Glory Days.

I was about ten years old when I got my first motorized bike. It was 5hp pipe framed minibike with a reverse throttle and no brakes. Well… it had brakes. They just didn’t really work all that well. From day one I loved everything about it, the sound, the smell of the exhaust, the bouncing over seemingly any obstacle and all of the dust that was to be kicked up ripping across vacant lots and wooded trails. Being outdoors and smelling the springtime blossoms, the stagnation of summer and trapped waters and the rotting foliage of damp fall Iowa days made a cornucopia of riding experiences for a young wide eyed boy. We even rode in the winter and raced on frozen ponds because we were told not to, because it was dangerous.
I saw a picture on Facebook this morning of two of my old riding buddies. In a flash my memories went back to our days riding along the Cedar River in an area known as the old Shireys Sandpits. Shireys was an amazing place. It had virtually every motorcycle dream ecosystem known to man. There was a long sandbar along the river for beach riding, muddy backwater bogs, creeks to forge, hills to climb and expansive woods where we carved out tracks by racing the same route over and over. There was an abandoned gravel loop that used to serve some productive purpose when the facility was a viable concern. Now that loop served as our flat-track where we would race ala NASCAR riding fast and turning left.
Those riding buddies, Pat and Butch were heroes in my prepubescent eyes. Pat rode a real motorcycle while I was still riding mini-bikes. He had an old Suzuki Street 125 that I seem to recall ran about as much as it didn’t but it was cool all the same. Butch road a bonafide motocross bike with a glistening silver tank, a Hodaka Combat Wombat. There was also a guy named Wade who rode with us. He wasn’t regular and I always kind of thought Wade might end up in prison. I kept my distance. Pat’s family had a home down by the river and we would occasionally camp out in his side yard and it felt like it could have been in the wilds of Wyoming.
There were others who would ride in and out of our group. All were welcome. We were, in fact, a band of brothers. We were just a few kids who spent about as much time sitting on our bikes talking about the things kids talk about as we did personifying our racing heroes and racing about. I’m guessing that lasted all of maybe one summer or two. Eventually Butch would go really race in AMA sanctioned events and I started working for my dad on weekends and summer breaks when I turned 12. It’s too bad those days couldn’t last forever. There’s a lot of shit going on in the world these days. That picture reminded me of a simpler time. Funny. One thing hasn’t changed. I bet we had no idea how rich in life we really were in those days. I’d guess, maybe, we don’t these days either. Carpe diem.