I don't want a Pickel

finding true love

      I Don’t Want a Pickle

What is it about a motorcycle that makes a person nuts?  I was minding my own business after leaving the navy and starting college when my brother threw me a curve.  He had a motorcycle, a 250 cc Yamaha dirt bike to be exact. As I watched him riding around our parent’s house with little interest, I was in fact waiting to see whether I would take him to the hospital or would he need an ambulance.  But then the curve ball arrived - he asked me would I like to try the bike.  At first, I said no, but I finally gave in.

My world changed, as soon as I threw my leg over that bike.  Twisting the throttle, the power of the bike tickled my imagination. The path in front of the bike became a new and exciting just because I was sitting on the bike.  Before the bike even moved, I knew deep in my heart, I was hooked.

That afternoon I rode around and around the house reluctantly taking turns with my brother.  When my father came home he told us to stop tearing up his yard and find another place to destroy.  As my brother did not have the bike registered for street use our adventure was stopped for that day.

When I got home I could barely sit still, I had to have one of those things. I resolved to get a motorcycle - just a small one, mind you - but I knew I must have one.  It was easy to convince myself that this was a practical, even wise and thrifty thing to do.  The bike would be cheap to run (great gas mileage), easy to park (great for college) and I could maintain it myself.  Learning in psychology that man was a rational animal was redundant to me - I had just rationalized my “need” for a motorcycle without the slightest effort. Within a week, I had learned enough to get my motor cycle license and found a used bike to buy - a 350cc Honda.  I scrimped and took some of the money I had saved for school and brought that bike.  It was an old model and smaller than most people wanted so the price was within my grasp.  Within two weeks, I owned the devil’s own device and was turned loose on the driving world.

I was in heaven, well temporary heaven.  I felt like a bowlegged duck that could barely walk until  on that machine then I flew like an eagle.  I was such a kick to bank through curves and zip through traffic, park in a space that was just big enough for me to stand in. It was wonderful.

The rest of the summer and into the fall - right up till the snow came I rode and braved the increasing cold.  Nothing took the pleasure of riding out of me.  I loved everything about riding - even the suffering in the rain, the bugs and even the danger as most drivers of autos did not think that motorcycles were really vehicles that belonged on the road with them.

But then the winter came and my bubble burst.  The bike, my dear friend and addiction, had to go into hibernation.  The winter months stretched out in front of me like a prison sentence.  Looking back it was just as well, they would not let me bring my love to class with me and I actually studied for a while.  The bike was in my father’s garage I had to bum rides with friends or walk from my apartment to school to work back to my apartment. That was the “winter of my
discontent” but however long it took I knew spring would come again.

I had not counted on Honda doing something that would take away my last vestige of sanity.  They came out with a 750cc four cylinder model.  It was a light weight monster. It would be fast, smooth and so beautiful.  I knew I had to
have it.  Like the pearl of great value I knew it would take everything that I had to et it.  I did not care.   I started plotting before it even hit the market.  Many of my friends - and some not so friendly - wanted to know why this big Honda - why not a big Harley.  I could only say Love is Love - who can explain it?
       

I went to the dealership and ordered the “Four”.  I put down the minimum I could get away with and knew somehow I would come up with the rest.  In fact, I sold most of what I had of any value - including the 350, who I could not look in the headlight as the hippy I sold him to drove him away - and raised the exact amount I needed.

 

As the last bit of snow disappeared from the ground my ‘Four’ arrived and was ready for me.  I showed up at the

 

dealership and paid for it.  It did not matter to me that I had to push it to the gas pump as it came with no gas in it.  I

put my last few bucks in the burnt orange gas tank.

 I started the engine the first time and a throaty rumble caressed my ears and quickened my heart.  I could feel the

power of the machine teasing me as I twisted the throttle ever so gingerly. 

I hit first gear and eased the beast out to the end of the driveway on the busy street.

As I started out into traffic I noticed out of the corner of my eye a tractor-trailer truck bearing down on me. I whipped the throttle wide open - as I would have on the 350 in a similar situation.

At that moment all hell broke loose.  My new “Four” leapt forward front wheel in the air leaving me clinging on for dear life.  As the wheel came down the bike slid into a two wheel sideways drift just before it caught traction and moved
forward at a blinding speed. 

I glanced at the speedometer and was jolted by the fact I was doing over 70 miles an hour.  I quickly throttled back and

hit the brakes and came almost to a dead stop.  I pulled over and rejoiced in the fact I was still alive.

Then it hit me - that few seconds I just lived through were better than any ride at any amusement park and while

 exciting, I better get the beast I was riding under control or I might not be around very long. I got home very carefully

 and put the bike in the shed behind my apartment.  I had paid all I had to get the bike and had no money to insure and

 register it. That would have to wait for a few weeks while I saved up for that expense While that waiting was hard it

probably saved my life because I had to push the bike to a parking lot across the street to practice riding it until I could

 register it. I

n that time I learned a lot about my sweet monster.  I learned to be respectful of the power that resided within.  But

 every day of that time I heard Arlo Guthery’s song- the motorcycle song - in my mind.  “I don’t want a Pickle, I just want

 to ride my motor-sicle.” and so on and on and on….

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Ah, yes. If only you knew how I understand the disease. Afflicted since the age of ten, I am, and never regretful for it. I love this story, and felt your every emotion while reading. I feared you were going to crash that CB750 before you even got it home! A thoroughly enjoyable read.

[spoils]

Once it gets a hold on you - there is no escape. Even now manyyearslater I still lust after my bike. At 75 I still dream about it.

[Samuel Dickens]

I gave up my last bike a few months ago. Never was I without one from 1973 to 2021. They've been a big part of my life.

[spoils]

I do understand - Brinkmanship is another bike story

[Jargyn]

I have never once in my life considered riding a motorcycle yet somehow through this 15 paragraph tale you made me crave a vehicle i have never even touched. though I guess I'm supposed to not want to ride a motorcycle looking at the lesson here. Deathsicle is more like it.
nice job not dying btw glad youre alive