Stories From My Past: The Motorcycle

This happened, I believe, when I was in Jr. High. A buddy (I don't remember who... it may have been a "buddy of a buddy") showed up in my neighborhood one day telling me I had to check out his new bike. I was thinking the push-pedal 10-speed variety, because I've always been a fan of bicycle-riding. This was not what he had in mind, though.

Those of you who are motorcycle fans are going to be terribly disappointed in me at this point. I've never been good with makes or models of motor vehicles. I'm only now getting to the point that I can recognize some makes and models of cars - it's just never been something that I've devoted any time or attention to. Therefore, all I can tell you about this particular bike is that it was relatively small, and it was black.

There were at least 4 of us there total, and the excitement was huge. At least, from the other 2 guys. I was a little scared of the bike, to be truthful. But for some reason, I ended up on the bike.

We were in a smallish field a few blocks away from my parent's house. The guy walks me through what to do. He told me how to give it gas, brake, and shift gears. All of this went in one ear and right out the other. I think this was pre-16... even if it wasn't, I'd never driven anything that required me to shift gears. I had no business being up on that thing.

And then VRRROOOMMM off I go! I wobbled quite a bit at first, and in the distance behind me I could hear shouting. They wanted me to do something. I couldn't have cared less what they wanted me to do. I just wanted to stay upright and live.

I made a big circle around the field. As I wound around I could see the other guys. The bike owner was actually waving his arms at me, and I had no idea why. All three were still shouting. I thought they were trying to tell me to speed up or something, which I had absolutely no desire to do. I blocked them out, trying to figure out how to stop the bike and get off without grievous bodily harm.

I pulled up near the still-shouting group, and found the brake. The bike jolts to a stop. Then, I reached my foot down toward the ground. A new problem presented itself... I was too small for this bike. My feet didn't reach the ground. So, the ground kindly accommodated by coming up to meet me. As if in a cartoon, the entire bike (with me still sitting upright on the seat) slowly fell over on its side, pinning my left leg to the ground.

The others ran over to me, and finally I start to discern some of the shouts. The bike owner seems to be particularly found of the word, "idiot". They pull the bike off me, and I limped up. The bike owner is in my face at this point, furious.

After several moments of noisy confusion and near-violence, I realized why they were all shouting at me. I had never changed gears. There was a small plume of smoke coming from the bike. I had managed to burn out first gear on the poor thing.

The bike owner loudly informed me, "You'll never ride my bike again!" I loudly informed him that I was fine with this decision, and I left.

Thus ended my riding experience with motorcycles. I'm not sure I've even physically touched one ever since.