First and Last Ride

I spent the first nine years of my life in Haslett, MI.  A small whistle stop of a town located about five or ten minutes from East Lansing.  I spent the majority of those years at 1368 Hickory St.  Which was just about the best place I can think of to grow up. 

Located on it’s own little dirt road, the property was about an acre square, with a large house, a large garage, an old concrete pool, and of course, Lake Lansing at the backyard.

As much as I love that home, and could ramble on and on about it; this is to be an Amusing Motorcycle Story.

I went to kindergarten about two miles away in town, at Haslett Community Church.  I don’t remember overly much about the place, except the kindergarten was in the basement, we had toys, there is a picture of me getting a blue Matchbox jet fighter from Santa there, and the tricycles.

There were only two of those.  All to be shared with what seemed at the time to be hundreds of kids.  Seriously, there were only 15 of us I’m sure.  But there was a large supply and demand issue with the tricycles nonetheless.

Every day at recess, the tricycles were the first to be taken.  Everyone else had to play with trucks, or in the sandbox, or jump rope.  You know, lame stuff.  The cool kids had the tricycles.

One day, I got out there first, and got a tricycle.  I felt like I was king.  I rode it around, my ego incredibly swollen.  Until I had to pee.  And I mean I really had to pee.

Recess was only half over, and there was no way I was giving up that tricycle.  So without another thought, I let it loose.  It felt predictable I’m sure.  Warm, wet, then cold and wet.  I didn’t let any of that slow me down though, I kept on pedaling that hog all over the place.

After recess I got in trouble, of course.  But I felt justified, and had no remorse.  Until my dad came to pick me up. 

It was a bad scene for me, for several reasons.  My dad had taken off work early to pick me up, and he was on his motorcycle.  A 1975 Honda CB550F.  A sweet metallic green ride.  That was to be my first time on a motorcycle on the road.

My dad wasn’t pleased with me, and my explanation about the tricycle situation did not hold water with him.  But he saddled me up anyways, wet pants and all, and we rode home. 

When we got home, I got in trouble.  And at recess I didn’t fight for the tricycles anymore.  The shine was off that apple for me. 

The motorcycle ride was awesome though, even though I was wet and embarrassed.  It was my first, and the last ride he ever gave me on his road bike. 

Cheers.