The Roaring Motorcycles

The first time I heard a motorcycle, I was standing in the middle of my backyard. Without a moments hesitation I ran from straight across the yard into the house, through the kitchen and under my bed. It was instinct.

By brothers thought this was slightly strange and just wanted to give me a ride. Pulling me out from under my bed was a little like get a tick out from under your skin. I was not going to risk my life out there on that death contraption that howled like a demon from...some bad place.

This soon changed.

I think I was about ten or eleven. This cool Yamaha motorcycle, blue, sleek and fast, came into my life. I don't really remember how but it appeared and it was all mine to play with.

The fun part of this bike was that it was missing parts but still worked. Most notably the clutch lever was sort half there. With some skill you could pull a little stub that was partially attached back. It didn't really matter though; the gear shifter was also gone. The bike, of course, lacked the foot pegs; which was sort of a nuisance.

I quickly ruined what was left of the clutch lever and I was out that part too. This did not damper my spirits though. With a group of kids as propulsion, I would put it into third gear by pulling a rod, that came out of the transmission, to just the right spot. Then with a whoop we started pushing down the road toward the barn.

Usually about half way there it would start. But I wasn't allowed to go any farther so I would have to shut it off after that short run. If it started sooner I would try to shift gears by getting the engine speed just right and pull that rod out just a little farther to pop it into the next gear.

I wasn't much of a mechanic at that age but I couldn't stop trying to play with it to make it start sooner. I discovered that those little screws around the carburetor could change the idling speed and how it started. It also made the spark plug get fouled a lot sooner. I would take that spark plug out at regular intervals and brush all the black gunk off of it with our bench electric wire brush.

Sometimes, I would just put it in finger tight. Then, I noticed that it made a difference if I got it just a little more snug. I found the right socket for the spark plug and a ratchet that could allow me to increase the torque.

It turns out that at ten years old I was strong enough to strip the threads in the head of 1969 Yamaha motorcycle and I did. I was devastated. I could keep it going with all those broken parts - but this was insurmountable. No compression, meant no combustion. This meant no more fun.

I sold it to my friend for a couple of bucks and lamented my new found strength. But at least, I was no longer running to hide under my bed at the sound of a motorbike.