I am already late in getting the fruit trees pruned because of the weather and haven't even put on the dormant spray yet. It was cold on Sunday and I didn't feel like pruning trees again. My friend John showed up around noon. John is a motorcycle buff and it suddenly occurred to me to ask him to help me get my old motorcycle running again. I needed a picker upper to get relief from the gloom of the weather.

John is a meticulous and neat person and as we went into the barn to resurrect my 1965 BMW R69S, I noticed the scowl on his face as he witnessed the 2 years of dust and dirt covering the machine. The problem I was having was that the right carburetor kept overflowing with gas. John quickly noticed that the float bowl was full of gas and obviously had a leak somewhere. He soldered the seams of the bowl and replaced the float. Now it was time to try to start it.

Being an old motorcyle, I have to kickstart the bike to get it going. I kicked for about 15 minutes until I was blue in the face. Finally, John suggested pulling the motorcycle with a rope tied to his truck. And that is what we did. As he pulled me on the bike I would put the bike in high gear with the clutch in and after getting up speed I would pop the clutch to get the engine to turn over. After a half mile of nerve wracking pulling, the bike finally fired and I was able to get it going. What a relief. However, don't try this at home.

John suggested that I keep the bike running for awhile to blow the cobs out and get it running smoothly again. So I took it around the section a couple of times. The bike ran like a charm and the thrill of motorcyle riding came back to me again after a hiatus of two years.

Being the insame person that I am, I have never worn a motorcyle helmet. So off I go with the wind in my face and what hair I had left was blowing straight back and up. John said he could hear me a mile away as I barreled down the road faster than what I should be going. John, his wife and my friend Judy were there to greet me as I returned from my first journey in two years. As I dismounted my machine and swaggered towards the house feeling like Marlon Brando in "The Wild One", Judy greeted my return with, "You look like Bozo with your hair all blown back". "That did it", I told her. "I am going to get all of my hair shaved off again so I don't have to put up with any more of your snide remarks about my hair." So when the weather gets warm, everyone will be seeing me again with a clean shaven pate.

It seems that motorcycles bring out the crazy in their owners. I know it is safer to ride with a helmet and I know I shouldn't be driving over the speed limit. But that is what motorcycling is all about. The thrill of being free and on the road with no restrictions or inhibitions. Yet I am not encouraging other motorcyclists to embrace my craziness. One thing I will absolutely never do and that is to take even one drink of alcohol when driving a motorcycle. It is hard even to control it while you are sober. To try when you are under the influence of alcohol is absolute lunacy.

1965 BMW R69S

My friends Jim Weistart and Jim Pierce had motorcycles years ago when we were living in Chicago. One cold weekend, both of them decided to drive their motorcyles home to Minonk. Having no warm caps to wear, they cut off the bottoms of Jim Pierce's bellbottom navy trousers and cut eye holes in them and put them over their face for masks to keep them warm. They then went to a gas station in the south side of Chicago to get gas. The attendant was afraid to come out and give them gas because he thought they were there to rob the place.

During the winter, Jim Pierce would put his motorcyle in the living room of his apartment with an oil pan underneath it to catch the oil leaks.

I should mention that both of the above gentlemen are computer programmers. So as you can see, motorcyle lunacy knows no bounds in terms of intellect.

Fifty years ago the three main motorcycles on the road were Harley Davidson, Indian, and BMW. This was before the Japanese started making motorcyles. Back in the 1920's there was a rural mail carrier in Minonk by the name of Livingston who carried the mail in a side car attached to his Harley. I can remember when Mike Golawis, the Minonk Chief of Police, would ride around in a state police Harley. The only Indian motorcycle I can remember is the red one that Gary Hovey had back in the 1950's.

Years ago I could ride forever without getting tired. I once took a trip from Massachussetts to Colorado and back with a stop over in Illinois to visit my parents. On the way back I drove 400 miles in a cold rain from western Pennsylvania to Worcester, Mass. When I got back I stood for an hour in a hot shower to try to stop shaking.

Now I can only ride about 30 miles before my hips start to kill me with pain. So my motorcycle trips are now short and sweet. But I still love the freedom of the open road with a motorcycle.

After driving a motorcyle for 35 years, you tend to become complacent sometimes about your safety. Don't! Four years ago I was following a car at a safe interval at about 25 mph in Tuscola. All of a sudden the car slammed on its brakes to make a quick turn into a gas station. I couldn't slow down fast enough to keep from hitting his rear bumper. Even at a slow speed, the small impact put my bike out of control. I fought the machine for what seemed like an eternity to get it upright and stopped again. I missed a light pole by 2 inches and ended underneath the bike in somebody's front yard. I came close to death's door on that one.

My advice to all motorcyclists out there who are itching to get on the road again. Be careful. You never know when something can happen. And you will never win a battle with a car. Also, I normally do drive the speed limit. You don't have to drive fast to enjoy motorcycling. Do not let the macho effect of a motorcycle carry you away into an irrational feeling of power and invincibility. Cruising slowly on a lonely country road enjoying the sights and smells of the countryside is far more enjoyable than speeding down an interstate highway.