“You can barely see at a hundred;
The tears blow back so fast
that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers.
You watch the white line and try to lean with it.”
– Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
•
Without pandering, I try to compose my writing so it can be enjoyed by the largest portion of my readers. Those of you who claim to enjoy reading my drivel know that it’s generated by my so-called interesting life.
I was lounging in the townhouse earlier today coping with the insanity of our times with the help of some Super Lemon Haze and old syndicated “Rifleman” episodes.
In between scenes of Lucas McCain jacking his famous rifle around as if he could actually hit anything with it, a video reel of a gorgeous Harley-Davidson played on my phone.
“Oh God, he’s going to write about motorcycles again.”
Yep, sorry. I’m sick as a dog with the first cold that I’ve had since 2019 so this one’s going to be for me (cough!).
I’ve always been intrigued by motorcycles, by the beauty of their design and the freedom that they represent. One of my favorite TV shows growing up was the 1969 series “Then Came Bronson” starring Michael Parks as the nomadic motorcycle rider, Jim Bronson.
The series followed Bronson as he traveled the country on his Harley-Davidson Sportster, encountering various people and places.
The show opener grabs me every time. Bronson is sitting at a stoplight on his bike next to a “solid citizen” in a station wagon. The man leans out his car window and asks Bronson if he’s taking a trip.
“Yes,” Jim, replies over the rumble of his v-twin.
“Where to?
“Oh, I don’t know, wherever I end up I guess.”
“Man, I wish I was you.” says the man wistfully.”
“Yeah?” answers Bronson. “Well, hang in there.”
The light turns green and Bronson roars off on his Harley for another adventure as the theme music swells.
Man, I was sold.
My first opportunity to ride came in 1977 when I was in my early twenties and a good friend of mine sold me a 1969 Triumph Daytona 500 he’d cleaned up and had done some restorative work on.
I had never ridden a motorcycle. I kicked it over, there was no electric start, and rode home in first gear at 20 mph.
It was the height of summer and I spent a few weeks bopping around of the backroads outside of Lansing, building my confidence.
A few weeks later I embarked on a 2,000 mile round trip, over the top of Lake Superior and over to North Dakota before heading back home. By the end of the trip I was a pretty accomplished bike rider.
The Triumph Daytona featured a 490cc overhead valve parallel twin air-cooled motor and a dry weight of only 377 lbs. With a top speed of over 110 mph, the Daytona was the fastest 500cc bike around. A simple twist of the wrist took you from 60 mph to 100 in a matter of seconds.
When I wasn’t riding it, I was sitting next to it knocking back a cold one, admiring the sheer art of the machine.
My life with motorcycles was off and running. No pun intended.
And so it went.
Don Negus is Morning Sun columnist.
