13 Motorcycles

Here she is, one of about a zillion pictures I've taken trying to sell her for the past year. I would have thought that all those young soldiers returning from the catbox flush with tax free cash would have bought her. No takers yet. Maybe they don't read the CL. I've taken out an ad in the Ft. Hood Sentinel. This is my third Harley and 13th motorcycle. The thrill is gone. Now I think of gentle breezes and rippling lake water, sitting by a camp fire curled around a glass of Chevas, strumming my guitar. In 1963 I bought a Vespa. They are classics now. It had a spare tire with a white cover on the back and a luggage carrier. I motored up and down the Strand from North Island to Imperial Beach on a regular basis to visit my girlfriend and cruised all over San Diego on that scooter. Truly I cherish those memories more than any spent on this Softail. Maybe its my age. maybe its the size of the motorcycle, maybe its the drab, barbwire fenced desert around here.  I suppose anything gets old if you use it enough. Thirteen motorcycles. I never met Steve McQueen, but on a trip to Palm Springs on my Triumph 500 I noticed a Bonneville while stopped at a traffic light. He was headed in the opposite direction. I didn't notice the rider till about 5 seconds before the light changed. I wonder if he noticed the expression on my face when I recognized him. I nodded, he nodded and we zoomed off in opposite directions. Five seconds of my 15 minutes of fame.

Some sailor I loaned the scooter to sideswiped a car on the freeway. I never saw it again. The next bike was a Ducati 'The Duke'. The day after I bought it I climbed a steep hill behind Mesa Jr. College. This was after discharge from the Navy. So sitting on top of that hill, looking down on the campus I decided to go back down the hill. At that age you fear little in life. What you lack in experience is made up in bravado. Of course within seconds it was out of control, leaning on the rear brake the bike went down. Lieing  on the bike digging my heels into the hill I thought to myself: slide down or jump on it and go for it. Unfortunately I chose the latter. It was a fast trip. What I failed to notice before deciding to ride it out was the ditch waiting for me at the very bottom of the hill. The Duke and I went airborne at the ditch. I landed with a thump, but what hurt worse was the sound of my brand new motorcycle crunching into the ground further on. I think it bounced a couple of times, bending the front wheel, the handlebars and I think it put a hole in the side of the gear case. I forget how I got it repaired or even how I got it back to the apartment, but I did and sold a year or so later  before leaving for a gig as a contractor in VietNam. That was the only accident I ever had on a motorcycle. There were a couple of close calls and went sideways with the Softail once but never laid one down. Of course I've had the crap scared out of me a few times. I sold #11 because I almost got creamed by an old lady barely able to see over her steering wheel, wearing a pair of  'I can't see shit wraparound sunglasses. If it hadn't been for drivers yelling and cursing at her I would never had turned around and seen her headed straight for me. She scared me off my Goldwing and it took me 10 years to work up enough nerve to get back on a bike. Number 12 was a Harley Lowrider. I traded that in after a year for the Softail. Oddly enough the same ole lady wearing the same 'can't see shit' glasses and driving the same car almost creamed me again. Someone should follow her home and cut off her valve stems. Hard to believe but it was her. I was returning from work and she came screaming out of a side street right in front of me. I don't think she ever saw me. Killeen, Texas is a dangerous place to be riding a motorcycle, but with her out and about its suicide.  Lots of crowded streets full of oversized egos behind the wheels. Its full of young tank drivers, combat vets who aren't used to giving way to anyone. It takes a while to adapt. In the meantime you could wind up a spot on their bumper.

My first Harley was a Sportster. I bought it in Jackson, Mississippi. He told me that I could double my money by selling it in California. The company transferred me to California and I did. A german tourist bought it. It was a beast. Kick start and I could never get the carbs set right. It was ok once it started but it backfired a lot and occassionally caught fire. It reminded me of what it would be like to drive a dinasour. You know, a real dinasour, A tyronosorous Rex. Can you imagine bridling and riding a TRex? Thats what it was like driving that Sporty around. Tired of the Harley I bought an old Goldwing. It was before Honda came out with its own farings and this one had the 3rd party fairings on it. I liked the ride but wanted something sleeker. I had an image in mind and drove it to a motorcycle shop in Laguna Beach with an idea to have it customized. There on their showroom floor sat my mental image of exactly what I drove in for: a 1980 European model Goldwing. No bags, no fairing, ocean blue with factory pinstripes, the prettiest motorcycle I ever saw. It was there on consignment and as clean as the day she was built. Previous owner was a millionaire who invented the system banks use to transport your money and deposit slips from the drive in kiosk to the teller inside the bank. He had 8 cars and the salesman told me that he spends all his time cleaning and waxing them as well as his motorcycles. It sure looked it. It turned out to be the best bike of the lot. I sold it a few years later when the lady with the 'Ican'tseeshitglasses' scared me off of it. I miss that bike. The next door neighbor bought it. I saw them drive it once. It sat out in their yard for about 5 years and one day a fat guy came and drove it away. That's the last I ever saw of it.

In VietNam I worked with the Signal Corps running a troposcatter site on VC Hill in VungTau. VungTau was the Army incountry R&R. It was a town full of restaurants and bars and right on the beach. What a great place. I bought a 90 cc Honda to get around; a surprisingly fast motorcycle. I wouldn't mind owning another. It was also the most useful bike and fast. It would flat get up VC hill in a hurry.  Starting up that motorcycle and pretending I was going somewhere was the only way I could get my pet monkey to come down out of the tree in the center of the courtyard. I named her Co; Vietnamese for 'girlfriend'. When we first met Co had a collar and a chain around her neck. After the first month or so I built her a cage. She hated the cage more than the collar. One day I removed her collar and tossed it.. She never noticed untill a few days later. I was watching her surprise and  groping around her neck in unbelief. She was so happy but also hard to catch, which wouldn't have bothered me except if she were loose at night she ran around getting into all sorts of mischief, like descretaing the neighbors Buddah shrine. I got my Walther out to shoot her. There she was in there rooting around like some sort of anti-christ and refused to stop. The Vietnamese urged me not to start firing my weapon. So I put the pistol away and fired up the bike instead and she comes bounding over, sits on the gas tank, grabs the handlebars head stuck out and ready to ride. I took her out a couple of times. She loved riding on that bike but it didn't take her much time to learn that I was using it as an occasional ploy to return her to her cage. Unable to put her in her cage at night and her wrecking the place I had to give her one last ride. We went up VC hill and about halfway I said 'bye Co' and tossed her into the jungle. A couple of weeks later I saw her on top of the Signal Corps barracks being coaxed by a couple of GIs with a bananna. There she was nibbling their banana eyeing them skeptically just out of reach, an older and wiser monkey.  Good luck Co.

I don't know where I got the Idea I've owned 13 motorcycles. The Triumph, Duke, Vespa, 3 Hondas and 3 harleys doesn't add up to 13. I suppose I'm getting too old for motorcycles and forgot how to count. Still, I'm not changing the title.  

pome

She sits there glaring at me like an unwanted wife

her cockney name is trouble and strife

year after year eager to please

I can't wait to be rid of her, saddle, fork and keys

She's number nine

of a long line

of two wheel hydes

Duke Vespa and Hondas they were all great rides

I bought the Duke as a vet

the Vespa as a teen

The Duke was met

by a ditch never

seen

of all the bikes and I've had a few

the Vespa left without so much as adieu

Three Harleys I rode

when gone I didn't grieve

One I sold One I traded

but like an unloved third wife

who refuses to leave 

just sits there glaring