PART I – A LITTLE HISTORY

When I was a kid, pre-teens, my family lived on the outskirts of a small city in Fairfield County, Connecticut in a nice 1950’s ranch house with a swimming pool on a private road.   A very nice middle class neighborhood with some eccentric neighbors, family members, friends and a stern but warm Swedish grandmother thrown in to add flavor.

Being the late 1960’s – early 70’s, we lived in what was considered to be the country.  This was right around the time that “suburbs” were beginning to be developed so there was still plenty of open space and wooded areas to mess around in.  Great place to be a kid!

My experiences in this neighborhood helped to lay the foundation of who I am today

My experiences in this neighborhood helped to lay the foundation of who I am today because this is where I was first exposed to sex, drugs & rock-n-roll (Jazz too, as I was studying piano with an eccentric, well known local jazz musician.), hot rods and of course motorcycles.  All of the good stuff!  It was the late ’60’s and even as a little kid, I was aware that there was a cultural change in the air.  A distinct generational division between the kids that I knew and their parents generation.

One of my first and best friends in the neighborhood was a young girl the same age as I was.  She might have been my girlfriend, I think, but I’m not sure.  I didn’t even know what a girlfriend was but when her mother spoke to my father about having me spend the night with her, they both decided I should go home immediately.  Party Poopers!

Her older brother, a few years older than us and who used to beat the crap out of me on a regular basis, went to Woodstock for the festival.  I can remember the conversation with her about Country Joe’s Fish Cheer, gimme an F,  gimme a U, what’s that spell?  What’s that spell?……….   I later became friends with him, but haven’t seen either of them for years.  I hope they’re both OK and doing well.

As a side note, I saw Country Joe perform up at Arlo Guthrie’s church with a couple of longtime, good friends of mine a few years ago and he performed the cheer.  Not quite the same energy as the original, but lot’s of fun just the same.  Anyway……..  Back to the story.

PART II – THE MOTOR

One day, my dad came home and presented me with a mildly used Rupp racing go-kart.  This thing was awesome, the go-kart had  a 3 1/2 horse Techumseh motor, racing slicks, roll bar, number plate.  I was psyched, total freedom for a 9 year old!  As we lived on a private road with adjoining private roads.  I ran the go-kart all around the neighborhood and actually earned a little respect from some of the older “tough guys” because the kart was pretty fast.  I loved that go-kart and drove it for a couple of years until the front left hand tire spindle became bent.  Off it came and the go-kart was never repaired.  I was bummed but as you can guess, there was plenty of adventure waiting as I got older.

Dumb luck on my part because I had no idea what I was doing!

When we moved to the new, previously mentioned upwardly mobile house with the better schools and better address, the go-kart came with us and was thrown into the basement. As luck would have it, one of my first friends from the “The Pond” neighborhood also had a Rupp go-kart that was minus an engine.  A while before this I had taken the Techumseh motor apart, mostly for curiosity’s sake, and reassembled it so it was ready to go.  I’m positive that when I reassembled it I must have advanced the cam and removed the governor because when we first used the motor, it was extremely fast (for a 3 1/2 Tecumseh) and revved like crazy.  Dumb luck on my part because I had no idea what I was doing!

We built up my friend’s kart and had some fun with it until a minor disagreement forced us to part ways.  So now I had the motor back for my incapacitated go-kart.

 PART III – THE MINI BIKE

 About a year or so after I first moved to “The Pond” neighborhood, I met a bunch of guys that would become lifelong friends.  Most of us weren’t really interested in school at that time.  As I remember, our attention was more focused on hanging out, girls, motorcycles, fast cars, music and general mischief, etc… so we all got along famously. For a while we were a pretty tight knit gang!  Some of them have come in and out of my life at various times as our lives have evolved, but each time we re-communicate it’s just like we’ve left off at the end of our last conversation.  Even after several years of non-communication.  I’m sure others reading this will have similar experiences but I take comfort in knowing that these folks are still out in the world and every once in a while, I get to share some laughs (and maybe some beers) with them.

One of my oldest friends from that era (Actually, today he lives down the road from me and we still manage to get into trouble from time to time.) acquired a mini bike, minus an engine (You see where I’m going with this?) from a friend of his.  For some reason which I can’t recall, we decided to mount my Techumseh motor into his frame.  Great idea, this made for a pretty fast little mini bike,

As well as the really cute young lady (Once again, she was only eighteen or nineteen, but being in our early teens, she seemed much older and more exotic.) that was the cab stand’s dispatcher. 

Now, besides “The Pond”, the other place that we would spend most of our free time  during these years was the taxi cab stand at the local train station.  The train station was at the end of the line on a local side line for  the Metro North Railroad and was a magnet for the town’s misguided youth.  My buddy kind of worked there on an informal basis so we knew the guy that ran the cab stand and most of the drivers.  As well as the really cute young lady (Once again, she was only eighteen or nineteen, but being in our early teens, she seemed much older and more exotic.) that was the cab stand’s dispatcher. Next to the cab stand was a small utility closet that my buddy used to store the mini bike.

PART IV – MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT JUVENILE DELINQUENCY

To me, at that time, there was nothing more boring than being in 9th grade english class having a discussion about the Broadway play The Fantasticks, so I said let’s go.

Well, one day while at school, we were in the 9th grade at the time, my buddy threw out the idea that we should go downtown and get the mini bike and go for a ride.  That was an outstanding idea!  To me, at that time, there was nothing more boring than being in 9th grade english class having a discussion about the Broadway play The Fantasticks, so I said let’s go.

Taking our usual form of transportation at the time, hitchiking, we went down to the cab stand and retrieved the mini bike.  First stop was the Texaco station to put about 50 cents worth of gas in it and we were off.  I was riding on the back and I can still visualize riding through the side streets of downtown thinking this was nuts.  Our route took us through a couple of parking lots and across some small side streets.  I’m not sure where our was destination was meant to be, we probably didn’t have one, but as we were crossing one of the side streets we both looked up and saw a police car on the main road.  The cops obviously saw us because as the police car slammed on his breaks, I heard my buddy say “Oh Shit”.  It was too late though.  We were busted!

Back in the day, this was a small affluent town with a low crime rate that had invested it’s municipal funds in a sizable police department.  I guess it made the affluent residents of the community feel safe.  So it was reasonable , given their resources, that they should exercise their authority, arrest us immediately and confiscate the mini bike, which they did.

I can still see the police car slam on his brakes, throw the car into reverse and speed towards us so we couldn’t make a getaway. 

I can still see the police car slam on his brakes, throw the car into reverse and speed towards us so we couldn’t make a getaway.  Hey, as I said, this was a pretty fast little mini bike with all of 3 1/2 horsepower carrying two 6 foot teenagers so the chances of us making a clean getaway were pretty good.  Not really!

After losing possession of the mini bike and being arrested, we somehow landed back at school that afternoon in front of the principal.  I don’t really remember what the principal said, but it was probably something along the lines of “you boys are beginning to head down the wrong path”, but I do remember the look of disgust on the face of my mother and my buddy’s mother when they came to pick us up that afternoon.  I’m sure my father gave me a serious talking to, but I also remember feeling that in some weird way he kind of understood that we weren’t juvenile delinquents, just some kids goofing off and having an afternoon adventure.

As time marched on, there were other run-ins with the local authorities but after all, you only get one first attempt at being a juvenile delinquent!

Epilogue:  I have been reminded by my co-conspirator that the cute young lady at the taxi stand was the one that retrieved the mini bike from the feds.  If anyone knows the whereabouts of the mini bike, or the cute young lady, please forward your information to this website.  All information will be kept confidential and a substantial reward will be offered.  Remember though that substantial is a relative term!

In the early 1970’s, my father built a house in a new sub-division on land from an old dairy farm in Fairfield County, Connecticut.  While we were definitely not an affluent family at that time, due to my old man’s “business dealings” we were upwardly mobile and it was decided that we should live in a new house in the suburbs.  Better schools, better address and besides, when my father decided we were going to do something, that was that!

In retrospect, I was glad to move.  We were living in another town that was busing kids to an inner city school system (Remember integration?) and I had already learned that if I was going to survive public school, I’d better learn how to throw a punch.   Those were not the kinder and gentler times of today, report bullies and all of that.  If you ratted on a bully in those days, you would get your ass kicked!  Better to learn how to fight back.  Anyway, I survived to tell the tale.  So, the move for me was completely positive and as I discussed in the previous post,  I discovered motorcycles.  Woohoo!

Now, the land that used to be the old dairy farm consisted of a bunch of acres of land, a portion of which was supposed to have been turned into some sort of country / swim / golf club for residents of the suburb and on that spot of land was a pond.  Installed to help with run off and flood prevention for all of the new houses going in.  The club never got off the ground (Thank God!) but that particular tract of land sat undeveloped for quite a few years.

For me, and a lot of other kids from the neighborhood, most of whom I still know today, the pond was an oasis. 

For me, and a lot of other kids from the neighborhood, most of whom I still know today, the pond was an oasis.  A place that we could go to get away from the turmoil of life, parents, school.  Many summer days were spent riding dirt bikes, campouts at night, girls, etc… it was a great time in my life!  It was a time when the world was new, we had no responsibilities and wanted to experience everything the world had to offer.  I can remember going out on my SL70, coming back home to gas up and riding again until it was to dark to see.  I went back to the pond a couple of years ago, to re-connect, but progress had inserted itself and there were many McMansions by then.  Hey, the pond was now waterfront property, if only they knew it’s history. But back to the story…….

Among many, one of the significant motorcycles in my life was a practically new Honda MT250 enduro, better known today as a dual sport.  This model was a turning point for Honda in that it was one of their first two strokes.  I spent a lot of time on this bike (as did a lot of my friends) out at the pond.

My father had a close friend that he kind of looked out for in an older brother sort of way.  Nobody ever used the term “mentor” back then but they shared a lot of the same interests, guns, cars, motorcycles, stuff like that and I guess he was a mentor to this fellow.

I first saw and rode the bike about a week before it arrived in our driveway.

Whenever this guy would get a little tight on cash, my father would help him out by buying personal items off of him.  Hunting rifles, a really nice 1969 Corvette 350 / 350 horse, and a relatively new Honda MT250.  I first saw and rode the bike about a week before it arrived in our driveway.  My dad and I were visiting this guy and looking back, my dad was probably there to bail out his buddy.  A week later, I arrived home after running errands with my mother and there was the Honda.  Sitting in our driveway.  All right, a new motorcycle!

At first, my dad rode the bike on the street and I can remember riding passenger on the bike with him at the bars.  My dad hated two strokes though and didn’t ride the bike for long.  He came from an era when two strokes were strictly utilitarian, Whizzers, BSA Bantams and bikes like that.  I, on the other hand, loved two strokes, still do.  (RD 350 / 400’s TZ Yamahas, Kawasaki H1 / H2’s.)  After a while, I assumed the Honda and stripped off all of the lights, turn signals, big boxy tail light, anything street related.  Now I had a proper dirt bike to ride out at the pond.

After observing his riding style on a couple of occasions, my buddy said “hey look, this guy’s a turkey”.  Instantly, he became known as The Turkey Man.

As time passed, word of the pond got out to the local dirt biking community and “outsiders” would show up.  Hey this was OUR POND!  I mean, I actually had permission to ride there from the owner who was one of my dad’s business partners and also our family dentist.  This was our territory.  Anyway, one of the guys that began to show up on a semi-regular basis was an older guy on a Kawasaki 350 Bighorn.  I say that he was older because at the time to us,  being fourteen or fifteen, anybody over eighteen seemed old.  (Except for my eighteen year old girlfriend, but that’s another story.)  After observing his riding style on a couple of occasions, my buddy said “hey look, this guy’s a turkey”.  Instantly, he became known as The Turkey Man.

Up until that point, I hadn’t yet participated in an organized motorcycle race.  I knew I was going to be a motorcycle racer, felt that was my calling but it hadn’t happened for real yet.  So one afternoon when we were all hanging out at the pond, The Turkey Man showed up and I asked him if he wanted to race.  He said he was up for it so we ironed out the details.  It would be a three lap race, determined where the start / finish line would be and formalized the course.  I seem to remember that we even did a warm up lap and I showed him the exact trails we’d use.

I was psyched, this was it, an actual motorcycle race.  Before the race, I had a little pre-race meeting with one of my buddies.  He would signal me to show me which lap I was on, how far ahead I was (yeah right) and of course, the checkered flag.  After all, this was a real race, we needed to do it right.

We lined up on the start / finish line, just me and The Turkey Man, I was going to spank him.  Then my buddy signaled us off and the race was on excpet that The Turkey Man was in the lead.  This wasn’t part of my plan.  I chased him for two laps, riding that MT250 faster than I ever had before.  Flat tracking around the dirt corners, braking late, stuffing the front wheel into  the berm and hoping it would hook up. All of this finally paid off because as we were about to enter the last turn of the last lap, I caught The Turkey Man and passed him.  Just thinking about it all those years ago is getting me revved up.  It was perfect, I set him up in a tight first gear corner that I took in second gear, came up the inside, the bike drifted over into his line and I think we actually banged handlebars.  I’m sure I scared the shit out of The Turkey Man.  He had to be thinking who the hell is this kid that’s trying to run me into the woods.

I’ll never forget seeing my friends jumping up and down when I came out of the woods and crossed the start / finish line ahead of the man himself.  Great memories!

After the checkered flag, I did a cool down lap and The Turkey Man quietly rode off.

After the checkered flag, I did a cool down lap and The Turkey Man quietly rode off.  I don’t think we ever saw him again.  Wonder where he is today?

I continued to ride the MT250 for at least another year or so but that was long before I learned about simple maintenance, when you’re a kid it’s more fun to ride than it is to wrench.  The Honda began to feel “clapped out” and when a friend from the neighborhood wanted to buy the bike, my dad said sell it to him.  Then it was gone, never to be ridden by me again.

Sometimes, when I’m daydreaming, trying get through a crappy day, I think about that day at the pond and I instantly have a little secret smile. 

Sometimes, when I’m daydreaming, trying get through a crappy day, I think about that day at the pond and I instantly have a little secret smile.  Remember, the older I get, the faster I was!