Thread: Welcome to the Heart of the Addiction

My name is Dave, and I’m a motorcycle addict.

(The other addicts in the room mumble “Hi, Dave” as they stir their coffee with spark plugs and hope this guy isn’t as boring as he looks.)

The love of motorcycles has been present in me since I was about eight years old. That was about the time when my Grandpa, a former flat track and board track racer of Indian Motorcycles, gave me a pair of engineer boots that he wore when he rode his Harley ‘motor’ as a messenger during the 1940’s. I loved everything about that great man. If he were here today, I’d pull his finger, whatever the consequences. In any case, the way that his passion for motorcycles somehow shaped his honest, independent and generous personality made a strong impression on me. Motorcycling was a contributing factor in forming the way he was, and it was the way I wanted to be as well.

Grandpa George with a 1932 era Harley

I grew up in Southern California in the 50’s and 60’s, when motorcycles were a huge part of the burgeoning beach blanket bikini culture. It was a great time to be a young addict. Whenever we were in Hermosa or Redondo Beach, I voraciously studied the features and differences between the various Triumphs, BSAs, Nortons, and BMWs in the same way an art student would behave in a museum. Small, increasingly competent Japanese bikes were becoming prevalent in the background, but I thrived on the rare sighting of an Ariel, Vincent or Crocker. The boom and snarl of Sportsters and Bonnevilles provided an emphatic counterpoint to the muscle cars cruising the strand, and something in me moved to that rhythm. A few years later, I woke from a sound sleep to the nocturnal, predatory howl of a distant Honda CB750 with open megaphones. I distinctly remember the first time I thrilled to that call as clearly as the moment I was stunned motionless by the piercing jangle of a Rickenbacker Electric 12-string.

Grandson Dave with a 1992 Honda VFR

At various times in my motorcycle history, I have broken bones, laws, and budgets. I have gained confidence, friends, and maturity. I once owned a motorcycle/deus ex machina that strongly influenced which girl I would marry and when. (I’ll tell you about that sometime.) I’ve gotten my front wheel up and my knee down. I have picked up a ton of books and equipment, and dropped every single motorcycle I've ever owned. I have found exhilaration and joy, and I have been found by aching sorrow and loss.

Others of you may have had more motorcycles, more knowledge, more experience, more miles, more tattoos, and more riding skill, but quantity is surely not the most important factor here.

Motorcycle Addiction is about the claim that these machines and the people who surround them have on our hearts.

That’s my story in brief, and I hope it might resound in some of you like that wailing I-4. Now we want to know what is at the heart of your addiction; in fact, that will be the purpose of this section of the e-zine.

Got a story or know someone who does? Email me at cbrvfr@motorcycleaddicts.net and let’s find a way to get it out among friends who understand these things.