Oklahoma Biker - The Riders Ragazine Mar - Apr 2018 | Page 5

Talkin’ trash
Time. I recently turned 58 years old. It
seems like yesterday my dad brought
home my first minibike. It was a
chopper with a 3.5 horsepower Briggs
and Stratton motor. The year was 1972
and my brother and I fist fought daily to
determine who got to ride that minibike
first. I still carry scars from that bike.
That little minibike started a passion
burning within me that flourishes until
this day. Forty-six years have come and
gone since dad brought that minibike
home in the trunk of his car. I have had
other bikes since then, and because of
those motorsickles I have other brothers
(and sisters) in my life today. I don’t
know “why” the love of motorcycles
causes such close and enduring
friendships -- but I am glad they do.
As I write this I am reminiscent of
those brothers and sisters who lost
their lives doing what they love…riding
motorsickles. Sometimes while riding
across the Osage County prairie I hear
distant thunder and I imagine they are
still riding with me across the sky. Soon
we will put away our leathers and enjoy
the smell of honeysuckle in the spring.
Time goes on by….
oklahoma biker the riders ragazine
I recall a time in a not so distant past
when bikers stopped to help ANYTIME
they seen a motorsickle parked
alongside the road. That rider may have
been a stranger, but they weren’t after
that chance encounter. The motorsickle
provided a common thread. We had
something to talk about, and that
commonality provided a lasting bond.
Yes, they say all things change with
time. Today when a rider is stopped
beside the road, more often than not,
they are using their cell phones. If they
are having trouble they are calling
roadside assistance for a tow to the
nearest big-name dealership. They
waive you on if you stop and often act
offended that you have interrupted their
telephone conversation.
Time changes things. Today I spend my
time with Cheryl and our grandchildren.
I don’t get see or talk to my kids near
enough. I get to spend time with my
momma and my biological brother.
Life is good, but I do have regrets. I sit
here and wonder where the years have
gone…and where all my “motorcycle
family” members are tonight. Those
of you reading this know you are not
forgotten and that you are loved. I am
grateful for you and your friendship, and
you are always in my prayers.
Ride safe and watch out for the cages.
The Janitor
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