Bowling with a YZ125

I was given my first 50 to ride at the age of four. My love affair with motorcycles sparked instantly. From then on, Saturdays with my family were spent riding through the desert hills surrounding our small town. As I grew older, the size of my dirt bikes increased and so did my speed. I loved to fly across the desert full throttle; the wind grabbing at my clothes. My brother, who raced motorcycles, said I was the best rider he had ever seen- until I grew boobs.

My romance with motorcycles soon came to an idle as I went off to college. But they were always on my mind. Before I met my husband, I'd even begun to visit motorcycle dealerships and was preparing to make my first dirt bike purchase. Alas, I married and had children; fulfilling my number one dream.

Four years ago, my husband was painting a home and the owners offered a motorcycle for payment. He knew I missed riding and accepted the trade. The motorcycle needed work before it would be dirt worthy. Unfortunately, in all my years of riding motorcycles, I never learned how to fix them.

The motorcycle has remained untouched in our garage for the past four years. We've made a few attempts through Craig's List and garage sales to sale the bike, but have never been successful. We decided to try again on Saturday.

Our garage has been full of items for the past six months- an old couch, old computer equipment, baby toys and equipment our children have grown out of and that motorcycle. We pulled it all out early Saturday morning and the sale began. Throughout the day, we had a few people interested in the motorcycle. A few asked if it would start. Well, we didn't know since it had been so long. So, off my husband went to get two stroke oil and some gas.

After we filled it up, it took quite a few kicks to get it started. I spent a few minutes trying to get it kick started, but only managed to turn it over once and then it sputtered out. My husband took his turn and was able to start it a few times, but once again, it died both times.

At this point, we decided to give us and the motorcycle a break. After all, it had been almost fourteen years since I had started a motorcycle and the first time for my husband. We let fifteen minutes pass and then tried again. This time, my husband was able to get it started. Once she was idling on her own, I switched places with him and decided to take a little ride around the cul-de-sac. I should have heeded our family rule growing up, "If you can't start it, you can't ride it."

I started off just fine and was even surprised that after so long I didn't kill it while letting the clutch out. This was going pretty good. I made a little u-turn at the entrance to the cul-de-sac and headed back to our house. As I was driving towards our driveway, something happened. The throttle stuck!

The motorcycle started going faster and faster. I only had time to pick which section of our garage sale to bowl through. The travel system stroller was on the left, the baby toys and Carlo on the right, so I chose right through the middle, which happened to be our old electronics. Garage sale items flew everywhere like bowling pins! The front tire hit the couch and pushed it out of the way with amazing speed. Then I was through and laid the bike down in the small patch of grass between our neighbors house and mine, but not without injury.

I had to hold the kill switch down for quite a few seconds before it would turn off. My husband asked if I was okay. I told him I was and then he picked up the motorcycle to report I had broken the clutch lever. He tried to roll it back to the stand, but it was still in gear. So, we fixed the clutch lever as best we could, I popped it back into gear and we put it back on the stand. Wow. What a ride! And it all happened so fast.

We checked the damage and amazingly, I had only smashed in the side of a tiny TV. Then I inspected myself and found I had scraped up my knee pretty good. After some chuckles at myself, I called my parents and told them the story. They laughed. It was a classic motorcycle story. However, my husband did not think the little adventure I had had was anything to laugh about.

The garage sale was over. We loaded the remaining items into his truck and he hauled them off to a donation center. By the time he came home, he was able to laugh a little and by that night, he too found the humor in the afternoon's event.

You would think that after all of this, I would be determined to sell this bike. No. More than ever, I want to fix it up and go riding once again. My brief time upon the motorcycle, even with a crash at the end, has brought my passion to the surface once again. I'm ready to ride! But is my husband ready to let me? We shall see.