Easy Riders


You could say that motorcycles are kind of in my blood. Back in the 1930s my grandfather rode a Harley-Davidson when he went to court my grandmother. His sons all grew up riding any two-wheeler they could acquire—Cushman and Allstate scooters, Harleys, Czech Jawas, a classic Indian Chief, even an early Mitsubishi import called a Silver Pigeon. One uncle reckons that he has owned over forty bikes at one time or another over the years. I remember them all riding their motorcycles when I was a child. I loved riding with Dad on his Honda and was fascinated by any type of motorcycle or scooter.

When I came of age to ride I found myself distracted by four-wheel ATVs and spent my teen years riding them. I never learned to ride a motorcycle and for many years had no real chance to do so. Recently, with my life turned upside down and settling out into new patterns, I’ve at last had the chance to learn how to ride under Dad’s instruction. I’m still a novice, but learning fast.

Recently I took a four-day weekend to go home to see Mom and Dad and my visiting brother and his wife and three girls. It was a wonderful time. We ate together, played games together, went to church together, and talked a lot about the things families talk about.

And we did a lot of riding. My brother, with only a small amount of riding experience but a lot of knowledge of machinery and plenty of G.I. confidence, took to Dad’s scooter like a fish to water. He, Dad, and I spent hours riding. Sometimes we took the girls along with us. We took the younger ones to get snow cones near the end of their journey. The oldest was favored with a visit to the local airport for a view of a fine sunset. She also had a chance to spot lots of wild flowers by the roadside.

One afternoon Dad decided that we were up for a ride to the county seat and back. Dad led the way on his huge Kawasaki. My brother followed on Dad’s commuter scooter. I brought up the rear on the little 250 motorcycle that I have been using for practice. This bike is still in its initial break-in period and does not need to run at highway speeds for extended times. Because of this, and because we wanted to take the scenic route, we planned to stay mostly away from the main highway.

We started off by riding into town and taking a back road out of it. After a few miles it took us to the highway. At this point we had to use the main road for a couple of miles. Dad had briefed us on highway formation riding. He would lead, running in the left side of the lane. My brother would follow a couple of lengths behind on the right side. I would stay a couple of lengths behind him on the left. This tight formation would provide a minimal obstacle for any cars that needed to pass us.

After this stretch of highway we turned left and resumed single file. We began to follow a network of back roads that paralleled the main road to the west. They have been paved in recent years and made good riding. The roads wound through a nicely varied countryside of houses, fields, pastures, and wood lots. We rode beneath an equally varied partly cloudy sky. Some of the clouds looked a bit too dark and rainy for my tastes. Still, they were beautiful in their variety. Now and then as the others crested a hill I saw them against a grand backdrop of earth and sky. The great thing about two-wheeling is the way it puts the rider right into the environment, in a way that is impossible in a car.

A couple of miles from our destination we rode past the base of a steep hill crowned by an old house with a pleasant side porch. Two of Dad’s church members sat there enjoying the mild summer shade. They waved as we passed by. Each of us waved in turn.

A bit past their house we had another short stretch of highway and then reached the edge of town. There we rode to the Wal-Mart and shopped for the makings of a summer chili dog supper. We stowed the groceries in our saddlebags (Dad had brought a small cooler for the franks) and took a drink of the water we had brought with us. Riding motorcycles on even a mild summer day is thirsty work.

Next Dad led us all the way across town, across the railroad tracks near the old grain elevators. Here we started up another set of back roads that paralleled the main highway on the other side from where we had ridden before. These roads turned out to alternate paved and gravel sections. Both kinds of road were bumpy. Thankfully (especially for me, since I was in back) a recent rain had left the gravel road surface damp enough to lay the dust. The gravel still made for rough and potentially tricky riding. Only Dad had had any serious gravel riding experience, and he had not been on it recently.

The only place where the riding became very hairy was an old-fashioned bridge with a plank roadway. The planks were far enough apart in spots that my front wheel dropped between them onto the sub-flooring. This created a real bump and threw me off balance. I feared for a moment that I might go down, but I kept the bike upright with some frantic motions of my feet until I had gotten past the short span. I made up my mind to walk the bike across any similar bridges in the future.

Our travel on the rugged road was well rewarded by the rural scenery. By now the clouds had lost any hint of rain and had become harmless fleecy giants. In places the road passed beneath the deep shadow of stretches of hardwood forest. The upper branches formed a leafy tunnel roof.

My brother and I both had our cameras. Dad had told us to pull over if either of us saw something worth photographing. He would see out the rear view mirror and would stop. As we went down a long down grade I saw a fine view across a cow pasture and stopped. The others kept going all the way down to the base of the hill, almost passing out of sight before they turned back. When they arrived Dad explained that he gotten preoccupied by a rugged stretch we had crossed just before cresting the hill and had not looked back for a bit. When he did he could not see me in the shaded area where I had stopped and feared for a moment that I had fallen by the wayside.

We parked alongside the road for a bit, taking pictures and admiring the peaceful scene. A bit further on we stopped again at another nice view. Still further along Dad pointed out a house where one of his brothers had lived when we were little.

Eventually we made our way back to the main highway, just across the way from where we had left it earlier. This time Dad decided we were doing well enough on the highway to stay on it all the way back to town. There we swung by a gas station and refueled. Finally we went home and had our chili dog meal with the others.

The evening was still fairly young. Dad and I took the oldest niece for a last ride. This one turned into a night ride—a rather chilly one for me, as I was much less warm-natured than the others—before we were done. I did not mind too much. It was still fun.

I got a lot of good riding experience that day, in a variety of situations. It did a lot to build my skill and my confidence. More than that, though, it was time spent with family. Blood will tell, and motorcycling runs in mine. In that respect I had finally joined the clan.

A great read as always, DL. Thanks!

Thanks for sharing this experience, DL. It sounds like you and your family had a lot of fun. I enjoyed reading this.

Thanks, Francine and Kevin. I'm glad someone likes hearing me go on about stuff like this. Check my latest piece for more cycling family fun! It goes to show that not all of us bikers (wow, I can say that now) are rebels.

I read most of it, D.L. i just don't always comment. Keep posting!

Sure, I'll read it, DL. I read a lot of your stories.