Motorcycles

“Live to ride, ride to live.” These words emblazoned on some vanity plates express the feelings of a true motorcyclist.

Unfortunately, the danger in riding is real: motorcycles are hard to see and a slight rider bobble can prove fatal. Cars have multiple safety features while motorcycles have few.

Disclaimer aside, we who enjoy the sport assume the risk and like golf, the attraction is hard to explain. A friend once commented, “I got over motorcycles years ago.” For me, it’s not so easy.

At age 14 the fascination began with the Cushman Eagle. It sounded much faster than it was. Alva had no dealer, the closest being Tucker’s in Kiowa, Kansas. Dad and I went there to look at used bikes. The one he picked out was priced $137.50, and he was ready to buy. I had aspirations of new and said, “If I can’t have a new one, I don’t want one at all.” My, how my tastes have changed, and now older is better!

Riding is therapeutic. I’m not a long-distance rider, but the “breeze on my knees” helps blow away the stress of the world. I also think the vulnerability of riding helps put the worries of everyday problems in perspective.

Over the years, dirt bikes were my favorite but I shelved off-road when my knees gave out. The day may come when I can no longer ride, but I’ll still have a motorcycle, like the man who owns a shot gun but never hunts.