Beginnings

A trip back in time. Different Strokes for Different Folks coined by Sly of the Family Stone in his song from the seventies aptly applies to the world of motorcycling. For every American-made bike fan there is an equal if not greater fan of the metric variety of motorcycle. For every fan of the cruiser class their will be a fan of the Sport Bike class and if street weren’t enough we have off road as well. Speaking of dirt bikes, chances are very good the majority of today’s street bikers (That’s you) came to the sport via the dirt roads and back trails you traveled as a youth while on a trail bike.

Speaking for myself, I was first introduced to world of riding while at the farm of our family friends the English’s. They had a Honda Automatic Trail 50 which they used to ride around the farm. On more than one visit to the farm, I was given the chance to ride around on this bike which if memory serves me right was a light green. Again if memory serves me right they also had a pale pink maybe pale red one too. Later in my early teens a couple of my neighborhood buddies purchased with the help of Mom and Dad trail bikes of their own. Mark purchased the 100 and Bruce purchased the 125. Now here’s the fuzzy part, I recollect them both being Suzuki bikes, the 100 was yellow and the 125 was red. I have tried to look up each of the bikes but without having an exact date I can’t be sure of the make. (Maybe someone can help me out here and comment on what was being sold during the early seventies which fits, my profile).

Since I’m not in contact with Bruce or Mark I can’t ask them. Regardless of what make they were we would ride them all day long during the summer months and after school.

The place we did most of our riding was what we fondly all called The Trails. These trails were located in beautiful Ferndale, WA. Our house was on Seamount Drive and was the first among many housing developments built to support the employees of the newly constructed Mobil refinery. My Mom and Dad had moved their in 1958 so Dad could go to work as an engineer for the Mobil refinery. When 1959 came around I was born. My Dad after nearly 30 years retired in 1987. Anyhow these trails were a patchwork quilt of overgrown grassy unused farm land and forested areas which abutted our neighborhood. It consisted of more than a hundred acres of trails, roads and the such which made for excellent riding be it on bicycles or motor bikes along with the occasional auto or tractor.

Since we had plenty of time on our hands we would even build our own trails through the brush and trees. These trails featured everything from Dead Mans Hill to various almost forgotten forested trails along some nasty ravines. It also had a main rutted dirt road which meandered through the whole of the area. It also featured a run off stream from a swamp along with multiple entry points some of which we barely ever used because they headed off into whole new territories. As a kid you couldn’t have asked for a better place to spend your days exploring and riding. Fortunately for me The Trails were less than 5 minutes walk up the street from my house and only 30 seconds from Mark’s front door.

One day while we were out riding Bruce was feeling rather charitable toward me and decided I should have a crack at riding his bike solo. So after clamoring aboard and running through the basics of shifting and braking I set out. Everything was going great that is until I grazed a tree while trying to slow down the bike and I knocked off the Odometer knob. Subsequently Bruce wasn’t so charitable and I was relegated to riding on the back from that point on.

One of my fondest memories during those years was the time everyone in the neighborhood who owned a motorcycle decided we would do a group ride and ride all the way out to Custer and go swimming in Giles Pond. Giles Pond was a good 10 miles or more from where we lived and when I went there on my bicycle I would use the roads. Well somehow or another Mark H another neighbor boy knew of a way to get their without using the roads. So after we all gathered at the trail head rider and passenger alike Mark H. led the way for our mini caravan of 6 various makes, models and years of trail bikes along the back trials, dirt roads and farm land and the occasional country road to our destination. When we got to the pond we decided to strip off our cloths and swim across the pond which was a good distance. Once we hit the far shore and had a quick rest we swam back to the bikes and got dressed and then rode back the same way we came.

Later while in high school I would drive my car down to my cousin Scott’s home located off 196th in the Tacoma area. We would ride around the byways of Puyallup on his Honda CB 450. By the time 1980 rolled around I decided it was time to buy my own bike. So, after I located the bike I wanted through the local newspaper, I drove over and put down a $50.00 retainer on it. I then went to my bank and pulled out $500.00 and negotiated a loan for the remaining $700.00. After enlisting a friend to drive me back over to Redmond I was then able to purchase my first bike.

It was a thing to behold, a used 1978 Yamaha 650 Twin Special with only 5000 miles on it. It featured a tear drop black tank and Chromed metal side covers thanks to the previous owner who was into Harley’s. He had purchased the Yamy for his wife who was now ready to own her own Harley, hence the need to sell the bike to me. So after handing him the cash he handed me the title and keys and off I rode.