Look for my next column!!!
It's 1:50
am and I'm still sitting here at the PC
remembering times gone bye. There's a
cool breeze coming in the open window
here in my study, and I've had just
enough mescal to feel warm all over.
Life is good. Here it is 9
Feb 2007 and
we've had no snow, and most of November,
December, and the first week of January
the weather was still good enough to get
in some good riding. Hard to believe.
However I've had my fill of rain, least
you don't have to shovel it. I been
trying to think of my earliest memory of
being involved with motorcycles. The
first memory I can recall is of
my father's cousin Dutchie in the late
fifties, and his 1946 Indian chief. It
was a dark almost burgundy color. I
remember that the fenders where so big
they almost covered the tires
completely. It had a black seat, and
black saddle bags, all covered with
silver studs and leather fringe. The
fringe on the saddlebags was so long
they touched the ground when the bike
was on the kick stand. Dutchie had a
windshield on the Indian that was blue
on the bottom and clear on the top.
The shift knob on the gear shifter was a
crystal doorknob. It would make little
rainbow colors when the sun hit it just
right. Dutchie was a real character. I
never saw him without a camel cigarette
hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
and one tucked behind his left hear. He
wore what looked like a cops hat with
Harley Davidson wings sewn to the front.
The hat was black cloth, with a white
leather bill. He always wore white
t-shirts and a black leather jacket that
had silver studs all over it, with a
rabbits foot hanging from the zipper. He
worn only blue jeans with the cuffs
folded up about four inches, and black
motorcycle boots. He had a laugh that
was loud and infectious, and always
wanted to make people laugh. Although I
never seen him without a Hulls beer in
his hand, I can not remember ever seeing
him not being able to walk or ride. Him
and my uncle Ed were like two peas in
the same pod. Where one was, there was
the other. My uncle Ed rode and old army
surplus WLA Harley. It still had the
flat green paint on it and the white
stars on the tank. But that was the only
thing left on it as I remember. He had
striped it down to the bare bones. No
front fender, no saddle bags, no luggage
rake, no windshield. I guess it could be
called one of the first choppers. To see
the two of them together was a site, I
can tell you. Uncle Ed had his own
style. He wore a brown leather
WW2 pilots helmet. A brown leather
bombers jacket. And of course blue
jeans and biker boots. They would go
tearing off down the street to the
amazement of all the neighbors.
My first ride ever on a bike was on the
back of Dutchie's
Indian chief. I can remember as we
pulled off, my grandmother running out
of the house screaming at Dutchie that
he was going to kill me on that
thing. We rode for what seem hours. I
still remember how the wind was in my
face as I looked out from under his arm
to see where we were, and the tears
running down my cheeks from the
wind blowing in my eyes. We rode all the
way from east rock in New Haven, to west
haven beach, and Savin rock. Savin Rock
was an amusement park that use to be in
West haven at the end of Campbell Ave.
where it meets the beach. In its time
it had the biggest roller coaster
around. Bus loads of people came from
New York, Road Island, and Mass to play
there. It was torn down in the last
sixties. What a shame! It was July and
as we rode past the beach it was packed
with people. Dutchie took me to Jimmies
restaurant, which was in a different
place then it is now, and we had dogs
and cokes. We met a lot of other guys
there on motorcycles that Dutchie knew
and also my uncle Ed. Uncle Ed was
surprised to see me with cousin Dutchie.
He asked Dutchie why I was there and
what did Grandma, who happen to be uncle
EDs mom say. Dut chie said she had a fit
when we left, and Uncle Ed warned
Dutchie that when he took me back home
to leave real fast before Grandma could
get out the door with her broom. It was
a different world back then. If you got
out of line you Mother or Grandmother
torn into you with their broom, an you
towed the line for awhile that's for
sure. We stayed for a little while at
the beach, me skimming rocks on the
water, and Cousin Dutchie and uncle Ed
talking to some girls. Then it was time
to go home. As we got closer to the
house I noticed that Dutchie was going a
whole lot slower than he did when we
left. When we got about three houses
from home he stopped and said he was
dropping me hear. I remember asking why
not at the house, and he said he didn't
want to bump into Grandma. I can tell
you I gained a whole new respect for
grandma that day. I fiqured
if Dutchie and Uncle Ed are afraid of
Grandma and there big guys, that I
better not ever tick her off. I can tell
you for sure, that ride, that day with
Cousin Dutchie, hooked me for life on
motorcycles. Dutchie and Uncle Ed have
been gone many years now. But the love
of the biker life style that they left
me, has never stopped giving me joy.
