There is some great stories here:
Here's another one from a while back.
I started out with riding a friends mini bike, I think it was a Rupp or a Montgomery Wards or something like that. I also had a friend who had a Honda 50 which I loved riding. I think it was the Honda that gave me that first sense of freedom and with the wind blowing in my hair (25 mph felt like I was going a 100) back then, it was a real adrenaline rush to a kid for sure. I was 12 or 13 then and after going home would dream about motorcycles. I really loved them and wanted one so bad.
I had one incident in which my father was not pleased with me at all. I was hanging out with my friends at the schoolgrounds one weekend, just messing around, typically up to no good and one of our friends showed up with his new bike that his Dad had got him. He wasn't supposed to have it out at all without his Dad, but had snuck it out and drove by to show it off to us. We were all out on the baseball field and after begging and begging to ride it and sharing with him my vast (ha ha) experience, he reluctantly let me climb aboard it. It was a new bike, so shiny and cool looking. I think it was a Yamaha in the 80-125cc range, I don't really remember, it was a long long long time ago.
Anyway, after driving it around the field for a minute or two, someone suggested I jump it off the pitchers mound. Great Idea! (I thought)....so.... I drove it out a bit in the field, hit the throttle and headed for the mound. I went flying off the mound probably doing all of about 20-25 mph and suddenly realized that I was headed straight for the backboard. I remember this sinking feeling knowing I was going to crash into it, so laid it down and fell off the bike. The bike continued on, crashing into the backboard and bouncing off (I can still see the whole thing in my head, even though it was almost 50 years ago). Although I tried to convince the guy that his bike was ok, it wasn't. The shifter had punched a hole in the case, oil was leaking everywhere, the handlebars were bent sideways and the mirror was sheared off. He pushed it home, oil leaking all the way with parts dangleing and hanging off the bike. I knew I was going to be in a world of s**t when Dad found out. Well sure enough, my friend and his Dad showed up at the house a couple of hours later. I hadn't said a word to my Dad hoping the whole thing would just go away...and I wouldn't get in any trouble. It took a few months of my hard earned paper route money to pay for it and my friends Dad wouldn't let him hang around with me anymore..ha ha, wonder why?
By the time I was 14, my dream bike was a Triumph 650 Bonneville. I had a poster of one in my room and stared at it daily and dreamed of having one someday. I was still delivering the morning paper and noticed a guy who lived 3 doors down the street from us who had one in his garage. I stopped one day and asked him about it. He was in the military and was getting shipped out and wanted to sell it!!!!!!! WOW!!!!! It wasn't a 650, but was a vintage 57 hardtail 500 in cherry condition. Hey..good enough, right? I asked him how much he wanted for it, figuring I might be able to get it since I was going to get my license in another year and a half. He was selling the bike, two helmets, leather jackets and two toolboxes of tools and was asking 85 bucks for the whole works, believe it or not! I went home as fast as I could thinking about how I might obtain this deal of a lifetime bike. I guess I could live with a 500, if I had too, ha ha. I remember going home, being a real good boy and cutting the yard without being asked or pleaded with. Then, casually mentioning to Dad this bike I had found and what a good deal it was and that I should get it before it's gone,...bla bla bla...and that I would soon have my license, bla bla bla...that I could park it in the garage and not ride it till then...bla bla bla...hoping within, that good ol Dad would see my wisdom in getting it now before its too late.
Dad said No and that was it. No amount of begging, pleading, crying or falling on the floor kicking my feet and pitching a fit would help either. I suppose there was wisdom in his saying no, but I didn't forgive him for a long time for that one. Yeah, I know, I probably would have killed myself on it for sure.
** I got even with Dad later when I stole 2 Zildjian Cymbals and a Samuri Sword that he had brought back from WW2 from him and traded them for 2 hours of riding time on a friends 125.
I still dream of riding motorcycles...