lowered any, but I ended up with a pretty nice bike. There were a lot to choose from and the range of styles didn't make the decision any easier. I remembered the feeling of an early model "sport" bike that I had owned and for a while I thought I might like to get one of the new .crotch rockets' on the market. 160 mph right out of the box! So I sat on one for a few minutes. My knees were in my chest and arms were stretched out to reach the grips. I tried to imagine how I would feel after a five or six hour ride in the country. I decided against the attack bike. I guess I had also decided that since there were so many different styles of bikes, it would be a shame to get a conventionally styled bike. Besides, I had tried "vanilla" before. Now there were lots of other "flavors" to experiment with. I gave some consideration to the touring class machines but I wasn't sure what kind of riding I wanted to do. I didn't want to get locked into something that might not be right for me. Then I saw my bike. Some folks call it a Cruiser or a Low-Rider. I just thought it was the best fitting bike on the floor. And it was my ticket back to the road.
Checking the Mirrors
There are a lot of differences on my latest bike from the last ones I owned. These days, I've opted more for comfort than for speed. I don't have to worry about breaking my leg on the kick starter anymore. I don't know when they stopped putting those things on but I don't miss them. Sure, there's a nostalgic fondness for the days when you would stand on top of you bike and drop down with all your weight to breathe the breath of life into your companion. If nothing else, it looked cool when you did it with just the right amount of overacting. At least I thought it did. But I know better than to wish for the past. I figure you have to look at the past with the right perspective. I no longer deeply study my own past. Instead, I periodically glance at my past much the same way I check my mirrors as I'm driving.
It was much the same as when I left home. I still remember how my childhood home looked in my mirrors as I drove away for the last time. I still check the "mirrors" of my past from time to time. I can't spend too much time doing it though. I'm too busy watching the road ahead for potholes and other life hazards.
There are signs I've been noticing that point out that I'm not that young kid on that old CL-350. I've given up riding without a helmet. Generally, I ride a little more cautiously. I even ride behind a fairing. But the thrill and that old feeling is back.
Getting Back Onto the Saddle:
Becoming a Motorcyclist for the Second Time
by JP Honeywell
I was seventeen when I got my first motorcycle. It was a used 1973 Honda CL-350. I had to keep it hidden in a friend's garage so my parents wouldn't find out about it. Not a smart thing to do, I know, but I had to have that bike. It was like the legendary sirens' call, luring me, perhaps to my doom. When my Mom found out I had a bike, it almost was.
Mom didn't like the idea of me on a motorcycle. She still doesn't. But she's sort of resigned herself to the idea that I like riding and that it's important to me. I've come to appreciate that she's uncomfortable and I don't bring the subject up. I guess it's just something that most Moms just don't understand. Dad understands better. After all, there's a Honda Silver Wing in his garage.
That was the first of three bikes I had In the next three years. I'm sure that part of it was the thrill of the open road, but there was something else, too. Sort of a feeling of "completeness." I probably don't have to explain it to any veteran riders, they know the feeling.
Separation Anxiety
I joined the Army shortly after high school and soon found myself without a motorcycle. Understandably, when you join the armed services, you give up a certain amount of control over your life. Boot camp makes you realize just how much you have given up. While other guys were counting the days until they saw their girlfriends or wives, I couldn't wait to twist that throttle again. That sense of freedom that riding gives you is dearly missed when all you have is a photo or two to remind you of all the memories. I was transferred from boot camp to Denver, Colorado and once again that feeling returned with the purchase of my last bike. I quickly forgot about any separation anxiety that I had felt. Little did I know that when I left Denver I would not ride another bike for twelve years.
When I was transferred overseas I felt lost. I couldn't tell how much of that feeling was the culture shock of being in a foreign country and how much was not having a motorcycle. Looking back, I realize that I missed my bike much more than I thought. A lot of things happened in the following years. I went back to school and got a degree. I went to work and got myself a pretty good job at a place where I seem to fit in. And I got another motorcycle.
Looking for Mr. Goodbike
As luck would have it, I happened to be taking a class with a guy who turned out to be the service manager for a bike shop in the suburbs. I wasn't planning on getting another bike although the thought had been crossing my mind more and more often. I casually suggested that since I had helped him figure out a difficult part of the class, he should cut me a good deal on a bike. Well, he didn't manage to get price lowered any, but I ended up with a pretty nice bike. There were a lot to choose from and the range of styles didn't make the decision any easier. I remembered the feeling of an early model "sport" bike that I had owned and for a while I thought I might like to get one of the new .crotch rockets' on the market. 160 mph right out of the box! So I sat on one for a few minutes. My knees were in my chest and arms were stretched out to reach the grips. I tried to imagine how I would feel after a five or six hour ride in the country. I decided against the attack bike. I guess I had also decided that since there were so many different styles of bikes, it would be a shame to get a conventionally styled bike. Besides, I had tried "vanilla" before. Now there were lots of other "flavors" to experiment with. I gave some consideration to the touring class machines but I wasn't sure what kind of riding I wanted to do. I didn't want to get locked into something that might not be right for me. Then I saw my bike. Some folks call it a Cruiser or a Low-Rider. I just thought it was the best fitting bike on the floor. And it was my ticket back to the road.
Checking the Mirrors
There are a lot of differences on my latest bike from the last ones I owned. These days, I've opted more for comfort than for speed. I don't have to worry about breaking my leg on the kick starter anymore. I don't know when they stopped putting those things on but I don't miss them. Sure, there's a nostalgic fondness for the days when you would stand on top of you bike and drop down with all your weight to breathe the breath of life into your companion. If nothing else, it looked cool when you did it with just the right amount of overacting. At least I thought it did. But I know better than to wish for the past. I figure you have to look at the past with the right perspective. I no longer deeply study my own past. Instead, I periodically glance at my past much the same way I check my mirrors as I'm driving.
It was much the same as when I left home. I still remember how my childhood home looked in my mirrors as I drove away for the last time. I still check the "mirrors" of my past from time to time. I can't spend too much time doing it though. I'm too busy watching the road ahead for potholes and other life hazards.
There are signs I've been noticing that point out that I'm not that young kid on that old CL-350. I've given up riding without a helmet. Generally, I ride a little more cautiously. I even ride behind a fairing. But the thrill and that old feeling is back.