02-18-2021, 11:13 AM
I grew up in rural Idaho. My summers were filled riding dirt bikes with my brother and our neighborhood "gang" through the fields. Early one summer, when I was 13, we went to a family reunion at my uncle's house. He had a Kawasaki KZ650 with a Vetter fairing parked on the edge of his driveway. I sat in the grass with my plate of sliced ham, potato salad, and green Jello, and stared at that bike for probably 45 minutes. I daydreamed of what it must be like to ride fast down open roads.
The next day, I put on my Sunday clothes, walked a half mile down to our neighbor's dairy, and begged for a job mucking out calf stalls. I earned enough money by the end of the summer to buy my cousin's CB100, a gold one.
That "moment" was 40 years ago. I remember it like it was last week.
The next day, I put on my Sunday clothes, walked a half mile down to our neighbor's dairy, and begged for a job mucking out calf stalls. I earned enough money by the end of the summer to buy my cousin's CB100, a gold one.
That "moment" was 40 years ago. I remember it like it was last week.