Tag Archives: Harley Davidson

My First Motorcycle

2 Nov

A Slice of Life

 Bill Lites

 

When I was 12, I started delivering newspapers, on my bicycle, on an evening route near my home in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I was saving my money to buy a motorcycle. At the time my allowance of .50 cents a week hardly even covered the cost of my model airplane supplies. And, that paper route really didn’t bring in much of an income either.

 

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So I started thinking of other ways to make money. That was the summer I started mowing lawns in our neighborhood with the family push-mower. That helped a lot in the money department, but was really hard work.

 

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As my name got around, by work of mouth, that I was cutting lawns my business grew and I talked my parents into loaning me the money to buy a new power mower (Ref. Bill’s blogs “I Was A 12 Year Old Business Man“– Jan. 23 & 30, 2013). It took me a while to pay off that loan, but once that was done, the bank account began to grow rapidly.

 

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By the time I was fourteen, I had learned to drive, had my driver’s license, and I was scouring the newspaper “For Sale” ads for used motorcycles. I finally found a fairly nice Harley-Davidson 125cc that I could afford. Boy, did that motorcycle take a lot of the work out of my paper route! I could pick up my papers, deliver all the papers on my route and get home in half the time, and I wasn’t pooped out either.

 

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I gave up the paper route and most of my lawn business when a friend’s father helped me get a part-time job at the local Furr’s Super Market. By that time I had really lost most of what little interest I had in school (my main interest now was motorcycles), and was looking for something to occupy my time (and making money of course). The super market job was just what I was looking for. The work was hard, but the pay was great as I advanced from bag boy to checker, and my bank account kept growing.

 

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As it turned out, once the initial thrill of my “New-Used” motorcycle worn off, I discovered the machine really was a little long in the tooth, and I was anxious to see how I could get more performance out of it. Since I had learned how to rebuild my internal-combustion lawnmower engine, I started tearing down that motorcycle engine.

 

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I cleaned and polished the combustion chamber, re-surfaced the valves & seats, replaced the piston rings and spark plug, tightened the chain and polished all the aluminum cases. By the time I was finished, I had expended a lot of my hard-earned dollars for new parts and many hours of labor on that engine. And guess what? Of course it ran better, but it was still a behind the times 125cc size motorcycle and just didn’t give me the excitement I was looking for.

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By this time I had turned into a teenage motorcycle “Jock” and couldn’t look the part (Marlon Brando & James Dean) on that un-interesting looking Harley 125cc motorcycle. So, my next teenage adventure was to purchase a “New” bright RED 1954 Harley Davidson 165cc “Golden Edition” motorcycle with raised handlebars. That motorcycle fit right in with my new image, which included a traditional black leather motorcycle jacket (lots of pockets and zippers), motorcycle boots and a “Ducktail” hairdo.

 

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I enjoyed calling that 1954 Harley 165cc motorcycle my first, but the older ugly black 125cc machine was really my first motorcycle, and helped send me on my way to the big-time 1955 Harley Davidson (888 cc) flat-head KH Sportster that I really loved and drove for the next ten years.

—–The End—–

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Another Road Trip- El Paso

29 Aug

A Slice of Life

    Bill Lites

I was 17 and I was in love.  At least  I thought I was in love.  I had been going steady with Barbara for many months and we spent every minute we could  together.  We just knew we were a perfect match because our parents approved of our choices; we enjoyed each other’s company and liked the same things.  Then the worst thing we could imagine happened.  Her father’s job transferred him to El Paso, Texas and we were separated.  What were we going to do?  We had to think of something.  But what?

 

Barbara and I talked it over during many phone calls and then I got the bright idea.  With our parent’s approval, I’d ride my 1955 Harley Davidson motorcycle down there and see her.  I’d stay at their house and they would show me the sights.  It was only a 265-mile trip and I figured I could make that in about 4 or 5 hours.  So, why not, I asked my mother?  I’d been safely riding motorcycles since I was 14 and was still in one piece.  This was another one of those teenage trips that I somehow talked my parents into.

When all the details had been worked out, I headed South that Friday morning, on what was then US-85 by way of the southern New Mexico desert.  The trip took me thru the small towns of Los Lunas, Socorro, Truth or Concequences, Hatch, and Las Cruces.  After stopping for lunch and bathroom breaks, it took me longer than I had planned, but I finally made into the big city of El Paso, Texas.

It took me a while, but I finally found Barbara’s house and was welcomed  in by her whole family.  After dinner, Barbara and I took a walk around the neighborhood and she told me what she and parents had planned for the weekend.  Saturday they showed me the many sights of El Paso and then they took me across the border to Juarez, Mexico for a visit to the “Old Mexico” way of life and tourism.  That’s where they put Barbara and me in their “Old Jail” for our picture.

Sunday we all went to their church and then back to their home for a great lunch.  Then it was time for me to head for home.  After we said our good-bys, I reluctantly headed back North on US-85.  With all the excitement of the weekend and the big lunch, I began to get sleepy after a couple of hours.  The constant drumming of the motorcycle engine and whistling of the wind in my ears didn’t help matters.  I did everything I could think of to stay awake, talked to myself, sang to myself, stopped at rest areas to splash cold water on my face, all to no avail.

The next thing I knew, I woke up, on the wrong side of the road, headed for the ditch at 60 mph.  It’s a good thing it was Sunday and traffic was almost non-existent on that stretch of road or I might have ended up as road kill that day.  After I recovered, the incident had pumped enough adrenaline into me to keep me awake for the rest of the trip.  I had a hard time thanking God and my guardian angel enough for saving me from a really bad day.

Psalm 16:8

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A Boy, A Bike and Summer

15 Aug

 

 

A Slice of Life

Bill Lites

 

 

 

The summer between my junior and senior years of high school I was itching to get away from home and explore the freedom of the open road.  How I talked my parents into letting me go on this wild idea of a trip I’ll never know, but they finally agreed and all was set.  They were not about to help me with this plan, but that was okay with me as I had my own money and transportation.  I loaded everything I thought I might need for a one-month stay into one small suitcase, strapped it onto the back of my 1955 Harley Davidson motorcycle and off I went.

 

 

 

The place I had chosen for this trip was about 185 miles from my home and was known for its moneymaking oil industry.  The plan was to get a job as a roustabout on an oilrig, make lots of money, and come home after a month or two and show my folks that I could do it on my own.  Well, as you might expect, the plan didn’t work out exactly as I had envisioned it.

 

 

 

 

I made the trip in good time and found a place to stay.  The next day I went to the oil company employment office to ask for a job.  The guy at the desk almost laughed out loud when he took a look at this 6’0” 125 lb. kid who thought he was going to tough-it-out on the oil rigs with those experienced 200+ lb. oil rig brutes.  Besides that, they couldn’t hire anyone under 18 years old, and I would have to prove that I was that old.  So there I was only two days into my great adventure, with no job and no way to pay for my lodgings, but I wasn’t ready to go home with my tail between my legs, either.

 

I don’t remember all the places I looked for work, but I ended up packing fruit in a terribly hot and dusty fruit processing plant for minimum wage (what a let down).

I have no idea how it happened, but a local church family took pity on me and charged me very little for room and board to stay in one of their extra rooms. At some point, I met the pastor’s daughter and her friends so I spent a lot of my off hours running around with them. The legal drinking age was 21 at that time, so that also helped keep me out of trouble.  When the fruit picking/packing season ran out there were no more jobs to be had for a skinny teenager, so I packed up my few things, loaded my motorcycle in the empty 18 wheeler trailer that was going my way, and was delivered back to my home a little wiser and a lot more tired than when I left.

 

What did I learn from this adventure? I learned to listen to my parents’ advice before I ran off to try and do my own thing.

 

 

 

Ephesians 6:1

 

 

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Death Valley Run

23 May

A Slice of Life

Bill Lites

The first year we lived in Los Angeles my wife and I were  living on a tight budget and I was riding my 1955 Harley Davidson motorcycle most of the time.  I was going to college full-time and working part-time while my wife was working full-time as a hairstylist at a fancy salon. By the time I graduated, she had earned her PHT (Putting Hubby Thru) degree. I made some friends in the local motorcycle club, and one weekend they invited us to go on the annual Death Valley Run .   It was summer and hot in LA, so we figured it would be super hot on the desert.  Early that Saturday morning after borrowing a buddy seat, we rolled what few things we thought we would need in an old army blanket, and set off to meet our group at the starting place.

It was a spectacular sight. The line of motorcycles went on for miles.  I had never seen so many in my life. Over 1500 motorcycles of every possible description and 2500 people were all going to the same place on the same two-lane road.  We rode in groups stopping only at the checkpoints for lunch or gas.

We arrived at the Furnace Creek Ranch area (elevation 79’ below sea level) to find everything organized for us riders to have a BBQ meal and a night’s entertainment. Unfortunately, we had spent our money on gas and lunch and couldn’t afford the BBQ. Also, we hadn’t known to bring camping gear. We went into the camp store and bought a can of chicken ala king, asked the clerk to open it for us, and went off to eat it with a stick we found lying on the desert.

When we went back to the big campfire, we joined in the entertainment. They had a “Most Beautiful Leg Contest” (for men only), and my wife talked me into entering because she said I had good-looking legs.  Well, guess what?  The object of the contest really was who had the ugliest legs.  I didn’t win.

As the sun went down it started to cool off,  by 10:00 pm it was downright cold.  Most everyone slept in tents or on the ground but we only had  one blanket and no air mattress under us.  That was a rough night.  We tossed and turned trying to stay warm, all the while shifting from one position to another to find some softer rocks to lie on.

The next morning as we headed back toward L.A. the group was much smaller and spread out.  After an hour or so, our buddy seat was really bothering us, so I decided to change positions and let my wife drive for a while.  We were cruising along on this gently curving two-lane road trying to keep up with our small group.  Everything went well for about 20 minutes, until we topped a rise and the road curved sharply off to the left.  As we neared the curve, the motorcycle kept going straight.  The curve was getting closer by the second.  I reached up to take my wife’s hands off the grips, but she was frozen with fear.  I threw all my weight forward and to the left as I tried to twist the throttle closed under her hand.  It was close!  It was very close!  We almost went off the road.   If we had, at that speed, we would have probably flown a hundred feet in the air before hitting the ground.  I don’t want to think about what we would have looked like after such a fall.

After we were stopped and got our breath back, I asked my wife what happened.  She said, “I don’t know.  Every time we came to a curve I just thought to myself, turn, and we turned.”  Then it hit me.  I had been sitting there on the back unconsciously leaning whenever we came to a gentle curve, and my position and extra weight had taken us around the curves.  When we came to that not-so-gentle curve, my position and extra weight weren’t enough to overcome our speed and we were almost toast.  There is no question in my mind that Someone up there was watching over us that day.

Needless to say, I drove the rest of the way home, and my wife decided she didn’t want to drive my motorcycle any more after that.

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