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I never introduced myself.

I'm in Northern VA, via DC. Spent many years living in DC and now I'm in the subs with dogs and kids. Looking at land in WV because public access for dirtbike riding is as scarce as hens teeth without driving two hours north, west, south, or get on a boat across the Atlantic to another continent.

I started my riding as a 7 year old on a hard-tail Z50A in blue. My grandfather had given my uncle Flint the bike, and my aunts and uncles and I rode it around quite a bit. A year later, my mom died of cancer. While she was sick, and after she died, I rode that mini around endlessly in the pastures of Brinklow MD, which back then was in the sticks and when neighbors did not call the police about a lonely kid riding around on a minibike in the back 40 of their property and all the neighbors knew and liked each other.

Tire Wheel Fuel tank Vehicle Automotive fuel system



After mom died, we moved. Flint gave me the mini. We moved out of northwest DC to the suburbs where I was not able to ride, and because it smelled of fuel and oil in a townhouse, dad put it under a tarp on the patio. It was stolen within a week.

I was 13 when I got my next bike, a 1979 Yamaha DT100 in green. I rode the wheels off of it with a good friend, Scott, on a late 70's Honda SL70. Of course the first things we did was take all the lights off, you know, to take weight off... kids! My dad was not pleased to say the least, especially when he found out I had snipped the wires with side-cutters and binned the bits into trash that had been picked up already.


Wheel Tire Fuel tank Automotive lighting Automotive tire


At 16, instead of a car, I insisted on a street motorcycle. My dad had remarried to a wonderful woman who quickly became "mom" and still is to this day. Both figured they'd flank me with the argument against the notion that a motorcycle would be my sole source of transportation, and no amount of rain or snow or ice would garner pity with them to give me the use of one of their cars on those days. I outflanked that argument with an enthusiastic "all RIGHT!" ecstatic and surprised they'd even consider the possibility. I knew I had to strike quickly. My maneuvering worked in my favor and I was the owner of a 1973 BMW R75/5 toaster in red, bought with $1000 dollars I'd earned delivering papers and mowing lawns within a week. Not as nice as the one pictured below. I was hit by a high school friend at a stop sign as I sat at the stop bar. Turns out teens get distracted easily and don't see motorcycles very well.

Tire Wheel Fuel tank Vehicle Automotive fuel system


Then a short lived stint on a Kawasaki KZ750 LTD, a parallel twin that was an okay ride, but my hormone-addled brain tried, unsuccessfully, to turn it into a cafe racer... kids... Imagine an LTD with low bars... so bad I bet it was cool. Nah. I liked the kickstarter.
Tire Wheel Fuel tank Automotive fuel system Vehicle



That was my last, until I joined the Marines. During training for swapping over from F-4 Phantoms to F/A-18 Hornets at NAS Cecil Field, I bought a brand spanking new Yamaha Radian 600. Boy did I love that bike! A buddy in the squadron had an FJ1200, which I pined over but his E5 paycheck allowed him that pleasure and my E3 paycheck allowed me the Radian, which cost me $1800 bucks brand new. I enjoyed that bike until I rode it home to northern VA from Cecil Field in one setting stopping for fuel only. I told my buddy in VA that I was coming home and he insisted I stop by that night. At 2am I got to his house in Catlet, VA and he took it for a ride. He rode it straight into a fox at high speed and then took a bus ride to the emergency room. He was okay, but that was the last time I saw him. His mom wasn't too pleased with me and when he healed up he went to upstate NY to live with his dad. Turns out your child almost dying has a way of letting bygones be bygones and giving people second chances.

Tire Wheel Fuel tank Automotive fuel system Vehicle




Those five bikes got me to 21 years old. A tariff VFR700 followed next, and afterwards it's been a steady stream of motorcycles. Some dirt, some street, some both. Moto-camping/ADV'ing is my latest thing the last several years. That started with a Suzuki DL1000 V-Strom and ended with a BMW GS1200. I've grown tired of big ADV bikes and currently use a street plated Kawasaki 300R for that.

The garage is a menagerie of bikes reflecting a journey of 49 years of continuous motorcycling. Many have come and gone, but a few are permanent. The 2003 Harely Deuce that helped me seduce my wife, whom is sitting comfortably by the fire as I write this. A Ural Gear Up I bought so we could motorcycle together as a family. And of course my Monkeys.

Over a span of nearly half a century of riding, like anyone my age, or younger if they've been living fast and hard, life has had and continues to have moments of joy, pain, suffering, relief, contentment, and turmoil intermixed in the soup of life we boil down into. And motorcycling has been there for every moment.

In all the moves, the marriages, and the jobs, there has been one constant in my life. Motorcycles. It is my zen place. When I ride my mind clears and everything fades to black except what's right in front of me. A peace washes over my soul and I experience the moment. Not the past. Not the future. Right now. Enjoying, right now. People pay a lot of money to gurus, read a lot of self help books, and go on many long journeys seeking the secret us motorcyclists share; Being present and mindful in the moment. Self aware and feeling truly alive as we flow from microclimate to microclimate inhaling life with every sense engaged.

Current minis:
1978 Z50A, Z50A-6315294 with engine Z50AE-6315293.
1969 Z50A, Z50A-138438 with engine CT70E-165484.

Well, if you read all of that you're either drunk, stoned, bored, or a bit of all three.:LOL:

Happy New Year.

If any inmates are around the northern VA area, give me a DM we'll have coffee.
 

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I never introduced myself.

I'm in Northern VA, via DC. Spent many years living in DC and now I'm in the subs with dogs and kids. Looking at land in WV because public access for dirtbike riding is as scarce as hens teeth without driving two hours north, west, south, or get on a boat across the Atlantic to another continent.

I started my riding as a 7 year old on a hard-tail Z50A in blue. My grandfather had given my uncle Flint the bike, and my aunts and uncles and I rode it around quite a bit. A year later, my mom died of cancer. While she was sick, and after she died, I rode that mini around endlessly in the pastures of Brinklow MD, which back then was in the sticks and when neighbors did not call the police about a lonely kid riding around on a minibike in the back 40 of their property and all the neighbors knew and liked each other.

View attachment 277377


After mom died, we moved. Flint gave me the mini. We moved out of northwest DC to the suburbs where I was not able to ride, and because it smelled of fuel and oil in a townhouse, dad put it under a tarp on the patio. It was stolen within a week.

I was 13 when I got my next bike, a 1979 Yamaha DT100 in green. I rode the wheels off of it with a good friend, Scott, on a late 70's Honda SL70. Of course the first things we did was take all the lights off, you know, to take weight off... kids! My dad was not pleased to say the least, especially when he found out I had snipped the wires with side-cutters and binned the bits into trash that had been picked up already.


View attachment 277376

At 16, instead of a car, I insisted on a street motorcycle. My dad had remarried to a wonderful woman who quickly became "mom" and still is to this day. Both figured they'd flank me with the argument against the notion that a motorcycle would be my sole source of transportation, and no amount of rain or snow or ice would garner pity with them to give me the use of one of their cars on those days. I outflanked that argument with an enthusiastic "all RIGHT!" ecstatic and surprised they'd even consider the possibility. I knew I had to strike quickly. My maneuvering worked in my favor and I was the owner of a 1973 BMW R75/5 toaster in red, bought with $1000 dollars I'd earned delivering papers and mowing lawns within a week. Not as nice as the one pictured below. I was hit by a high school friend at a stop sign as I sat at the stop bar. Turns out teens get distracted easily and don't see motorcycles very well.

View attachment 277378

Then a short lived stint on a Kawasaki KZ750 LTD, a parallel twin that was an okay ride, but my hormone-addled brain tried, unsuccessfully, to turn it into a cafe racer... kids... Imagine an LTD with low bars... so bad I bet it was cool. Nah. I liked the kickstarter.
View attachment 277380


That was my last, until I joined the Marines. During training for swapping over from F-4 Phantoms to F/A-18 Hornets at NAS Cecil Field, I bought a brand spanking new Yamaha Radian 600. Boy did I love that bike! A buddy in the squadron had an FJ1200, which I pined over but his E5 paycheck allowed him that pleasure and my E3 paycheck allowed me the Radian, which cost me $1800 bucks brand new. I enjoyed that bike until I rode it home to northern VA from Cecil Field in one setting stopping for fuel only. I told my buddy in VA that I was coming home and he insisted I stop by that night. At 2am I got to his house in Catlet, VA and he took it for a ride. He rode it straight into a fox at high speed and then took a bus ride to the emergency room. He was okay, but that was the last time I saw him. His mom wasn't too pleased with me and when he healed up he went to upstate NY to live with his dad. Turns out your child almost dying has a way of letting bygones be bygones and giving people second chances.

View attachment 277379



Those five bikes got me to 21 years old. A tariff VFR700 followed next, and afterwards it's been a steady stream of motorcycles. Some dirt, some street, some both. Moto-camping/ADV'ing is my latest thing the last several years. That started with a Suzuki DL1000 V-Strom and ended with a BMW GS1200. I've grown tired of big ADV bikes and currently use a street plated Kawasaki 300R for that.

The garage is a menagerie of bikes reflecting a journey of 49 years of continuous motorcycling. Many have come and gone, but a few are permanent. The 2003 Harely Deuce that helped me seduce my wife, whom is sitting comfortably by the fire as I write this. A Ural Gear Up I bought so we could motorcycle together as a family. And of course my Monkeys.

Over a span of nearly half a century of riding, like anyone my age, or younger if they've been living fast and hard, life has had and continues to have moments of joy, pain, suffering, relief, contentment, and turmoil intermixed in the soup of life we boil down into. And motorcycling has been there for every moment.

In all the moves, the marriages, and the jobs, there has been one constant in my life. Motorcycles. It is my zen place. When I ride my mind clears and everything fades to black except what's right in front of me. A peace washes over my soul and I experience the moment. Not the past. Not the future. Right now. Enjoying, right now. People pay a lot of money to gurus, read a lot of self help books, and go on many long journeys seeking the secret us motorcyclists share; Being present and mindful in the moment. Self aware and feeling truly alive as we flow from microclimate to microclimate inhaling life with every sense engaged.

Current minis:
1978 Z50A, Z50A-6315294 with engine Z50AE-6315293.
1969 Z50A, Z50A-138438 with engine CT70E-165484.

Well, if you read all of that you're either drunk, stoned, bored, or a bit of all three.:LOL:

Happy New Year.

If any inmates are around the northern VA area, give me a DM we'll have coffee.
Great read. Some of the stuff i love most is the stories around the bikes: the owners, the reason or time they were built, bought, wrecked, or lost. Thanks for sharing.
 

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Discussion Starter · #4 ·
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Great read. Some of the stuff i love most is the stories around the bikes: the owners, the reason or time they were built, bought, wrecked, or lost. Thanks for sharing.
the end, stories is all we have. If they are not shared, they and us are truly gone forever.

readers; tell a story of yours to a loved one or friend. You both Be glad.
 
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