Which Came First - the Biker or the Bike?

A friend mentioned recently that she might "take up the motorcycle." It sounded poetic to me - "take up the motorcycle" - like learning French cooking or endeavoring to start mountain climbing. It got me thinking - how did I come to be a biker?

Clearly there were signs even in my early years. When I was two and a plastic barrette held my honey blonde hair out of my eyes I would ride my metal-spring rocking horse as if to fly through the huge picture window filling one wall of my family's 20' x 20' living room. Those metal springs are outlawed now and my natural hair color hasn't been seen for years but I still want to fly. And I loved that horse.



At four I spun myself silly on the top of the long coffee table in front of the natty couch where my Silly Putty had ruined a cushion corner that would forever face down. Certain clothing additions were banned - no buttons, no rivets, no shoes were allowed as I laid on my belly on the smooth polished wood and whipped myself around and around. In my preschooler mind I was going so fast surely I was only a blur to those around me. At least the room was blurry to me. And the dizzy feeling was worth going "so fast." I wonder if my mom worried about me.

Roaring engines came into my life by the time I was nine when I would sit on the back fender of my folks' riding lawn mower while my neighborhood friend, Zane, who was three years my senior drove in top gear cutting our one acre front yard down to size. I honed my driving skills at 12 as I put my dad's old trusty Ford tractor (1950 8N, I think) through its paces out in the field mowing with the brush hog banging behind me. And yes - the corners could have been neater in both cases - but speed was more important.

I believe my fetishes all solidified into motorcycle lust when my dear dad gave me a second hand mini bike for my 11th birthday. It was a strong little mule of a trail bike with a Briggs & Stratton engine and was cream with black and blue. So was I - a pale, freckled thing that never tanned but I could take air on that shift-free two-wheeler and did so a couple times without the bike accompanying me. Therefore - add black & blue to me, too. And thank goodness I had a helmet. It sported tufts of grass and mud more than once in a while. BUT IT WAS LOVE. For two summers Zane and I rode the tar out of that poor little thing - especially through the hills and dales of another neighbor's homemade golf course. I'm sure our small ruts didn't hurt anyone's game.

Now - too many years later the stars have aligned. I was born with a biker spirit. Then motorcycling found me. Tomorrow I get my bike.

And I'm so very glad.