
| Quote, originally posted by Kilometer Magazine » |
| Back in the spring of 1982, I got a crash course in motorcycle riding. Literally. Riding through the rocky backyard/pasture at my friend’s house in rural Maryland on his 80-cc Yamaha dirt bike, I caught the slippery side of a boulder jutting up out of the soil and tabletopped the bike, landing with it on my left leg. The handlebars came through the faceshield, leaving a small mark between my tender twelve-year-old eyes. As bad as it sounds, I actually got up and walked away; the bike faired slightly worse than I did, but was still functional, though my buddy’s helmet was pretty well trashed. That was the first time I ever rode a motorcycle, but certainly not the last... |
READ THE FULL STORY ON KILOMETER MAGAZINE