REACHING A MILESTONE

1966 was the first year I purchased a motorcycle.  It was a modest Allstate Scooter, 50cc's with no hope of keeping up with traffic.  That was followed shortly thereafter with a 50cc Honda and I became one of the "You Meet The Nicest People On A Honda"!  The Honda could hit 45 mph on a good day with a tail wind and was indeed faster than my old Allstate by five miles per hour.  Young men hunger for something more, things that scorch asphalt and shred tires!  A Birmingham Small Arms motorcycle, one cylinder, 350 cc's,  came next.  It did not shred tires nor scorch asphalt but was a major step up being able to do 80 mph and it sounded like a bike.  Young men, unless they have been blessed,                                                                          

                                                                                    tend to be light in wallet and short on sense.

                                                                               

 The BSA was an awesome bike requiring a specific drill in order to kick start it.  It was not unusual for it to kick back causing the kicker to have his knee fly upward resulting in a bitten, bloody tongue.  Once running there was nothing like a BSA motor sound.  The freedom of the wind and speed warmed the heart.  Smells from the North Carolina roadside etched memories for a lifetime.  British bikes of the time had a major flaw, they were not reliable.  Cables snap, motors need rebuilding and the marvel of electrical systems by Lucas would leave you stranded, in the dark, in the middle of no where.  The Prince Of Darkness did strike in the wee hours of Saturday morning at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  The headlight went out as I was leaving a night club.
I did have the dim little parking light, no problem!

Police have little tolerance for dimly lit motorcycles, leaving a night club, in the early hours of Saturday morning.  Exploding flashing lights bathed my humble BSA as I pulled to the curb in an effort to let the emergency vehicle go by, except he didn't go by.  I was greeted by an equally young police officer who advised my headlight was not on.  I explained I realized it and that I did have a smaller light that should be enough to get back to the motel room.  The headlight had to be on or the vehicle was inoperative at night.  Pauses are not good when talking with police officers, outside a night club in the wee hours of the night.  The dreaded question finally came, Have You Been Drinking?  

Questions like this have to be answered very carefully and with as much tact as an 18 year old can muster under the circumstances.  My reply was straight forward, I had drunk a few beers but riding the motorcycle I had been very careful about how much I consumed.  This was true and the officer believed me.  He asked that I follow him to the police station where I had to sit on a bench till daylight.  It was in the jail area and I could watch the police business of the night unfold.  One poor fellow came in vomiting and yelling, another they just threw in the drunk tank and all the while my young eyes took in the "what if's".

The BSA was educational teaching things such as mechanical skills, electrical skills, social skills and how to do things in proper sequence.  Like all things of the past, it is gone but not the essence it left with me.  It represented the freedom I craved and the responsibility that goes with it.  The greatest thing it taught was how to stay alive on two wheels and it did so in a mellow, undramatic way  Showing pictures of my Ninja ZX10R and discussing an old 1966 BSA makes the fabric of this page a bit counterintuitive as there are 42 years between production dates and as much as there are two wheels and an engine that make them go, they are very different except the thrill to this 18 year old towards getting the BSA was the same thrill with the ZX10R.  The ZX10R represents all
things craved in the BSA.  Reliability, speed,  and low maintenance.  When we speak of speed the ZX10R is capable of well over 170 mph and acceleration into the 9 second quarter mile right out of the box.  It is smooth, reasonably comfortable and would be willing to cross the vast country at the blink of an eye. What the two bikes represent are the beginning and end of riding as a young man would.  The ZX10R is for sale and its sale will effectively end this aspect of my life.  In between the BSA and ZX10R their have been Ducatis, Hondas, BMW's and an assortment of bikes most young men would donate a kidney for.

The ZX10R will be gone, its memories in my essence, and as with all things that come to an end, we move on.  I feel sadness because as a part of me, my history, things I stand for, go with it and I am no longer the young kid doing his "thing".  The BMW pictured to the left will be my main ride, has a third of the horsepower and is slow.  It does have heated seats, heated grips, cruise control and a radio/CD player.  I hope to go to places where men of history walked boardwalks, got shot, rode horses and left a bit to be written about.  This is my Milestone, be what it is!