In the foothills of Cullman Al, my grandpa Cal was a bit of a machine lover. He raced speedboats in the 1920's, liked planes (my first trip to an airport was with him), but my grandmother on my fathers side told me that he would ride motorcycles @ the fair. The description led me to believe it was one of the wooden bowls of death, or whatever they were at the time. He was known as a bit of a dare devil from what I could grasp at the young age. There was a Triumph in the garage ( as best my mom and I remember), and by the time I came around I was told he was to old to ride , or through riding, whatever the case he spent his time taking apart the bike and rebuilding it. I do have a photo of him with his beemer, and it could have been the same bike, I have yet to track that down. Well before he fell ill ( it would last thirteen years before it finally caused his demise) he gave me a motorcycle racing magazine that had photos of one, two, three, and four, man rigs, racing. That was the coolest thing ever, and to this day may still be( the magazine turned to dust I looked at it so much). Well my mother was not to have any of it and that was final. So at age six I used a box and some tinker toys and made a bike, leaned and such and when my mother saw it, laughed and said that was as closest I was ever going to get to one. Sorry ma Cal planted the seed...
Freshman year @ the University of Missouri-Columbia, the gang of Tony, Paul, Steve and myself, were young bucks chasing skirts and doing what young boys do. We went to Rose Bud Missouri to get parts for a slightly damaged 82 Seca that Tony had ( he had a working 83 also). I learned a great deal of crash course fluid replacement and fork rebuilding. So we now had four working vehicles that we could trade out for dates and other transport needs...
Easter weekend I went to Tonys familys dairy farm in Herman MO, and spent a day riding on gravel roads and fields on a small kawasaki 100. I learned to slide, brake, and fall over when turkeys would dive bomb like fighters out of the tree line (Season would open on monday morning, I think they knew, as they seemed to get the fun in now and evaporate into the mist on monday, never to be seen). It was the amazing amount of cool freedom I wanted, and a perfect place to learn. I was on one of the Secas by the end of the week and yes I felt very hip. Thanks Cal and Tony, and thanks for letting me remember all this and write some of it down to share.
I did have another uncle who, before he died last year, told me that Cal had an Harley that everybody wanted, and when he had the money and went to Cal to buy it, he had already traded for an Indian. But Cal apparently was always the one with a motorcycle in that town. I hope I can live the legacy I was given.
