Читать книгу First to Last: The Tale of a Biker - Dennis Lid - Страница 8

Chapter Two The Beginning

The prelude that ushered in my motorcycling days resided in the Thornhill Drive neighborhood where I grew up, my friends and our group activities. These elements, to one degree or another, were all instrumental in leading to my way of life as a motorcyclist.

Our neighborhood included a group of about 14 boys who were relatively the same age. My family moved into that neighborhood when I was seven years old. I became the best of friends with all the boys. We did practically everything together from forming our own Cub Scout Den to joining the same Boy Scout and Explorer Troops as we progressed through the years to high school age. We played all the usual games that kids play during our younger years, from football and baseball to kick-the-can and bicycle hikes. We built tree houses, made rafts, boats, and down-hill racing coasters, dug tunnels, ran cross-country bicycle courses complete with jumps, curves, water obstacles and mud traps, went on BB Gun hunts to kill lizards and snakes, and camped out under the stars on many a summer night. We were a tough and raucous bunch of daring rascals and pretty good at just about everything we tried to do. I guess you’d call us “hardcore,” and therein lay one essential ingredient of a true motorcyclist.

Other essential aspects of a true motorcyclist began to emerge as well. All the things we did required planning, organization and action of one kind or another. A few of my friends and I were the leaders of the groups we formed for specific tasks during our games and activities. We did the planning and directing; then we and our groups followed through with action to complete the tasks. Leadership, and the formation of organizations and elements for a common purpose, would prove to be useful skills later in my life when it came to planning motorcycle trips and events, and organizing clubs, rides and activities. So then, leadership, organizational and planning abilities are still other essential aspects of a true motorcyclist. These talents and skills were developed during the prelude to my motorcycling days in the crucible of my youth. The neighborhood, my friends of bygone days and the activities we engaged in formed the foundation of and threshold to the world of motorcycling.

My life as a motorcyclist really began in earnest when I got a learner’s permit for driving from the State of California at age 14. The permit allowed me to use a motorbike or moped to ride solo. Convincing my parents that I needed such a conveyance was critical but not difficult. My most persuasive argument was that I had a rather long newspaper route in the Montclair Hills between Oakland and Orinda. These rugged hills were part of the Coast Range Mountains running along the seacoast of Northern California. We lived on one of the many ridge fingers descending from the Skyline on a road called Thornhill Drive. The views were spectacular along the upper portions of Thornhill toward its juncture with Snake Road, which in turn, connected to Skyline Boulevard on the highest ridge of the Coast Range Mountains. One could see the entire San Francisco Bay area from these vantage points including the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, Treasure and Alcatraz Islands, San Francisco, Oakland and the entire bay.

The newspaper route for the Post Enquirer was several miles long and went from the top of the ridge at Snake Road along Thornhill Drive to the bottom of the gulch near Mountain Boulevard. I needed dependable transportation to negotiate this route on a daily basis. My three-speed racing bike had been used for this task up until the time that I bought my first motorbike with proceeds from paper-route earnings, lawn cuttings and car washings. It was the paper route that gave me the edge in convincing my parents that the moped was a sound investment for business purposes. Of course, it provided for pleasure trips as well. The motorbike saved time and effort. It was a more efficient way of delivering newspapers and of making monthly monetary collections for the service. Albeit, it was probably a less frugal method of delivery because of gasoline, license, insurance and maintenance costs, but the time and effort saved were devoted to my school studies instead. Owning a bike also taught me driving responsibility, safety and how to take care of a vehicle.

I learned how to drive safely and responsibly in two ways: First, by taking a safe driving course for motorcyclists, and second, by on-the-road driving experience. The course actually came years after the actual driving experience for the simple reason that there were no formal motorcycle safety courses during my youth. These courses were established years later in response to the rising number of motorcycle accidents. I finally took such a course at Camp Zama, Japan during March of 1986 to renew my motorcycle license and reduce my insurance premium. The course concentrated on driving techniques such as counter-steering, emergency braking by evenly applying both front and rear brakes, maneuvering to avoid obstacles, recognition of international road signs and a myriad of other driving aspects. It focused primarily on defensive driving, proper signaling, appropriate motorcycling attire and safety factors.

It was the actual on-road driving experience that was my best teacher during the learning process. Giving myself enough room to stop when following the car in front of me, or avoiding tailgating, was one lesson. Another was the use of both defensive and offensive driving to avoid trouble. All your senses have to be alert when you ride. You must anticipate what other drivers will probably do and be prepared for the opposite reaction, too. I learned to use my engine brake first and then complete the halt with the front and rear wheel brakes. Equally important was the use of speed and maneuvering to get out of harm’s way. Where to drive on the road was another critical factor so as not to be the victim of a carelessly opened car door, or of an oncoming driver’s overstepping the centerline. Looking beyond the curve and keeping your line in negotiating it, then applying power at the apex to power out of the curve was a worthwhile lesson learned. Other valuable lessons were learning to slow down during periods of low visibility or wet weather, and keeping the bike as near vertical and as perpendicular as possible when driving across railroad tracks or painted surfaces on pavement, especially when wet. Using curb crawling and split-lane driving techniques, where legal, in a safe and sane manner so as not to startle and upset other drivers or encourage road rage were also beneficial lessons. Finally, and most importantly, I strove to be a true “knight of the road” in my motorcycle driving so as to give motorcycling and my own reputation a good name. Keep in mind that you are automatically enrolled in the brotherhood of the road from the time you buy your first motorcycle. Good road manners are part and parcel of that initial purchase. It’s like keeping the faith.

The Influence of Tommy Llewellyn and Other Friends

The thought of my buying that motorbike in the first place was prompted by three of my friends: Lloyd Sorenson, Tommy Lewellin and Richard Jacobsen. Lloyd Sorenson was my buddy and neighbor from across the street. He was my age, blond haired and blue eyed, athletic and well liked by all the folks in our neighborhood. He was a leader-type personality, the Oakland Tribune Newspaper boy in our area, my major competition, and my best friend. Lloyd acquired a three-wheeled motor scooter for use on his paper route. That got me to thinking – good idea. The idea grew into the purchase of my first bike.

Tommy Lewellin was a friend from across the valley on the other ridgeline. Lloyd and Tommy were close friends from school; I was the third wheel in that relationship. Tommy and I were just casual friends, but he was the one who owned the motorbike that I eventually purchased. He was a couple of years older than I was, and he put the moped up for sale after buying a newer and more powerful motorcycle. He was hooked. Motorcycling was in his blood forever. Of course, I seized the opportunity presented and acquired his old motorbike. That started me along the same path that he seemed to be following.

Tommy had a catalytic effect on me. He was the guy who sold me the three-speed racing bicycle a couple of years earlier. I bought it cheap for twelve dollars. It needed new handgrips, a new pedal on one side, a gear-cable adjustment, a rear brake-cable and a paint job. I gave it all those things and had a first-class racing bike – the fastest, slickest bike in town. It was a beauty.

Tommy was a character with a heart of gold, an innovator and a daredevil. He always seemed to have a smile on his face and was a happy-go-lucky type of person. One day when he was showing us his new motorcycle, he rigged a sparkplug in the end of his muffler and exhaust pipe and hooked it up to a wire connected to the plug cap on the engine head. He cranked up the engine, and with each throb of the motor the exhaust pipe belched a two-foot flame of sparkplug- ignited exhaust gas. We were impressed, to say the least. It just shows you how nutty we were at that age, and what stupid chances we used to take. It also reveals the true character of the avid and dedicated future motorcyclist. We were innovators, daredevils, risk takers, and some were incurable romantics with hearts of gold.

Richard Jacobsen was the final influencing factor in my purchase of the motorbike. Richard lived on the opposing ridgeline, and he was one of my close friends from school. His amazing stories mesmerized me. Those piercing brown eyes accompanied by his intensity, facial contortions, hand gestures and slender body language, as he told his fascinating stories, are the attributes I remember most about Richard. What an imagination he had, and how well he could express it. His imaginings were contagious. He inflamed my mind and thoughts as well. Cowboys and Indians, BB gun hunts, bike hikes, camping trips, motor vehicle voyages, cops and robbers, and commandos – all were subjects of his wild stories. His epic renderings stirred my mind, heart and soul and prodded my spirit of adventure. That is how Richard influenced me.

I recall one episode in particular that illustrates Richard’s rich imagination and its impact on me. We were horsing around on a BB gun hunt in the woods near an old deserted shack on stilts in the Montclair Hills. How it all started, I’m not quite sure, but we began shooting at one another and chasing each other through the woods, as though we were commandos on a raid pursuing the enemy. It was all in fun, of course, but we should have thought of the possible consequences. What if one of those BBs hit an eye? That could have caused blindness for life. I eventually ended up in the abandoned shack shooting out the window at Richard, who was in hot pursuit of me but still outside. He rushed the shack and ducked under it. I leaned out the open window and popped a shot at him from a distance of about 20 feet as he stuck his head out from under the shack. He tried to sneak a peek at me to determine my exact location before taking his shot. All of a sudden, he screamed in agony, dropped his BB gun and held his hands over his face as he fell to the ground. Fear struck me as I stood watching my friend writhing in pain. I immediately regretted having shot him, especially at such close range with only his head and upper body visible. It was too risky, and it was too late.

“You okay, Rich?” I queried.

He didn’t answer. He just lay there breathing deeply. Suddenly and violently Richard lurched to the standing position grabbing his gun as he arose. He stepped out from the side of the house, turned and looked up at me with the fiercest squinty-eyed look I’d ever seen on his pain-grimaced face. He cocked his BB gun while staring at me with a look of rage and bolted toward the front door of the shack. I thought I’d had it. Richard was angry, and I was the target of his spleen. He charged through the front door, stopped and took up an aggressive stance. We both took aim at one another from a distance of 12 feet, held our fire, and then… I started laughing. His expression changed from one of anger to one of bewilderment.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You’re okay, except for that ‘strawberry’ on your forehead, but you’re okay otherwise. I thought I put your eye out with all the screaming you were doing, but all I did was give you one heck of a welt on the head. And that’s proof that I won this game, isn’t it?”

With a half-smirk and a half-smile he said: “Yea, I guess you got that right. Some game, uh? You know, I wasn’t really mad, just wanted you to think so. Boy does my head hurt,” and he lowered the gun as he held his head with his other hand. All was well except for the welt, which took some time to heal. Whew! What an episode. Worthy of note was that the winner of this dangerous but adventuresome game was the future motorcyclist. Uncanny, isn’t it? Another characteristic of the dedicated motorcyclist is revealed. He’s a person with an adventuresome nature and a sense of danger.

All in all, Lloyd was the confidant and competition; Tommy was the catalyst and provider; and Richard was the free spirit and spark that prompted me to take action. And so it started for me too, this business and love of motorcycling. It began with the acquisition of that first moped.

First Bike – A Rube Goldberg Learning Device

What kind of bike was it? My first motorbike was neither mass-produced nor a company-manufactured one. It was a homemade, individually designed and created conveyance. You might call it a Rube Goldberg, or a crudely improvised but innovative learning device. That first bike was nothing more than a glorified bicycle with an engine mounted above the rear wheel. The bicycle frame was reinforced, the suspension was improved with springs on the heavy gauge front forks, but the rear frame was rigid, as there was no swing arm or shock and spring. It had a small gas tank and a single-cylinder, air-cooled, four-stroke engine mounted above the small diameter motor scooter rear wheel and tire. Mounted on the front was a balloon-type tire on an ordinary bicycle wheel. It was chain driven, single geared and even had pedal-assist for getting started and negotiating steep hills. Its top speed was a rousing 35 mph. Finally, it was equipped with mechanical hand and foot brakes fore and aft. What a contraption it was. Yet, as a young teenager, I was greatly impressed by that first set of motorized wheels. The bike didn’t just provide transportation but a means of mobility, freedom, independence and control. The style, power and adrenaline rush, however, would have to wait until years later. The novice moped was strictly a learning device, sufficient for scooting up and down the Northern California hills but not much more. Yet, it was a start, an initiation… a first bike.

An Introduction to a Biker’s Way of Life

My first bike introduced me to the world of motorcycling. I became addicted to a sport and way of life that would last the better part of my lifetime. The motorcycle became a centerpiece of life, a common denominator so-to-speak. It provided a reason for starting conversations with perfect strangers, some of whom became fast friends. The bike was the subject of attention and served as the basis for both social and adventuresome experiences. Races, shows, rodeos, tournaments, expeditions and other events were oriented on the motorcycle. Even work depended on it.

At home the bike occupied my thoughts, time and effort as well. The maintenance and beautification of the beast, service and repairs, accessory items needed for bike and rider, and the money applied to all these items required my attention. Windscreen, helmet, goggles, gloves, boots, leathers, wet-weather gear, compass, toll-coin holder, tank or saddlebags, bungee cords, cover and cleaning paraphernalia were some of the critical items needed by an avid motorcyclist. All these things including insurance, license and registration came at a cost and over a period of time. Accessory items were not purchased all at once. Few riders could afford that. Yet, over the months and years, every biker could afford these accessories. The most essential items were selected for purchase first, followed by those less critical. Luxury items were acquired last if at all. Things like stereo sets with speakers and two-way radios were the ultimate indulgences and were seldom purchased. They were lowest on the rider’s priority list.

A motorcyclist must be a dedicated individual to tolerate all the demands on time, effort and wallet. And, so, motorcycling became more than a sport in my life. It became a way of life. The simple moped, my first bike, introduced me to the biker’s way of life. What a beautiful memory. You remember your first bike, too, don’t you? It’s as vivid in your mind as it was the day you bought it, isn’t it? Some things we never forget. That’s how it is with bikers and their mounts. First bikes are especially well remembered because after all, they are special in that they are “first.”

My top priority after purchasing that motorbike, besides getting it registered, licensed and insured was to safely park it. Now that doesn’t sound like much of a problem, does it? Normally it wouldn’t be, but our house had a small, two-car garage. Our family car took up one parking space; our tenant’s car occupied the second space. My moped had to fit somewhere in between the two cars and there was very limited room. The handlebars of the moped had to be raised above the level of both cars’ fenders so as not to scratch them. The solution was the construction of a wooden ramp for the front wheel only, so as to lift the handlebars higher than the car fenders when the motorbike was parked. The trick was to make sure that I parked the bike before both cars arrived in their parking spaces each evening. Timing was critical. If I misgauged it, or came home late, then my dad would have to back his car out of the garage to permit access of my bike to its ramped parking area without scratching either car. Needless to say, I was reluctant to impose on my father’s kind nature any more than was absolutely necessary. This exercise, however, was required on several occasions and taught me an important lesson: “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Having to interrupt my father made me think things through before I acted and to be aware of the possible consequences. It was a good lesson for life. I wish I had kept it in mind more often as I pursued my own.

The years passed; we boys grew up. By the time we graduated from our respective high schools, each of us followed different paths in pursuing our lives. Contact between us was eventually lost as our individual courses diverged over time. People moved, some took civilian jobs and others went on to college or into the military. Our first motorbikes and scooters were sold; old friendships faded. We struck out along life’s road into an unknown adult future. Our quest finally began in earnest. Such was the prelude to our motorcycling lives.

California Map (Thornhill Drive)