Most of my life as an East Texas kid, I worked with my dad (a paint contractor) for a dollar an hour. Somewhere around '74 (I was 10), we were at his paint partner's house and he had a Honda QA-50 for sale. His partner's kids all had scooters, and I was harry-oddball for being the one who had never ridden. They had a nice sized dirt track in the back pasture and I was invited to try out the QA-50.
I climbed on, and it fit under me just right. I already loved the feel of the handlebars in my hands. I was taught how to make sure it was in neutral, then kick it. It started nicely. I remember thinking it ROARED when I gave it a little gas. It had an automatic clutch, so I let it idle and pushed it into gear. The pattern was 2 down. I got around the track, then again... a little faster... then again... a little faster... I was a natural.
   It started getting dark so I slowly putted back to the house, where my dad was smiling at me strangely. He told me that if I wanted to work the rest of the summer for him, he'd go ahead and buy the bike for me. Are you kidding? I would have agreed to almost anything at this point. We loaded up the bike into the back of his Ford pickup and took her home.
   For the next 3 years, we were a team. My butt was permanently attached to the seat. I rode alongside the highway that we lived off of so much, that I had made my own trail. The trail went South a mile or so, to the old gas station where they still had crank up gas pumps. The gas cranked up into a glass container with scribe marks, then realesed into the tank via a standard nozzle. I could fill up for a dime. For a quarter, I could get a full tank... and a Dr. Pepper... and still had enough left to get some more gas later! To the North, the trail went a couple of miles to the stock pond that I liked to fish. I learned how to bungee my rod and tackle box onto the bike.
   Dad had taught me how to take care of my bike. I took very good care of my friend. I kept the oil changed, the filter cleaned and always checked the air filter. I never did wear out the tires, I guess because I spent most of my time on trails. I kept a good watch on the air pressure, though. All of my time was now tied up with my bike. Washing, checking, oiling... and riding! I guess I really didn't have too much time for friends at this point until...
   My friend from down the highway got himself a Honda Z-50. It had 3 gears and would outrun mine. We still had some real fun riding together. He had it easy, though... I had already cut trails. I couldn't even begin to guess how many miles we put on those scooters, but we went all over the countryside.
   I guess it was '78 when the clutch started giving out. It was getting too little for me anyway. I was ready for bigger and better rides.
Today, I am a music minister for a motorcycle ministry. "A biker is just a boy who never got over his first bike!"
--
Darin