My first ride was the awkward Honda CT 90 step-through automatic. I was twelve and rode around on the irrigation canal roads of the lovely agricultural areas of central Oregon. My riding partner for awhile was a small Toy Fox Terrier named Pete, belonging to the neighbor. His seat was a milk crate bungeed to the rear rack that was standard equipment of the CT 90's. Shortly after the start of my second summer riding season, I became a lone rider when I went cruising down the canal road for the first time that year at the top speed of 45 mph. When I suddenly realised that one of the barbed wire gates was still closed. I clamped on the brakes and slid in the mud aiming myself at the heavy fence post where the gate was anchored, so as not to slice myself into four equal pieces. I slammed into the post with great force, and as the rear end of the bike rose a couple of feet into the air on impact, poor little Pete rose about 20 feet and landed perfectly in the middle of the canal about 20 feet ahead. For some reason he never quite forgave me for proving to him that he really could fly and perform a perfect four point amphibian landing. I learned a lot on that little death trap. My next ride was a brand new 1976 Honda CB750 SS. And I proved to myself that when striking 1964 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supremes , I too could fly and perform perfect four point dry landings on solid pavement. Through the last twenty eight years I have experienced flying via other more conventual methods.
[EMAIL PROTECTED] (Dave)
