I'm a life long rider, literally, I grew on the back of mom or dad's bike as long as I can remember. Got my first bike, a Honda mini trail 50 in a bright glossy blue, for Christmas when I was 5. Actually it was for my brother who was 10, I was the first up Christmas morning and there was this beautiful brand new bike in front of the tree. My brother really wasn't into riding so I figured it was mine. I struggled but managed to get it out of the door, my cousin had gone over the basics with me and I picked up a lot from just riding behind mom and dad. The house in town was on top of a small hill so I got it off the sidewalk and next to the curb. I was able to get on it and hold it up if I was on the curb and the bike was on the street. I turned the gas on and engaged the choke, pushed it down the hill and once it got going I popped it in gear and away I go. The rule was helmet, open face because they didn't make many full face helmets back then. Googles or sun glasses, gloves and boots, usually of the cowboy kind.
When I started to ride it was true freedom until I realized that stopping was going to be problem since I couldn't get my feet to reach the ground. So I convinced myself that I just had to ride until my parents woke up, really didn't take much convincing. Eventually they got up and realized the bike was gone so naturally they thought it was my brother. They came out and saw me riding around on the roads, both paved and gravel. They were not at all happy with me and then my brother came out and he was mad because I got a motorcycle for Christmas and he didn't have one. Then I found out the truth, it was his motorcycle and not mine. Then I was mad. It didn't help that he got to ride it around the neighborhood that Christmas day.
The next day we had breakfast and I guess I impressed my dad enough that after breakfast he said to me let's go for a ride. I got my gear on dad pulled his big bike out of the garage. If I couldn't ride my own bike then the next best thing was riding behind my dad. We road the backroads that were put in right along the coast in ww2 for military purposes. We road all the way to the end of the road and walked a bit along the cliffs.
We took the main road back and it actually goes right by the Honda shop. I was still bummed about the previous day but at the same time I loved looking at all the bikes. So when dad asked if I wanted to look at the new model year bikes and I just had to say yes. So a little more back story here. For some reason I don't like red, I've never had good l luck with red things. My first bicycle was red and it was a nightmare to keep it on the road, I'd have to work on that damn thing for an hour just to ride it 30 minutes. But that years minitrail came in only red and the blue like my brother's. This was the beginning years of the infamous monkey bike. We go in the shop and there was a red one and a blue one in the showroom. Damn I thought, sure couldn't say it back then. So I started wandering around and didn't notice it but my dad disappeared, those bikes drew all my attention.
Soon my dad reappeared and asked if I was ready to go and I said sure still bummed out about not having a bike and even if I were to get a bike it would be the "dreaded red". Dad started to walk through the shop and into the back area where the mechanics worked. I said something about parking up front and dad said he wanted the mechanic tighten his chain. Now my dad was not mechanically gifted but he can tighten a chain. So we were walking into the shop area and there hiding in the corner was a brand new yellow, the first color besides blue and red and came on the mini trail 50. I looked at it close as we walked by because yellow was always my favorite, still is and I have no idea why. As we were getting ready to walk out the door the mechanic, who looked busy, asked my dad to move the 50 closer to the door because the new owner was on their way to pick it up. I was devastated, probably shouldn't have been because the bike was too big for me, and I hung my head and walked out. My dad followed and we loaded up and headed home. I was so bummed out that I went into my bedroom and flopped on the bed.
A half an hour later my dad called up stairs and he needed to go back to the shop because he forgot his chain lube. I said I didn't want to go. He said we would stop and pick up some ice cream on the way home. The ranch sold some of the milk and cream to an ice cream factory so we could wander around and sample the goods.
I wanted to take the jeep but dad said it was too cold since the jeep only had flapping canvas for a top. Dad said he needed to drive the pickup to make sure it was ready for the winter travel to and from the ranch. So we pulled into the bike shops parking lot but there were a couple cars up front so dad went to the back. He told me to go get the lube, the owner has it in his office. So I go in and the owner is talking to a customer, in those days a kid doesn't interrupt adults you wait until they are finished. I couldn't help but look around for the yellow monkey bike, I didn't see it so I figured it was gone. Oh well, maybe next year. After a while the owner was free so I asked about dad's chain lube, he said he needed to go up in his office and get it. He came back with it and handed it to me and asked if I had a good Christmas, I said yes sir like I was taught and headed to the bank door. I took one step out and there in the back of my dad's truck was a bright shiny yellow mini trail 50, an original monkey bike. Next to it was a gas can and a military duffel bag. I looked in the bag and it was filled with my riding gear. We went to a big sand lot and I rode the rest of the afternoon. Boy I was happy.
And I still ride as often as I can. My last words to my dad was thanking him for teaching me to ride. He said "we sure had some adventures" closed his eyes and let his cocktail lift him to the promised land.
