I’ve had a lifelong love of motorcycles. I bought my first mini bike when I was four years old. I bought it myself, with my own money. I had received money for my birthday and had saved chore money. Yes, four years old I already had chores to do. We weren’t special snowflakes back then.
When I was little, Mama, Daddy, and I would go on weekend drives. We never had much money, but we always went loafing on weekends on the backroads around home. One Sunday afternoon we were riding some dirt roads between Highway 76 and Germany Mountain and came across a yard sale. Sitting among glassware, clothes, and castoff furniture was a little red mini bike. Not a real motorcycle per se, but one of those funny looking things that was popular in the 1970s. They generally came from places like Sears or Western Auto, had rigid frames, a rectangle-shaped seat, and used the same engines, wheels, and tires as the go-carts of the era. I believe the bike I bought had a whopping three horsepower Briggs and Stratton engine.
I quickly learned that three horsepower was enough to get me hurt. The first time I got on the mini bike, Daddy pulled the cord to start it and showed me how to work the throttle. I revved it up and took off. Unfortunately he had started me from the upper back yard with the bike aimed straight towards a forty foot deep ravine. Not great planning on his part. Not to mention that I zoomed away before he showed me how to apply the brakes. Luckily those old Sears bikes had foot pegs that were really wide and close to the ground.
It was early in the morning when I made my motorcycling debut and the grass was wet with dew. When I saw the ravine coming up, I tried to turn the bike at full speed. The bike slid on the wet grass. One of the foot pegs caught the ground and I was catapulted off the bike into the yard. Disaster averted, and I didn’t even have to go to the ER. After making sure I wasn’t dead, Daddy just stepped back and waited. He figured I was going to start crying and run to Mama. Instead, I sat there until I caught my breath, stood the mini bike up, and started pulling the cord. I looked at Daddy and told him to aim me away from the giant ravine the next time.
I rode the wheels off that little bike until I was eight or nine. Then I moved up to a real motorcycle. Daddy bought me a used Honda XL75 that had belonged to Jack Carpenter’s daughter Lisa. It was a fun, reliable little bike and was a huge leap forward from the mini bike. With that bike came my first taste of freedom and independence. Daddy would load the bike up on weekends and we’d go to our property on Plum Orchard. We’d spend the weekends camping on the property and I spent the whole time riding every dirt road and trail in Persimmon.
As I got a little older I’d take the XL on my own little camping trips with my buddies who rode with me. We’d go camp all over the Popcorn Creek area, free from parents. We thought we were pretty big stuff. Looking back, we were very responsible, never did anything stupid, and all managed to stay in one piece. Parents nowadays would never turn their kids loose like that. It was a great time and place to grow up.