Mother

Mother.
How did my mother influence my motorcycle riding?
What didn’t she influence in my life would be a shorter subject.

We all try to impress our mothers, don’t we boys? Well, my mother was not impressed, at least by me. In high school I borrowed a piston and connecting rod that fit a 283 Chevy V8 to impress my mom. I was driving a Toyota Corona, one of the first to be imported to the United States in 1966. My dad had died recently and I was trying to keep the little Toyota running. Mom would ask me why do I work on that car so much? So I borrowed this piston and connecting rod from a friend at school and when I got home I came into the house brandishing the parts and I said:

“Hey Mom, I found what was wrong with the Toyota!”

She flipped. “Go put that thing back in, right now!” She said.

I laughed for at least a week, I still get a kick out of it when I recall how I tricked my mom into believing I could even take such a thing out of the car.

So here is was in Europe, owner of a broken motorcycle, and in dire need of parts for my bike. Call Mom? I don’t think so.

I went through several motorcycle magazines and found ads for used parts. My buddy Steven helped a little, but he was a far cry from being a qualified motorcycle mechanic. We all worked on airplanes, but to know what you are doing when it comes to putting together a motorcycle takes a certain amount of familiarity and flair.

Cheers to all who do.

A mutual friend, one of the welders on the base, was not only from California, as I am, but he was a great motorcycle mechanic. Calvin was his name and he was the spark that got me started. Calvin showed me what to look for while rebuilding the bike. He helped me contact the motorcycle bone yard somewhere in Southern California and order the hard parts I needed to get the old 450 back together. I also ordered the gasket set and the new pistons and rings I would need.

Calvin was a welder and his solution for my exhaust was to have my mom go down to the nearest auto parts store and get me a pair of glass packs and he would weld them onto my original pipes.

Whoa there Calvin, did you say my Mother?

I just spent one month in my ‘61 Volkswagen riding all over Europe with her. We had a great time together even though I could not impress her. Now you want me to call her and ask her to get motorcycle parts?

OK I will do it. I got on the phone and I called her, I figured the truth was better than telling her it was for my VW. “The guy at the parts store would tell her they would not fit a 1961 Volkswagen and why didn’t I just get a new muffler, after all I was in Germany, isn’t that where they make the damn stuff,” I mulled it over in my head.

“Mom, can you go down to the nearest auto parts store and get me two glass packs and send them to me in Germany?” “Please”

“What do you want?” She asked.

“Just go to Grand Auto and tell them you want…

…they are for my motorcycle.”

I braced, then she caught on and I will never be the same again.

20 minutes of trans-Atlantic and trans-continental conversation about how I should not be on a motorcycle. I told her I was 21 and I am old enough to make those decisions myself. I think I gained a few years during that conversation. The upshot of the conversation was that she would do it. Hurdle passed.

You ever shoot ducks? You have to shoot in front of where you think the duck will be when your shot arrives. Or you don’t eat. It is called leading the bird.

I was leading the bird by ordering everything I needed all at once, then as parts arrive I could get to work on putting my future together.

Meanwhile, Calvin had shipped his brand new Honda CR250M to himself from California and his parts had just arrived. We were going to weld the frame back together and go riding. It looks like I am going to learn to ride Motocross before I even get my bike back together.

Yee-Ha!