My Oldest Love Affair

A Story of Oil, Chains, and Power — From the Mountain

1973

Living in Saratoga Springs, NY that summer the heat and humidity were intense. Within minutes of venturing outside, I was soaked with sweat. I had an old ’65 Ford van I sold and had purchased a not-as-old refurbished Toyota Corolla. Without AC.

The heat and humidity on this cloudy day that threatened rain, felt like I was still at work. I was a broiler cook for a restaurant back then called Lillian’s Steak House. Where I worked was referred to as “The Pit”. Surrounded by two gas ovens and a large gas grill in an area of maybe 70 square feet, the temperature would often reach 120 degrees or more.

On this particular day, I left my apartment and hesitantly got into my car. All the windows were up. Holding the steering wheel required gloves. But that looked … odd. It had to be 150 degrees in that car. I would later realize this was my introduction to living in Arizona, where I moved to a couple of years later.

Sitting there in my car, soaking wet, I could feel vegetation already growing as mold and moss began to form on my clothes. “That’s it!” I simply could not deal with this anymore.

Chains and Oil

Sex was not on my mind on this day. At least not while I was sweltering in that Toyota. It wasn’t a “chick magnet” anyway. It was a Toyota. No dingle balls. No green shag carpet. No kickass stereo system. No AC. It wasn’t in any way, shape, or form, my ’65 Ford van.

I made a decision that would change my life. I drove my car to the closest motorcycle shop, the only motorcycle shop, in that still small town. They sold Suzuki Motorcycles. It had started to rain. A warning I refused to heed.

I got out of the car, walked into the dealership, and asked to see the Manager. I asked one question that afternoon. What would he trade me, even up, no cash, for my car? We chatted a bit and he showed me a bike. It was a 380 Suzuki. Too small. Now thinking about the potential for attracting the opposite sex with this bike, I said “Bigger!”.

He brought out a brand new Suzuki Titan 500. Blue was my favorite color. We shook hands. I now owned this bike. It was pouring out. I still wasn’t taking the hint. They wheeled the bike out the back door to an alley behind the shop, gassed it up, showed me where all the controls were, and then forced me to lie to them.

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” They asked.

“Of course” I emphatically lied.

Inside, my brain was working in overdrive. “What the fuck was I doing? Well, too late now.”

Learning to Ride

I got on the bike in the pouring rain, slowly pulled in the clutch, and tried to remember which was the shifter and which was the brake.

CLANK! I shifted the bike into 1st gear. The sky was now black and thunder was roiling through the hills. Lightning was lighting the way on this dark afternoon. “Of course!” I had answered when asked if I could ride. I was screwed. They all watched me from the back alley now. “Fuck me.”

I slowly let the clutch out and gave it a bit of gas, gliding ever so slowly down the alley. “Holy crap! This isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s easy!” Grinning as I reached the end of the alley, I turned around. They waved and went inside.

Sitting there I then looked both ways. No traffic. The rain was now pounding on my helmet and it was then I noticed one difference between the car and the motorcycle. No wipers. Looking again… no cars. Still no wipers. I could barely see.

I flipped on the turn signal indicating my hoped-for left turn. Slowly I released the clutch again. The bike jerked forward. I jerked backward. Newton’s Law of Relativity… for every action there will be an equal and opposite reaction. Got it.

I held on but stalled the bike. I forgot to give it gas. Newton never discussed this part. What a dummy I was. What a dummy he was for not including this. Feeling confident still from my ride in 1st gear down the alley to the street, I started the bike and let the clutch out. Could I get home in 1st gear? Maybe.

A Trick to Riding Motorcycles

There’s this little trick to riding motorcycles. They have to be moving fast enough forward to enable the rider to lean in the direction of the turn. Proceeding into the street, ever so slowly, I couldn’t turn the front wheel.

Then I panicked and gave it gas.

Then I forgot to lean.

Then I found myself in someone’s front yard.

I and the bike were laying on the grass. The homeowner was sitting on their front porch, watching. I waved and they waved. The rain was coming down in sheets (my grandma’s favorite expression for a storm I remembered as I lay there in the grass in the pouring rain).

The sky was black. Thunder and lightning challenged the senses. So did the inability to see where I was going with the damned helmet. I hated wearing helmets for decades, and two years later I stopped for good.

Walking the bike out to the street, aiming it in the direction I wanted to originally go, I sat on the bike and started the engine. All I had to do was go straight for two blocks to my apartment, make one turn into the parking lot, and then I could go inside and throw up. I was entirely humiliated.

That’s how I bought my first motorcycle. For the next few weeks, I rode it in my parking lot at first, then around town, and finally into the countryside. I got much better at riding. So much better I figured I should get a license.

Getting a License Was Easier Back In The Day

I rode the bike to DMV, took and passed the written exam, and then came the road test. The Saratoga PD handled the road tests and this one cop told me to get the bike. I did.

I pulled up to him and he asked me for my permit. “What?”

He just stared at me. “How’d you get the bike here?”

This might be a bad sign I thought. “I rode it of course!” I responded (thinking to myself this guy must be an idiot).

Still staring at me in silence he then said, “That’s against the law. You are supposed to trailer the bike here.”

“How? I don’t own a vehicle and I don’t own a trailer.” He stood there and still stared at me in complete silence. A man of few words.

I responded with a question, “How am I supposed to get the bike here?!” This response made all the sense in the world to me. He and I were NOT on the same wavelength obviously.

He stared at me again in silence. This time he was actually speechless. After what seemed an hour, shaking his head he said, “Can you pass the test?”

“Hell yeah! Of course, I can pass the test!” I responded.

“Go take the test. You better pass or you’ll have to figure a way to get the bike home.”

“Bummer. Damn. That’s not cool,” I thought.

Ten minutes later I had my license. I’ve been riding motorcycles for 49 years now. How this changed my life is another story.