How This All Got Started

Back in England when I was ten years old, there was a schoolmate named Mark Samples who owned a beautiful Honda TL125 four stroke trials/enduro that was sort of like an Elsinore but has a small single seat. I fell in love with his bike even before he would even let me ride it. It was way too tall for me, and very intimidating, and it purred like a mighty jungle cat. All my thoughts were consumed by getting a bike.

We lived at 79 Abbot's Garth in the village of Seamer, which is just inland from the seaside holiday resort, Scarborough in North Yorkshire. Our house was the last one on the street, which continued into a building site where new homes were being constructed. Less than a quarter mile from my door were miles and miles ofcountry lanes and seemingly endless crop fields and woodlands that beckoned me to explore them.

Of course by now my parents were being begged constantly, pestered endlessly about my need of a motorbike. I had even been into town to the motorbike shop and had one all picked out, returning home with brochures of a nice shiny yellow 1975 Yamaha TY 80 Trials.

The one I owned was a 1975 and models sent to the UK had a different seat and less of a rear fender as I recall.

This one was more my size, in fact it was a tiny motorcycle with ultra low gearing for climbing, and a lot of ground clearance. The day that wee beastie was sitting out in the garage was the point where the talons were set, from this day forth it was known that "I am, and will be a biker".

Riding for hours on my own through the local countryside near the house showed me the freedom. Getting completely covering in mud at the building site next to the house was incredibly fun, except when it was time to go home and show my muddy self to my Mom. She was not impressed by my creature from the black lagoon impressions.

Riding with Mark and his Dad Barry rekindle the fondest memories of motorcycling. Barry would load up his blue Aermacchi/Harley-Davidson, along with Mark's Honda, and my scrappy little Yamaha and we'd head out to an old Army base called Low North Camp towing the bikes behind his old Morris.

The 5500 acre site (which is huge in England) was purchased by a private individual and designated to offroad motorcycling. They held scrambling (before the word motocross was invented), and trials competions on most weekends. During the off times for a small membership fee one could ride freely thoughout the entire wooded area.

I was immediately addicted, and always have held a strong passion for most any motorized vehicles. Like many of my fellow club members over at the ChainGang, my ownership hiatus only just recently ended when I purchased my first street bike (my efsicfiddy) back in summer of 2004, not owning a bike for almost twenty years. Revisiting the joys of motorcycling has been a great means of pleasure and therapy, and to ride once again often envokes memories of the days as a child back in Seamer.

Feeling the freedom of the wind, breathing deeply of the scents of the roads, and the habit-forming feel of the machine laying over through the curve are as refreshing and as exciting today, as those first rides were so many years ago.

DAM