Back when I was a “young un”, I lived near Mack McLean, the absolute recognized KING of Harley. I used to hang out in his shop almost daily. He got to know me and showed me how he was repairing and restoring Harleys.
After a few weeks, I think he tired of my constant questions and interference with his work. He took me out to his back “yard” and absolutely gave me a 1936 Harley. Now, I’m not much of a Harley guy but I was glad to accept. I still recall that it had a “grapefruit can” for a muffler. It was f’ing loud and I fell in love as soon as HE booted it over. I was off- in a blaze of self admiration. I wanted to go show my pop my new acquisition. Within a block of my house, I slid out on gravel (all roads back then were gravel) and got trapped under the bike. Hell, it weighed 3 times what I did - back then. It took 3 cars stopping to help before I got under the damned thing. Then I couldn’t kick it over and the passer-byes helped me get it running. Unfortunately, before I got to my house with my prize, a father’s friend had called and ratted me out. Pop confiscated the bike. I only saw it once more about a half hour later when pop came riding back on the bike, all scratched up with road burn from a crash he had had. I never rode it again. Awwwww crap!
EDIT: After the Harley extravaganza, I acguired a 1948 Cushman scooter. Not very luxiourious but it was a freedom machine. I used to make some sandwhiches and ride, with fishing pole, up the Snake River of Idaho to the Oregon border. Camp out on the beach and catch my dinner. When in town, the cops tried to catch me because I was only 10. They coudn’t. I knew every alley and every shorcut through yards that any boy could know. Loved that Cushman! Just nostalgia!
Great story!! What does this have to do with anything? Who cares!
EDITED: Not much other than a good bottle of scotch that I happen to be enjoying at the moment.
You should have put that at the end of the story, it would have made it way better. 
other topics that nobody wants to know about:
Fishing for sturgeon on the “48” Cushman
My first Indian, a Chief, and it was too fast for me
A Suzuke X6 Hustler street (I got used to fast)
Hill climbing and easy to die.
More but . . . . . .
Later I turned to airplanes . . . . still love the thrill of falling out of the sky. Skydiving? Oh ya
Who likes to jump out of a perfectly operating airpalne? I will in a moment! It is a true tragedy that Taiwan will dissallow private air traffic but allow young idiots on scooters
Thanks Enigma,
Enjoyed your tale. It’s amazing how a good bottle can dig up faded Kodachrome from the dusty recesses.
That’s a great memory well told. Thanks Enigma.
ah, don’t blow his trumpet for him. A 1936 Harley wasn’t so old back in 1942.
Zzzzzzzing! Nice one!
:roflmao:
P.S. Great story, Enigma. That is a beautiful part of the country, although it can be a bit scary-thick with right-wingers these days.
Thanks for any encouragement. Probably not a real good thing but the scotch is gone and I still have 4 more hours of shit to teach. But, I will add the tale of the sturgeon trip on the Cushman. (fast forward if you like)
Did the Snake River run on a Friday eve after school. Got to “Big Eddy” on the Snake River. Caught some nice trout for my dinner with a baked spud. I had heard that there were sturgeon in the eddy so I had bought a couple of eels for bait. I racked out in my bag on the beach and tied the fishing line, 40# test, to the cushman and then off to a tree. I put some light test leader line from the clothesline sturgeon line and attached it to my wrist so I would wake up if I had a bite. Well, I had one. About 3 am, I got the tug on my wrist and it nearly yanked me out of the bag before the leader line broke. Then the clothline main line tightened and my beloved Cushman was being draged to the water. It stopped when the line with the tree became taught. The Cushman was being tossed about on the beach as the sturgeon was fighting the line. Then, the line between the tree and the Cushman broke. This clothesline rope was about 1/4 diameter and the damed thing got snapped like a twig. Now it was just my Cushman and the fish. I grabbed my knife and ran to the river to cut the line. The Cushman got a wet front wheel but survived.
As a footnote, those that don’t know about Snake River Sturgeon should go online. They were seriously large fish that are now about gone. I was fortunate to have this one encounter and now am glad that I didn’t land it. Ok student time - sigh
EDIT: For an online look at what these freshwater fish looked like tak a look: esd.ornl.gov/~zij/sturgeon_p … index.html
Hey Enigma, speaking of fish and Oregon and old stories, I recall seeing Ken Kesey a few times when I took a break from my studies at U of O to go watch a wrestling meet. As you probably know, his son wrestled there and was killed on the way to a meet when the van the team was traveling in got in a wreck. Very sad. Anyway, I believe that was very tragic for Ken and brought him closer to the team, with him getting comfort from being close to the guys and the sport that had been such a big part of his son’s life. He would sit with the team and was clearly accepted as one of them. Looked like a nice guy.
Sorry but I don’t recall the news story but it was certainly a tragedy. It’s nice to tell tales and have fun but we all should remember that there are people out there who have sufferred great losses and - unfortunately- will continue to do so.
For me, my prayers are with the miners who struggle and keep a great face, in the world’s eye. These are true heros
I was expecting you to start up the scooter and use it to fight the fish in an epic, multi-day battle, and finally motor home with just the skeleton lashed to the side, wild dogs having taken the rest en route.
Still a good story, though.