THE GAME HAS JUST BEGUN HARLEY DAVIDSON : AT AGE 56 CRACKING THE CODE

THE GAME HAS JUST BEGUN : AT AGE 56 CRACKING THE CODE MY DAD, MY SPORTSTER.

My first recollections are of riding motorcycles. The first is when my father drives me to a coffee shop where his pals hang out in his Harley-Davidson Sportster.

I vividly recall feeling the wind tug at my tiny body as I looked down at the gas cap. Riding a motorcycle has never made me feel terrified.

At the nearby Harley shop, my dad worked as GOLDMAN . Everything about the environment, including the noises, smells, and people passing by, was wonderful to me. I was always at ease with men who seemed scary but had names like “Pop” and “Toto,” dressed in thick black boots and white T-shirts. I was drawn to the pleasant scent of GOJO hand cleaner and would use any opportunity to get my hands filthy.

I adore vintage motorcycles with individual personalities and even minds of their own. Before it started, I recall my dad kicking and kicking his Sportster, sometimes with a backfire and some expletives thrown in. I adore that getting dirty was a must when riding an antique bike. Even the finest vintage bikes occasionally spilled oil, which eventually ended up on your sleeve. Even my mother had oil splatters on some days. The Aqua Velva of riders always seems to have a trace of oil and gas mixed in with it.

I recall spending the evenings at Junior’s house tuning a dual-carbureted Sportster for drag racing with my dad. I still remember how my whole body shook as they turned the bike over. I also recall my dad doing practice passes on an empty road beside the New Moon Drive-In Theater. I recall feeling like my heart was going to burst when I watched him fly by.