While in service I took a trip from Elizabeth City, North Carolina to Norfolk, Virginia. My buddy and I were riding on an Indian that had a suicide clutch. We were a bit confused as to who was steering and as we rounded a curve we hit a patch of sand and slid onto the grassy lawn of two old spinsters. They thought we were dead. Not dead but highly embarrassed. We were wearing our white uniforms and what was not damaged by the sand was covered in grass stain. We turned around and went back to base. This time he steered.
Many years later I tried riding my sons Honda 90 and made the mistake of placing my feet in front of the foot pegs. As I started out my feet were dragged under the pegs. Lucky for me it was soft ground. That was my last attempt. My son eventually graduated to a big bore BMW that he got at the factory and he sold it in Seattle for more than he paid for it. He went on to get a Yamaha 750 which he had painted in pearl white. During that time he also had a motocross bike and a trials bike. Me, I like four wheels, and if my knees get any worse, those four wheels will be on a wheel chair.
