In the fevered dreams of my pre-hormonal, prepubescent youth, my deeply felt lust focused on two material desires: I wanted a tent and a mini-bike. It was such a disappointment to dream about these things and then awake to the realization that no, I didn’t really own them. I eventually would actually obtain a tent, but I never did get the mini-bike. Which is just as well. Because eventually I got something even better–an actual motorcycle.
It was just after my freshman year at BYU. I had about six months before I would leave on my mission, and I needed a job to earn some money. And I managed to get a very good job sterilizing surgical instruments at the local hospital. But I needed a way to get there. My family always had only a single family car, so that was of no help. My teenage brain then came up with the brilliant idea that would solve this little dilemma–get a used motorcycle!
Normally I’m guessing my parents would clearly rebuff such a scheme. But it really was an economical solution to the problem. And my parents were children of the Depression, and if there was anything they supported whole heartedly it was efforts to earn actual money. (I remember when I first approached my folks about an opportunity to inherit someone’s paper route. Since I was still underage, I assumed they would nix the idea. I was surprised at the enthusiasm they expressed in favor of it, so I pulled the trigger and worked that route for years.)
So with the plan in motion, I started to look for a bike to buy. Of course, I had never actually ridden on a motorcycle. I knew in principle how everything worked, but knowing the theory and actually doing it are separate things. The first bike I rode, I went a short ways down the street and then promptly dumped the bike and myself over the curb into the grass along the sidewalk. Not only was that supremely embarrassing, but I was afraid my mother would nix the whole thing after witnessing that little performance. (Sort of like when Ralphie “shot his eye out” with his bb gun in A Christmas Story.)
But things looked up after that. I bought the bike, learned how to actually ride it, and passed the license examination. So I became the proud owner of a Honda 350 with a custom blue metallic paint job.
Starting it was a bit of an adventure. The kickstarter had such a deep groove worn into it that it was useless. There was an electric starter, but it was anemic and wouldn’t usually start the engine by itself. So I’d run with it for five to ten yards, pop the clutch and simultaneously push the starter button. It sounds ridiculous, but I got so used to it it just became second nature.
In addition to being transportation to work, I also drove it to church. I have to admit I got a kick out of showing up at church on a motorcycle; there was just something a little oxymoronic about that juxtaposition of imagery. I have to admit, I felt very cool showing up for Church on my motorcycle.
I didn’t go on any really long trips with it. The furthest I went was when my friends and I drove up to Rockford. I remember it was windy and the wind was blowing me all over the road.
I was sad to leave it behind when I left for my mission. Often I would fantasize about it as a missionary–the freedom of movement it would represent, and the fact that I could drive it and be alone. I really missed that bike for those two years. When I came home, I drove it for a couple of more months, until I returned to BYU for the long haul. At that point it had served its purpose, and I think my parents got rid of it for me.
(If you want to see a picture of me on my beloved bike, see the bottom of this post. This was in 1977 when I was 18 years old.)
Tell us about your biking experiences. Any Temple Riders out there? Anyone go to Sturgis? Any harrowing accidents? Arguments with spouses over whether to even buy one?
By Common Consent, a Mormon Blog 
Nice story Kevin. My husband Mike sold his motorcycle to buy me my engagement/wedding ring. Now that’s true love, folks!
When it’s in your blood you can never get it out. I think your first experience reflects MOST riders first experience if they tried with no instruction…myself included, but I was 14, on an overpowered (for me) dirtbike. A few years ago I had an in-between-jobs job riding a police motorcycle as a funeral escort in Arizona. The pay was terrible, but it was incredibly fun. I also took a riding test to be a Harley-Davidson test rider at the GM proving grounds outside of Mesa. The test was twenty times harder than any DMV motorcycle test, and I didn’t place high enough on that test to make the cut, but I know I didn’t place last…one lady dropped the Sportster we tested on!
Oh JA, that is terribly sweet. Could be an O. Henry story.
I have had exactly two experiences on a motorcyle:
1) At age 17, I got on the back of the bike of an obnoxious friend of a friend, and he floored the gas without warning. I barely managed to grab him in time and hold on without flying off the back; we were accelerating so rapidly, I almost didn’t successfully stay on. Had I fallen off, I’d surely be maimed to this day, if not dead. One of the most frightening experiences of my life, which I still remember vividly.
2) At age 23, I climbed on the back of a bike of a BYU friend and rode with him a few blocks. The bike was small and I am not, and I wasn’t sure what to do with my legs. I was wearing shorts, and I managed to press my right calf against the scorching hot muffler. Burned my leg. Still have a tiny bit of the scar left to this day.
No interest in having experience #3. ):
AB
Great stories Kevin and photo! Thanks . . .
When I was 22, I rode to Sturgis and back from San Francisco on a dressed FLH.
FLH … Feminist Lesbian Housewives?
that is the best motorcycle picture ever, kb!
my dad had a 70s era kawasaki trials bike. it was only a 250 but scared me to death as a 10 year old. i would be pressured into riding it by my self but was too small to keep it from tipping over when stopped. so i just had to hope that the dirt roads i was on would have wide places to turn around. when i got back to camp i would yell for my dad to come out and catch the bike before it crushed me. we didn’t always get the timing right, and i dismounted early a few times sending the bike ghost riding into the trees.
In my teenage years I had a cool Yamaha 250 with dual exhaust pipes. I rode it to early morning seminary. The LDS girls were not impressed. When I returned from a mission, I sold it. As I finished college, I drove a ’66 Dodge truck. The LDS girls were not impressed with my truck either. I guess I just drove the wrong vehicles — well, until I met my wife. ;)
I bought a used Kawaksaki 750 cc shortly after I turned 18 (since my parents wouldn’t let me get one until I reached the age of majority). Way too much bike for a beginner, but I loved it. I would take it up Provo Canyon (before the road was rebuilt) and along Deer Creek leaning into the curves before opening it up on the straight away going into Heber. I lived in Kamas that summer and like every motorcycle rider alive loved the feeling of transgression that comes with a bike, especially along the back roads. The guys on Harleys would give me the head wave as we passed.
I almost met my end on I-15 when a car came into the fast lane where I was riding. I spent a few seconds on the white line waiting for the patch of gravel that would send me to my doom, honking my horn and then, once it moved back over, followed the elderly couple down the highway giving them the bird and cursing at them . The woman who was driving rolled down her window and yelled out “I’m sorry”. I got off at the next exit, parked and shook all over–and kept thinking that my parents’ predictions had almost come true.
Twice I had women (or girls I guess) hop out of their friends’ car and jump on the back. I drove one to her parent’s house in Orem and we kissed.
I rode deep into fall to my jobs as a line cook at Prestwich Farms and a night stocker at Maceys. When it was too cold, I found an old pair of farm coveralls and put on gloves. I finally sold it to buy suits for my mission.
I bought another bike about a year after getting back from my mission. A Suzuki something or other. It was 650 ccs, 100 ccs less than my old bike, but it felt like less. I rode it for a year and then sold it.
I bought a Suzuki 250 from my friend’s brother-in-law about two weeks after my 18th birthday. When I asked my parents about it, they both looked concerned, but Dad said I was an adult and could make my own decision. The scholarship I had then gave me an extra $400 each year for books, etc., and that went to buy the bike. Thanks, BYU–you never knew, did you!
One great thing about riding a bike to BYU was that you could park in the faculty lots, right next to the buildings. So I could roll out of bed at 7:45, pull on some clothes and get to my 8:00 Japanese 101 class on time.
One snowy morning I rode slowly down past where the MTC is now, with some lunatic woman in a Chrysler Imperial (think Sherman tank) who obviously thought she could stop on a dime on the snowpacked road right behind me. A delivery truck, coming down the road from the temple (which was then a narrow two lanes passing through a small stand of trees, with a steep stretch just before the intersection), locked his wheels and started sliding, I figured I was a goner–either the delivery truck or the lady in the Sherman tank was going to nail me.
But I drove off the side of the road, put the bike down, and the tank passed by and the delivery truck managed to stop without hitting the tank.
I sold the bike after a year for about $50 less than I paid for it, to some kid from California. He wrote me a check, and I told him he could have the title when the check cleared. Two days later I was in the Missionary Home in Salt Lake, and about three days after that he came by the house to pick up the title from my mother. During that week he had dumped the bike, bent up the handlebars or front fork or something and had to put another $250 into repairs. Even as a missionary I thought that was funny.
Mathew makes a common error–saying that 18 is the “age of maturity.” Anyone who is older than 18 realizes that nothing could be further from the truth. Legally, of course, 18 is the age of “majority”–but it sure ain’t maturity!
Mark B., how could you humiliate me in front of the other kids! I’ll never forgive you:)
I would love to hear more about Tracy M’s bike days as they seem the most like what I would have wanted to do.
I currently live in Moscow and there is a biker bar of sorts, actually a diner with a summer veranda, about a minute from my apartment. The height of cool here are Honda Gold Wings. On any given night you can find thirty or so parked on Stary Arbat, stereos going and guys in leather checking each other’s bikes out.
A little Yamaha two-stroke figured prominently in my conversion experience. I rode (and jumped) motorcycles with my broken arm in a cast when I was 18. My wife has made it clear that until we are entirely expendable I don’t get to ride again. (docs call them “donorcycles” with good reason.) Still, I have wonderfully fond memories of them and look forward to being 75 and starting to ride again. I will probably get one of the helmets with a bright blue wig attached to the undercarriage.
Ah, donorcycles — my wife thinks of them as the major source of organ donations at work.
My daughter just calls them murdercycles and threatens me if I think about riding one.
BTW, what style of karate did you practice?
Shotokan. See here:
https://bycommonconsent.com/2007/09/11/my-sojourn-in-the-byu-karate-club/
I too like to ride motorcycles. I loved pulling up to church on mine. One year I attempted to ride my motorcycle from the east coast to Idaho in March. I made it all the way to Rawlins, Wyoming, where I found myself in the middle of a blizzard. I was scraping the ice off my faceshield with one hand and driving with the other. I finally was freezing, so I stopped in to a little truck stop cafe. As I walked up to the salad bar, a biker/trucker guy asked me if I was on a bike or a snowmobile. He was running a big rig with a sleeper to idaho. To make a long story short, we lifted my bike into the back of his semi and I spent the next 2 or 3 days with him and his girlfirend as we made our way to idaho. They were diehard Harley riders, and we had a great time.
There is a couple I know who joined the Church after touring the Salt Lake sites on a cross-country motorcycle trip. They are as cool as you imagine.
Last week my son asked me if motorcycles are against the commandments. He’s 10! He then asked me if I knew any Mormons who had a motorcycle and I said yes.
I guess he had noticed that no Mormons he knew seemed to have one so he thought they might be a sin?
Another story about my son:
Two years ago he had the habit of leaving every door open. When he walked out of the house, when he exited the car, etc. It wasn’t getting any better and in fact it was getting worse and eventually my husband lost patience as they were packing for the father son campout. He told him if he left another door open he would be punished with a spanking!!!
They went to the campout and spent part of the evening at a campfire nearby. My husband asked my son to go get something out of the car. When they returned to their campsite later that night, not one but TWO of the car doors had been left open. The battery was dead.
My son received his punishment.
On the drive home from the campout my son told his father:
“Dad, when I grow up, I want to drive a motorcycle.”
Pause.
“Do you know why I want a motorcycle?”
Why, son?
“Because they don’t have any doors.”
I love that kid.
I gotta say, the Temple Riders are the coolest group of Mormons I’ve ever heard of, by far. I wonder how many of the older guys at the recommend desk have heart attacks when they see 40 Harley hogs rolling up to the front door of the temple?
We have three guys who regularly ride Harleys to church- one of them teaches primary- my kids think it’s the coolest thing ever.
My motorcycle days are over- for much the same reason Sam stated. I love them, and completely understand the draw and appeal, but my kids come first. Some day though…
As far as my riding days, they were fun, and perfect for a 22 year old. The ride to Sturgis from California was a surprisingly physically demanding way to travel- it took three days out and three days back, and we camped in rest stops all the way. As soon as we crossed the Utah border, we took off our helmets and didn’t put them back on until we hit Nevada on the way home. (Crossing the salt-flats in August sitting a giant motor is a short trip through hell.) Looking back, it was so stupid- but it was also an incredibly free feeling- and one I’m glad I lived through.
Hemi, I love that story! Bikers certainly have a unique brotherhood.
BTW, here’s an interesting account of a bike trip Neil Peart, Rush drummer extraordinaire, took to Yellowstone, including his very interesting commentary on Logan:
http://www.neilpeart.net/news/august_09.html
On my recent vacation, during breakfast at the TraveLodge in Provo, there were a couple of older bikers. A woman asked them if they were going to Sturgis, and they said no. They had both been on numerous occasions, but now they “like to feel good when they wake up.” I thought that was a great line.
I’m still hoping for a first person account from a Temple Rider…
As a Rush fan and a Bluebird Restaurant fan, that’s a nice link.
(One of my best friends liked Bluebird so much he had his wedding luncheon there).
My dad had a motorcycle when he met my mom. Didn’t make the greatest impression on her parents. He said riding the thing was never quite as fun after his accident and getting gravel scrubbed out of his back. Some of my earliest memories involve riding behind him on the thing (on neighborhood streets at very low speeds).
My parents would never let me learn to ride a bicycle, so I married a man who raced dirtbikes. He taught me to ride and I raced for a few years as did our oldest son when he came along. That was long before we joined the church but I would ride to the Temple now if I could figure out how to do it in Sunday clothes!
About six weeks ago, we had a family member tragically lose his life in a motorcycle accident. In a heart beat, it changes the tone of discussion with regard to motorcycles – perhaps forever. It was the day before his 21st birthday.
(BTW – many thanks for the Neil Peart link. I’m a big fan. And very, very cool web design to boot.)
Been riding various street bikes since age 16, including a blue Honda CB350, Kevin. Current ride is a BMW R1150RT that my wife and sport tour on. I ride to church in Sunday clothes all the time, and they even got me out of a ticket one time. CHP looked me over and asked, “Where you been today?” “Church.” “Man, get outta here and go home.” (I was doing 85 in a 55, too.)
I rode my first motorcycle while my parents were at the temple. My dad’s dad was supposed to be watching us, but he like to aggravate my mother, so he got out his motorcycle, taught me how to ride it (sort of) and sent me off. It was awesome. Absolutely awesome. I KNEW my mom would blow a gasket if she found out, but my grandpa told me about how long they’d be gone and when to be back. I pulled in about a minute after them — they were still in the driveway. I’m convinced my grandpa couldn’t have been more pleased.
Five months later we’d just sat down to Thanksgiving Dinner, said the blessing, and were starting to pass around the food my mom had slaved over, when my grandpa loudly said to me “So son, have you given any more thought to buying my motorcycle?” My grandpa’s a stinker (I so wished I could buy that motorcycle….)
My experiences with a motorcycle have been limited to being the passenger with my Elders Quorum President, who was also my home teaching companion. I didn’t have a car, so we were discussing him giving me a ride to our appointments, and he asked if I minded going on a motorcycle. He was shocked when I said I had no problem with it, and then he showed up at my house with an extra helmet. It was quite fun.
My wife doesn’t want me to get a motorcycle – something about being blind in one eye and lacking depth perception… I probably couldn’t get a license anyway.
I have met two Temple Riders: Bro. and Sis. Card, whose daughter, Timnah, was in the singles ward here in Champaign for a few years. They are awesome, and I love the concept of touring the country and going to the temples on their motorcycles. I am pretty certain most of the brethren at the recommend desks are used to them by now.
My dh got a motorbike a few years back, it happened something like this. I say “wow gas is sure expensive, maybe you should get a motorbike for your commute.” He says, “Done.” I was totally surprised cause he just doesn’t usually busy stuff for himself, or do anything for himself.
And it made him so happy that he couldn’t sleep for days in anticipation of it being his! and then When the day finally came, his joy reminded me distinctly of his attitude while holding our brand new babies in the hospital. He loves that bike. and I’m so glad he has it, because he works so hard for our family and does so little for himself.
But I do worry about him dying in a bloody crash, but he thinks he’s impervious, and he refuses to wear his helmet, I try not to think about it. I have gone on a few dates with him on the back of it, but never to the temple. Maybe next time.
We were in Thailand and rode together on this dirt bike all over this little island. It was beautiful and scenic and wonderful, and my dh drove the whole time. Well, he decided that it would be really fun for both of us to rent our own bike and drive around that way. I was not in favor but he won. I had never ridden a bike before and was pretty trepidatious; he assured me he would teach me. Well, we rented both bikes and decided to ride them down the street a bit where it was less crowded so he could teach me. I rode a little bit and was feeling good. But then I had to stop for traffic and start it again at the same time that I turned a corner. I could only handle the starting it again, not the turning the corner, and went straight towards a shop front. I crashed into another bike and a brick wall. It was painful and embarrassing. And thus ended the days of my motorcycle driving…
Our state legislators passed a helmet law but repealed it a month later. The next year they did exactly both the same things again. There was a lady in our state who said that she would not wear a helmet because it was her life to do as she pleased. Subsequently, she crashed, leaving her paralyzed from her neck down, so she is in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Her husband and two children will have to feed her, dress her, etc. Her selfishness has brought many trials to other people who have to care for her. “No man is an island”; what we do affects other people, but selfish people do not care about others.
thanks for the Neal Peart bit, Kevin. Cool.
If I could take a mulligan on my identity. – Scratch that, because I really enjoy being myself. – If I were forced to take a mulligan on my identity, I may well choose Neal Peart’s identity, instead. Riding all over on his motorcycle and playing drums now and then; I can imagine worse. ~
My wife and my relationship was strained when we were considering marriage because her family didn’t like me. Due to this strain, I proposed to her one night, she said yes, and then three days later broke up with me. I bought a motorcycle two days later (it was my second, I had owned one before my mission). It was a Triumph Speed Triple 885. One of the funnest bikes I’ve ever ridden.
I didn’t speak to her for over a week after we “broke up”, but then it was Fourth of July weekend, and I was lonely. So I called her up to find out if she was going to see the fireworks in Logan. She said she was going with her family, I asked if she wanted to meet up afterwards and she said “sure”.
After the fireworks I led my love to meet my new love and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. Of course (she still remembered my old bike from before the mission, and she was a sucker for leather and steel between her legs . . .)
We took a midnight ride through the canyon and wound up at Bear Lake watching the waves rolling in. We talked and laughed for hours. We didn’t exactly get back together that night, but we were well on our way. I blame (thank) that motorcycle for saving our relationship when we most needed to get away.
As it got later we couldn’t find an open hotel, so we made the trip back sometime around dawn. I had given her my leather jacket, and I think we were both colder than we had ever been – or would ever be – in our lives. Next time I’ll have the foresight to get a reservation before I spontaneously take a motorcycle trip.
A year (and six months of wedded bliss) later, I was riding that same motorcycle with a group of friends on our way to Evanston to pick up some necessities for celebrating freedom. I was taking the 84 to 80 interchange on a knee at about 90 mph – without sufficient oil in the tank. Apparently the bike didn’t like that combo of RPMs at that angle without lubricant. I blew the engine and had to wait two hours for my dad to show up with a trailer. RIP
Last year I decided to surprise my wife on her business trip to Vegas. She knew I was coming and we had hotel reservations for an extra night and tickets to see Mystere. What she didn’t know is that I had rented a Harley for the trip down, and would be bringing her back on the back. Other than a ridiculous nose itch, I didn’t mind the 8 hour ride at all. I love the feeling of her arms wrapped around me as the wind blows by.
I look forward to one day owning my third bike. But it might be after conceiving and subsequently raising a couple of kids. I just don’t know if I can justify owning one while responsible for the well-being of kids. . . . but I have justified worse things, we’ll see.
I will one day ride a Hond650XR from Oregon to Tierra del Fuego. The bike is in my custody already. My wife knows about this plan, and she will ride too. I have the route mapped out already on a paper that sits underneath a bunch of junk in my bed-side drawer. We will stay at suspect hotels, hostels, and eat cart food. And yes, I will first grow the beard that splits at the chin in the wind. No helmet outside of CA. Can’t wait.
One of my closest friends escaped certain death last year on July 4th going over Ortega Highway. He was a on a Ducati. He spent 1 month in the ICU and another two months in the hospital. His wife saw him every day. He did not let his daughters see him at all while in his hospice condition. He son saw him once on the day the MediVac lifted him off the mountain. His leg had to be completely reconstructed as did his arm. He nearly died because his lung collapsed and then was not healing. He had a helmet on, which saved his life. He had no business on a Ducati, given his skill level and size.
No helmet outside of CA. Can’t wait….He had a helmet on, which saved his life.
Seems like there oughta be lesson learned here somewhere.
I live right on I90 about 12 hours East of Sturgis. Every year you can get on the interstate and count several hundred bikes heading west within a few miles time. A week later they are all heading east.
The running of the Harley’s
If you can make a run from Oregon to TdF . . . . well, you sir have my full respect and awe.
Would you try to make it back, or just sell the bike in Ushuaia, bus to Buenos Aires, and fly back?
What time of year would you go? I imagine if its warm enough to contemplate riding south of Neuquen, its gonna be cold and rainy when you leave.
When you come back, can we call you Fuser? Will you lead armies in Cuba?
(37) Peter LLC – Indeed. I will never weigh 350+ lbs., buy a Ducati with next to no riding experience, and ride it over the Ortega Highway.
(39) B.Russ –
This is one of those dreams that has been almost as fun to plan, talk about, and anticipate as will be the actual ride. But we would leave middle to end of the North American summer, which would put us into the Southern Cone spring/summer/fall depending on how fast or slow we take it. Once we ended the trip we would probably just leave the bikes with a friend of trustworthy family to sell and send us the $$. It’s pretty expensive to send back. I’ve read up on it, and seen a few programs on such rides. I even saw a Locked Up Abroad episode where a guy got down to Medellin Colombia only to be taken hostage by the FARC back in the 90s. The way he escaped was simply amazing (cut his nose to bleed, then wiped blood on his scrotum and pants to make the FARC think he had prostate cancer, and they released him to a Red Cross sortie).
I will wear a leather jacket and will go by “El Gabacho” during the ride. My wife will go by “La Chinita.”
The word “and” in my (40) post should be “and/or.”
“He had a helmet on, which saved his life.
Seems like there oughta be lesson learned here somewhere.”
Yup. When are they finally going see that we need our head-garments?!
My first bike was a Yamaha DT400 Enduro when I was a junior in high school. My 2nd bike was a Yamaha 650 Special, I was a senior. I bought a Honda 750 Nighthawk a few years after my mission, then sold it for the same amount I paid to buy an engagement ring. I haven’t had a street bike since then. As a family we bought dirt bikes and have been riding a lot in the mountains in Northern Utah. I keep thinking that when the kids are gone I might buy a street bike. Someone might convince me they’re dangerous, but not yet.
I miss my bike. I started on a 250cc Chinese import, and then went all-out and bought a Kawasaki Vulcan Drifter 1500cc. That bike was amazing. It was the size of a Geo Metro, and could MOVE!! I rode it to Oregon and back, comfortably, as well as it being the only thing I rode/drove when the weather permitted (i.e. not below 20 and snowing). I proposed to my wife after a long ride on that bike. When we moved to Brooklyn, I sold it to my father-in-law, who then gifted it back to me when we moved back, and then I sold it to buy a car. Bad choice. But necessary.
Right now, I ride a Suzuki DRZ400 dual-purpose from time to time. I get my fix for custom bikes from this site.
http://www.bikeexif.com/
I’ll speak up for the mature riders who rarely get mentioned in this type of thread:
We wear all of our protective gear (not merely a helmet) each time we ride. We never ride while under the effects of an intoxicant. We have a license to legally ride motorcycles. We regularly practice our skills in a controlled environment and take professional instruction beyond the basic class to get the motorcycle license. We ride within our limits, even when enjoying the twisty mountain roads. We are significantly less likely to be involved in an crash than the average driver because we behave differently than the norm. We don’t get noticed as much because it isn’t thrilling or morbidly fascinating to talk about 10, 20, 30 or more years of injury-free riding.
We enjoy riding immensely, but it’s a bit difficult to explain why to non-riders. It isn’t because we flirt with danger or crave the thrill of near-death experiences. For me, at least, it’s about the satisfaction of riding well (mastering the machine), riding safely (mastering the self), and appreciating the beautiful world.
I hope that #36 does not come to Iowa without his helmet. Altho our State Legislators voted to allow people to ride without helmets, ALL responsible riders wear a helmit to protect themselves and so that the taxpayers will not be saddled with the medical costs when they do not wear them. Only very selfish riders do not wear helmets. I hope that he will reconsider and always wear his helmet.