Birth of a Biker

In the early eighties, some twenty-three years ago, when I was about four or five years old, my Uncle Al came to my house for a visit. He arrived on a contraption, a large motorized bike, I learned was a motorcycle. And not just any motorcycle, a Harley Davidson. I would often see my uncle ride this large bike around our country home. He would give rides to family members who desired a thrill. I remember wanting a ride but I was shy and scared. When you're that young and petite, a Harley Davidson looks gigantic and even a little frightening.

Even though my uncle was giving everyone rides, I wasn't sure if he would give me a ride because I was so little. It didn't help matters that I was extremely shy and couldn't seem to gather the courage to ask him for a ride. Instead, I went inside our two story farm house and talked with my parents. I told them I wanted a ride on the motorcycle. They asked me if I was sure and I told them I was. They wanted to be sure I had made up my mind before they went ahead and addressed my uncle.

I followed my mother outside into the driveway where my uncle was straddling his Harley and talking with another member of the family. Uncle Al was dressed in black leather boots and a leather biker jacket. I thought he looked really cool and I was very impressed. I wanted to dress up like and look just cool!

I stood behind my mother as she told my uncle that I would like to ride. My uncle was happy to give me a ride but when I was about to be helped on, I withdrew. The bike was intimidating and I felt like a midget, a Hobbit even. I wasn't so sure I wanted a ride anymore, yet my tiny heart was pounding fiercely saying, "Go for it! Go for it!" I hesitated and again I was asked if I really wanted to ride. Other members of the family could see the fear on my young face and told me it was okay if I didn't want to ride. Yet one of my older brothers was like, "Come on, Jan. It's nothing to be afraid of." Yeah, well he was a bit bigger than me and several years older.

Finally, my uncle turned off the bike and was about to climb off when I protested. "No, I really want to go!" I said in my high, sweet childish voice. They asked me if I was sure this time. Oh, yes, I definitely was. I made up my mind for good. I wasn't going to pass this opportunity up no matter how scared I was.

With help, I climbed onto the beast of machinery, still very scared. I sat in front of my uncle and he told me to hold onto the handle bars. I reached up as far as my short arms were able and tightly grabbed onto the cool, shiny steel bars.

Uncle Al started up the giant motorized bike and we headed out of the driveway. We drove down a seemingly deserted country road on a mild summer day, the warm setting sun beating down upon our backs.

All fear drifted away as I listened to the powerful motor of the Harley and felt the wind caress my face and comb through my light brown hair. Fresh air filled my small nostrils and lungs and enjoyment welled within me. I felt free, like I could go anywhere and nothing could stop me. The world was mine to explore on my Uncle's Harley. We could explore so many things together. This was how I felt, until sadly, we returned home and the ride came to an end. Though we were home, my mind was still out on the open road, flying free with the wind.