Like father, like son, like father
Mar. 1st, 2003 03:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tugrikWhen I was growing up in Nevada I did a very bad thing. I'd sneak out into the garage and completely ogle over my father's Yamaha Virago 1000. It utterly fascinated me. Not only was it just an amazing vehicle, but it was a gadget. Instead of the dials and needles normally on a motorcycle's handlebars there was a large liquid-crystal display. The combination of 1981-ish computer tech and motorcycle mystique was just too much. No, the bad thing wasn't ogling. The bad thing was how after dozens of times of sitting on it in the garage and studying my father's operation of it, I snuck it out for a joyride one night when they were away. A 7th grader on a liter-bike. The thought scares me nowadays. To my credit I made it up the street without killing myself. My bravado gave out and I tried to turn around to go back, waddling the bike in an arc as best as I could. It was about then that my lack of skill made me half-drop the bike against a parked car's side. klunch. Were it not for that car it would have fallen completely on its side and I'd never have gotten it home. It scratched up the side a little, and I covered for that by pulling an 'oops I bumped into it and it fell over in the garage' when asked about the scratches.
I've been fascinated with motorcycles ever since. I might have had one were it not for the family being low on money in those days. In fact that bike ended up being sacrificed to the higher purpose of helping fund education for us kids. My father sold it to a coworker; this caused him a good bit of anguish to see his beloved bike show up in the employee lot on nice summer days. Watching someone else ride it home in the evenings added that extra little bit of knife-twist.
I wanted a bike but the meager paper route I had during the "just got my license!" years couldn't cut the purchase price. My father and I would look at them in passing when we got the chance. Some would be on the lots where we went to look at riding lawn mowers: little 50cc standards that were barely more than motors strapped to bicycles with a few signal lights strapped on to become street legal. Some were at actual motorcycle dealerships. I vividly remember sitting on a Honda Helix two-seater scooter at one of them. Falling in love with it was easy and instant even though I knew it would be eternally out of my price range. The closest I came to quenching the thirst was horse-trading for an old beat up mo-ped with broken tires. It had a little engine that pushed against the front wheel with a friction drum. That moped was so old that it only took one month of the paper route before I'd squeezed the last few drops of life out of it. Back to the "yes, I can afford this" pedal bikes I went.
Graduating highschool and heading to college mixed with living in a state with a short riding season nixed the motorcycle bug in me for a while. The overall money situation nixed it for my dad. I eventually ended up moving to California post-school and getting way too busy riding the dot-com explosion back in the early 90's. My parents moved out to Oregon and finally got their fiscal lives recovering from raising us three kids, now all out of the house. Just as things were looking up my dad's knee thought now would be a good time to give out, causing an amazing amount of pain, doctor bills, and time spent immoble.
At some point I looked up from my dot-com existance and realized I had a new thing in my life: cash that wasn't going right out the door for bills. Life changed in many ways as a result. One of the better ones was chancing past an online ad for a used Honda Helix up in San Francisco with a price that almost exactly matched the amount of money I'd saved up that spring. I grabbed my motorcycle-experienced friend Andre and zoomed up to the city to look it over. I knew I was going to buy it before I ever left the house. The bike belonged to a fetish artist who lived in an extremely pricy loft in SOMA. His abode was an at-first-imposing (and upon later reflection, impressively skillful) array of bondage photographs and erotic art. He himself was a bit of an art piece, body-modifications wise. We had a spirited conversation about Honda Helix appreciation and how he was selling it off to 'move up' to more powerful motorcycles. I took it as a compliment that he found relief that his Helix was going to 'a good home'. He could see it in my eyes, or so he said. I haggled price just a little bit to be fair to us both, which was taken good naturedly... and then Andre rode it back home. The wind pushed him all around I280. I remember seeing it weave and wobble in the lane with the gusts.
I rode the piss out of that little scoot. At 250cc it was considered a motorcycle and not a scooter, so I did the little written test and got my permit. No night riding, no highway, no passengers -- but hey, I could ride. Legally! I kept on that thing for a full year before sticking it into a ditch up on Hicks and chewing up my lower legs. The scars I got from that still freak people out. No shorts for me. The wreck didn't keep me off of the bike. What made me sell it was noticing the frame was warping with my weight and how hard I rode it. Knowing it would end up in the same scrap-heap as my first moped if I kept riding it, I sold it for almost exactly what I bought it for. I let my permit expire.
A year later I knew I wanted a real bike. This one would have to support my size and have real power. Remembering my Dad's often-spoken motorcycle fantasies, I knew what I wanted: a Honda GoldWing. Big, powerful, techno-oriented. I watched online ads until I found a 1982 GL1100 in good condition, being sold by a divorced wife who'd kept it as part of the settlement and left it to rot in a garage for a few years. Again I called upon the good graces of Andre to accompany me, this time up to the little boxes of Daily City. The bike was rideable though the brakes barely worked and the battery wouldn't hold a charge. We jumped it and just kept it running for the whole ride back to San Jose. Andre had a few 'aiee no brakes!' along the way and we both got "illegal U-turn" traffic tickets when we pulled into a gas-station halfway home.
I rode this one more carefully but no less often than the Helix. It was big and heavy. I dropped it once when stopped at a corner, a traditional newbie-biker error and the difficulty in getting it back up again let me know I didn't want to make that error in the future. I re-aquired the permit and tried no less than 3 times to get my license. Each time I couldn't pass the test. The bike was too heavy, too unbalanced (it was in so-so condition) and I was too new a rider to be able to do the feet-up weaving through slow speed cones. The third test failure depressed me so much about my Utter Lack Of Mad Skills that I put the bike into the garage and stopped riding. I figured I'd go take the MSF safety course later and see what I'm doing wrong... someday. My usual "gear more important than skill" feelings cropped up, and I off-and-on shopped for a modern bike...thinking if I bought better equipment I would be able to ride better and get my license. I even loan-applied for a 1999 pearl-blue GL1500 over at Honda of Milpitas, only to get laughed out of the office (my finances were still recovering from college).
A year later my roomie-at-the-time![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reality_fox was happily cash-burdened and wanting a bike. He'd earlier bought a used Kawasaki Ninja 250 at a used bike place. I can't speak to the true origin of his motorcycle lust, but I suspect it was 9 parts following-in-the-footsteps of a co-worker he admired named "Larry", and one part seeing me play around on my beat up old 'wing and Helix. The little Ninja got his appetite going, though, and now he wanted a real bike. We trundled off to G.P. Sports to look at a Suzuki SV650. While I was there I got to sit on my new obsession: the remodeled Goldwing, now in its GL1800 variant. It was just perfect.
The salesman and roomate tag-teamed me into submitting another credit app. I wasn't looking forwards to getting laughed out of the dealership again, but they (and my desire for the bike) persisted. I submitted the credit app while Reality signed the papers for his newly bought SV. A few days later they called me up and made my head explode by asking me what color I wanted. Mother Honda had said I was Oooh-Tay for a loan on a $20k bike. Tingling from head to toe, I asked for an Illusion Blue one. Delivery was promised in 2 weeks -- just after I was to get back from Burning Man. I spent that year's burning man as if it were a week-long christmas eve. I think I set some peronsal stupidity records in how fast I did the drive home...
The last 20 months (wow, it's only been that long?) of motorcycling are chronicled throughout my journal. The MFS was taken alongsidereality_fox and duly passed with flying colors. The license was obtained. I took my first long-distance trips down to see Frang when he was still in Sylmar. Tons of 'firsts' happened and are still happening. I bought my 2nd bike, the GS-Adventure, and started having completely new kinds of motorcycling experiences. Bounce back through my archives if you want to read through them. The reports even come with pretty pictures. :)
Now it's time to finally get to explaining the title of this long-winded entry. My father got me into bikes. Now I wanted to get him back into it with me.
My first ride up to Oregon on the GL1800 was amazing. The ride through the Avenue of the Giants on a motorcycle is something I think everybody should see once -- either as rider or passenger. My time there was a little disappointing, though. Self doubt, the pain of knee surgery and the knowlege of how much a fiscal drain bikes are kept my dad from taking a real interest as I'd hoped he would. He was impressed with the 'wing, no doubt... but he didn't want to ride it. He wasn't comfortable with the idea on a whole bunch of levels, from insurance worries (I don't want to mess up your new bike, son) to health worries (will my knee let me keep the bike balanced at a stoplight?). I didn't pressure him, though I had high hopes he'd leap right on the thing the moment my back was turned.
Later visits of my parents down to my house had the same kind of results. I knew he'd love motorcycling again if he just got back on the bike... but he wasn't going to and I wasn't going to force him. The most I could do was convince both my mother and him to take rides on the back around my sister's neighborhood, with me driving. They enjoyed it, sure... but things didn't really click. I really really wanted to ride with my dad someday -- him on his bike, me on mine, together down the open road. It looked like it'd never happen, though. For the most part I think I did a good job hiding my disappointment. I could understand his reasons.
Over the Christmas break my parents came down to visit us kids. For reasons I still am not sure of all the right factors fell into place. It was a beautiful day. My father had free time to kill. His knee had healed up well. The fear of not being insurance covered somehow disappeared. All it took was a simple question: "So, why don't you ride the 'wing and I'll follow on the beemer, dad?" He said yes. I was stunned. The ride was short -- just down into Los Gatos and back. It was cut short by freshly arriving rain. Still, it was a milestone for me. I'd gone riding with my dad. You couldn't have ruined my mood for anything that day.
Two months later, only a few weeks ago now, they came back to see my little sister off to war. She was being shipped out with the Air Force National Guard to an undisclosed overseas site. As part of their visit my dad wanted to talk motorcycles, as I'd expressed the need to sell my GoldWing off in order to finance a replacement for my dying van. He didn't want to buy my 'wing, though: it was too tall for him, leg-swing-over-seat-wise. The idea was for me to trade in my 'wing on a cheaper, but just as powerful, motorcycle: the VTX-1800. He would then assume the payments from me, thusly acquiring a new motorcycle of his choice while helping me eliminate a payment from my monthly balance sheets. It sounded kind of weird the way he presented it, but I didn't care. My dad wanted a bike. He'd re-caught the bug. The grin this gave me lasted the whole week until his arrival.
In the end the 'creative financing' didn't work out. I couldn't trade in, he couldn't assume payments. Insurance nightmares, interstate tax issues (Oregon has no sales tax, while California wants 8%, your firstborn child, or both) and the like just made it not work. After a day of finagling and failing... he was just let down and I was out of answers. I told him to not worry; I'd find another way to afford my van-replacement. In fact, to drive this point home -- I went out the very next day and got the dang thing. It's a little fiscal miracle called a 'lease'. This solved my problems, let me keep both bikes for a while longer, and got the need for him to help me unload a bike off his chest. Together we tag-teamed his local dealer over the phone and finagled a wonderful price on the bike he wanted. After some time to convince Mom, it was done. He drove back to Oregon all smiles and sealed the deal on his new Candy Red VTX1800-C the very next day.
Today I got email from my dad. Included were two pictures, showing his new scoot being 'born' -- uncrated after delivery.
He takes delivery tomorrow at noon... about 8 hours from now. If I could have gotten Monday off, I'd be driving up there right now instead of typing this so I could be there with him. He's excited. I'm excited. :)
He'll be taking the MSF refresher class so he can avoid the curse of the Born Again Biker Syndrome -- the most common cause of motorcycle crashes for those above 45. I'll explain that one in another post. I made sure he's getting the proper gear to ride safe. My mom's a bit grumpy at the money spent but I think she likes seeing the 'kid on christmas morning' effect it's having on the dad-creature. She'll probably even end up riding on the back after not too long.
Dad, here's to you. I'm forever greatful you kindled the motorcycling spirit in me, and it makes me smile to see it's still alive in you. Here's to thousands of happy miles, and to keeping the rubber side down and the shiny side up. I'll be honored to ride behind you, following in your tire-tracks like I've followed in your footsteps. And just in case I haven't said it enough, I love you Dad.
(and I love you too, Mom... especially the part about you not killing him when he told you he wanted to buy a bike again!)
I've been fascinated with motorcycles ever since. I might have had one were it not for the family being low on money in those days. In fact that bike ended up being sacrificed to the higher purpose of helping fund education for us kids. My father sold it to a coworker; this caused him a good bit of anguish to see his beloved bike show up in the employee lot on nice summer days. Watching someone else ride it home in the evenings added that extra little bit of knife-twist.
I wanted a bike but the meager paper route I had during the "just got my license!" years couldn't cut the purchase price. My father and I would look at them in passing when we got the chance. Some would be on the lots where we went to look at riding lawn mowers: little 50cc standards that were barely more than motors strapped to bicycles with a few signal lights strapped on to become street legal. Some were at actual motorcycle dealerships. I vividly remember sitting on a Honda Helix two-seater scooter at one of them. Falling in love with it was easy and instant even though I knew it would be eternally out of my price range. The closest I came to quenching the thirst was horse-trading for an old beat up mo-ped with broken tires. It had a little engine that pushed against the front wheel with a friction drum. That moped was so old that it only took one month of the paper route before I'd squeezed the last few drops of life out of it. Back to the "yes, I can afford this" pedal bikes I went.
Graduating highschool and heading to college mixed with living in a state with a short riding season nixed the motorcycle bug in me for a while. The overall money situation nixed it for my dad. I eventually ended up moving to California post-school and getting way too busy riding the dot-com explosion back in the early 90's. My parents moved out to Oregon and finally got their fiscal lives recovering from raising us three kids, now all out of the house. Just as things were looking up my dad's knee thought now would be a good time to give out, causing an amazing amount of pain, doctor bills, and time spent immoble.
At some point I looked up from my dot-com existance and realized I had a new thing in my life: cash that wasn't going right out the door for bills. Life changed in many ways as a result. One of the better ones was chancing past an online ad for a used Honda Helix up in San Francisco with a price that almost exactly matched the amount of money I'd saved up that spring. I grabbed my motorcycle-experienced friend Andre and zoomed up to the city to look it over. I knew I was going to buy it before I ever left the house. The bike belonged to a fetish artist who lived in an extremely pricy loft in SOMA. His abode was an at-first-imposing (and upon later reflection, impressively skillful) array of bondage photographs and erotic art. He himself was a bit of an art piece, body-modifications wise. We had a spirited conversation about Honda Helix appreciation and how he was selling it off to 'move up' to more powerful motorcycles. I took it as a compliment that he found relief that his Helix was going to 'a good home'. He could see it in my eyes, or so he said. I haggled price just a little bit to be fair to us both, which was taken good naturedly... and then Andre rode it back home. The wind pushed him all around I280. I remember seeing it weave and wobble in the lane with the gusts.
I rode the piss out of that little scoot. At 250cc it was considered a motorcycle and not a scooter, so I did the little written test and got my permit. No night riding, no highway, no passengers -- but hey, I could ride. Legally! I kept on that thing for a full year before sticking it into a ditch up on Hicks and chewing up my lower legs. The scars I got from that still freak people out. No shorts for me. The wreck didn't keep me off of the bike. What made me sell it was noticing the frame was warping with my weight and how hard I rode it. Knowing it would end up in the same scrap-heap as my first moped if I kept riding it, I sold it for almost exactly what I bought it for. I let my permit expire.
A year later I knew I wanted a real bike. This one would have to support my size and have real power. Remembering my Dad's often-spoken motorcycle fantasies, I knew what I wanted: a Honda GoldWing. Big, powerful, techno-oriented. I watched online ads until I found a 1982 GL1100 in good condition, being sold by a divorced wife who'd kept it as part of the settlement and left it to rot in a garage for a few years. Again I called upon the good graces of Andre to accompany me, this time up to the little boxes of Daily City. The bike was rideable though the brakes barely worked and the battery wouldn't hold a charge. We jumped it and just kept it running for the whole ride back to San Jose. Andre had a few 'aiee no brakes!' along the way and we both got "illegal U-turn" traffic tickets when we pulled into a gas-station halfway home.
I rode this one more carefully but no less often than the Helix. It was big and heavy. I dropped it once when stopped at a corner, a traditional newbie-biker error and the difficulty in getting it back up again let me know I didn't want to make that error in the future. I re-aquired the permit and tried no less than 3 times to get my license. Each time I couldn't pass the test. The bike was too heavy, too unbalanced (it was in so-so condition) and I was too new a rider to be able to do the feet-up weaving through slow speed cones. The third test failure depressed me so much about my Utter Lack Of Mad Skills that I put the bike into the garage and stopped riding. I figured I'd go take the MSF safety course later and see what I'm doing wrong... someday. My usual "gear more important than skill" feelings cropped up, and I off-and-on shopped for a modern bike...thinking if I bought better equipment I would be able to ride better and get my license. I even loan-applied for a 1999 pearl-blue GL1500 over at Honda of Milpitas, only to get laughed out of the office (my finances were still recovering from college).
A year later my roomie-at-the-time
reality_fox was happily cash-burdened and wanting a bike. He'd earlier bought a used Kawasaki Ninja 250 at a used bike place. I can't speak to the true origin of his motorcycle lust, but I suspect it was 9 parts following-in-the-footsteps of a co-worker he admired named "Larry", and one part seeing me play around on my beat up old 'wing and Helix. The little Ninja got his appetite going, though, and now he wanted a real bike. We trundled off to G.P. Sports to look at a Suzuki SV650. While I was there I got to sit on my new obsession: the remodeled Goldwing, now in its GL1800 variant. It was just perfect. The salesman and roomate tag-teamed me into submitting another credit app. I wasn't looking forwards to getting laughed out of the dealership again, but they (and my desire for the bike) persisted. I submitted the credit app while Reality signed the papers for his newly bought SV. A few days later they called me up and made my head explode by asking me what color I wanted. Mother Honda had said I was Oooh-Tay for a loan on a $20k bike. Tingling from head to toe, I asked for an Illusion Blue one. Delivery was promised in 2 weeks -- just after I was to get back from Burning Man. I spent that year's burning man as if it were a week-long christmas eve. I think I set some peronsal stupidity records in how fast I did the drive home...
The last 20 months (wow, it's only been that long?) of motorcycling are chronicled throughout my journal. The MFS was taken alongside
reality_fox and duly passed with flying colors. The license was obtained. I took my first long-distance trips down to see Frang when he was still in Sylmar. Tons of 'firsts' happened and are still happening. I bought my 2nd bike, the GS-Adventure, and started having completely new kinds of motorcycling experiences. Bounce back through my archives if you want to read through them. The reports even come with pretty pictures. :) Now it's time to finally get to explaining the title of this long-winded entry. My father got me into bikes. Now I wanted to get him back into it with me.
My first ride up to Oregon on the GL1800 was amazing. The ride through the Avenue of the Giants on a motorcycle is something I think everybody should see once -- either as rider or passenger. My time there was a little disappointing, though. Self doubt, the pain of knee surgery and the knowlege of how much a fiscal drain bikes are kept my dad from taking a real interest as I'd hoped he would. He was impressed with the 'wing, no doubt... but he didn't want to ride it. He wasn't comfortable with the idea on a whole bunch of levels, from insurance worries (I don't want to mess up your new bike, son) to health worries (will my knee let me keep the bike balanced at a stoplight?). I didn't pressure him, though I had high hopes he'd leap right on the thing the moment my back was turned.
Later visits of my parents down to my house had the same kind of results. I knew he'd love motorcycling again if he just got back on the bike... but he wasn't going to and I wasn't going to force him. The most I could do was convince both my mother and him to take rides on the back around my sister's neighborhood, with me driving. They enjoyed it, sure... but things didn't really click. I really really wanted to ride with my dad someday -- him on his bike, me on mine, together down the open road. It looked like it'd never happen, though. For the most part I think I did a good job hiding my disappointment. I could understand his reasons.
Over the Christmas break my parents came down to visit us kids. For reasons I still am not sure of all the right factors fell into place. It was a beautiful day. My father had free time to kill. His knee had healed up well. The fear of not being insurance covered somehow disappeared. All it took was a simple question: "So, why don't you ride the 'wing and I'll follow on the beemer, dad?" He said yes. I was stunned. The ride was short -- just down into Los Gatos and back. It was cut short by freshly arriving rain. Still, it was a milestone for me. I'd gone riding with my dad. You couldn't have ruined my mood for anything that day.
Two months later, only a few weeks ago now, they came back to see my little sister off to war. She was being shipped out with the Air Force National Guard to an undisclosed overseas site. As part of their visit my dad wanted to talk motorcycles, as I'd expressed the need to sell my GoldWing off in order to finance a replacement for my dying van. He didn't want to buy my 'wing, though: it was too tall for him, leg-swing-over-seat-wise. The idea was for me to trade in my 'wing on a cheaper, but just as powerful, motorcycle: the VTX-1800. He would then assume the payments from me, thusly acquiring a new motorcycle of his choice while helping me eliminate a payment from my monthly balance sheets. It sounded kind of weird the way he presented it, but I didn't care. My dad wanted a bike. He'd re-caught the bug. The grin this gave me lasted the whole week until his arrival.
In the end the 'creative financing' didn't work out. I couldn't trade in, he couldn't assume payments. Insurance nightmares, interstate tax issues (Oregon has no sales tax, while California wants 8%, your firstborn child, or both) and the like just made it not work. After a day of finagling and failing... he was just let down and I was out of answers. I told him to not worry; I'd find another way to afford my van-replacement. In fact, to drive this point home -- I went out the very next day and got the dang thing. It's a little fiscal miracle called a 'lease'. This solved my problems, let me keep both bikes for a while longer, and got the need for him to help me unload a bike off his chest. Together we tag-teamed his local dealer over the phone and finagled a wonderful price on the bike he wanted. After some time to convince Mom, it was done. He drove back to Oregon all smiles and sealed the deal on his new Candy Red VTX1800-C the very next day.
Today I got email from my dad. Included were two pictures, showing his new scoot being 'born' -- uncrated after delivery.
He takes delivery tomorrow at noon... about 8 hours from now. If I could have gotten Monday off, I'd be driving up there right now instead of typing this so I could be there with him. He's excited. I'm excited. :)
He'll be taking the MSF refresher class so he can avoid the curse of the Born Again Biker Syndrome -- the most common cause of motorcycle crashes for those above 45. I'll explain that one in another post. I made sure he's getting the proper gear to ride safe. My mom's a bit grumpy at the money spent but I think she likes seeing the 'kid on christmas morning' effect it's having on the dad-creature. She'll probably even end up riding on the back after not too long.
Dad, here's to you. I'm forever greatful you kindled the motorcycling spirit in me, and it makes me smile to see it's still alive in you. Here's to thousands of happy miles, and to keeping the rubber side down and the shiny side up. I'll be honored to ride behind you, following in your tire-tracks like I've followed in your footsteps. And just in case I haven't said it enough, I love you Dad.
(and I love you too, Mom... especially the part about you not killing him when he told you he wanted to buy a bike again!)
