Was also the first time I crashed a harley.
Here's some more of those old scans.
Ben's grandfather had this old flathead 45. He said the frame and motor were left overs from WWII and that he had put road trim from the time on it instead of the war gear.
Ben told him that I had ridden dirt bikes a bit. Gramps decided I should give it a go. I'm pretty sure something was lost in translation....
Foot clutch, short legs, and a bike that weighed over twice as much as any of the dirt bikes I had ridden. How could I say no?
It's fun to have photos of your self trying to look tough when your scared as shit. Slowly eased the clutch pedal back, the torque was too much, I took off, almost hit a wooden table and laid it down. In my state of panic I tried to pick the old flatty up on my own, and just my luck, the only french words I was good at remembering ("I'm Sorry") decided to hide in the depths of my skull, when I really needed to remember them.
I turned around to see Ben's grandpa walking over laughing at me... and to my relief the bike was fine, so his laughter got louder. Sweet Sweet laughter!
The bike had two hand breaks to offset the difficulty of a foot clutch while stopped on hills.
The pro and Paix showing me how it's done. Hopefully one day, I'll find my self back on that little french farm.
No comments:
Post a Comment