Humble Beginings

Recently someone asked me why I ride a Goldwing, a bike that is nearly as old as I am and has become synonymous with older retired couples. Some comments even come across as insulting, most made by boys younger than the bike (19-21). It seems these days that if it is not a crotch rocket, it is something to be mocked. It has caused me a lot of thought as to why I ride a Wing, but never once have I doubted the decision. It is the bike that started it all for me, there is a lot of history behind that motorcycle.

I vividly remember the stories of my family members as they all took their turns before me. The first trip my mother went on, they were frightfully unprepared for the weather. Yellowstone can become bitter cold in June, and rain is inevitable, and these can make for an unpleasant situation. If I recall correctly, they had not taken much more that a heavy sweatshirt and leather jacket. It was an ominous beginning. My mother still rode with my dad, however it became my older brothers' turns to go. Yellowstone had become the routine destination, despite the tendency for harsh weather.

I do not remember much about my oldest brothers first trip on the bike, but I know it was a rough trip for them both. My next brother, however, has provided my dad with interesting trip stories for years. They had rode the Wing north to run the Snake River with the Boy Scouts. That was a frighteningly cold undertaking to begin with, and from there they were off.....in the rain....minus the tent that my brother left in the grass. It involved a lot of rain, and I think soured that brother on the experience as a whole. (none of this is meant to be derogatory towards my brothers, as both have moved on to do incredible things in their lives)

Finally, by the time I was 13, it was my turn to take my first trip. We were once again headed north. It was my dad and I, and three of his co-workers, once of whom he still rides with today. It was late June, and Mother Nature was in no mood to cater to a rag tag group of motorcyclists. We left Salt Lake in a pouring rain that never seemed to stop, and about 6 hours later ended up at Jenny Lake in Grand Teton National Park. I guess I was lucky and able to learn my from other family members, as I never remember being cold or wet. That trip was an education. I remember stories of someone washing their car in the lake in younger days, and the young lady inviting us to Sunday services and laughing when we called ourselves a "gang." We rode through snow, sleet, and everything else. I remember about 7 layers of clothing, including German wool pants, a snowmobile suit, and the orange plastic rain suit. I am sure I was quite the site. After that, I was hooked.

My dad and I toured to Great Basin National Park, Capital Reef and Highway 12, and countless day trips in between. It eventually evolved into me purchasing my first "big" bike, a KLR 650, and many more trips together. My humble start on the back 15 years ago has turned into a life long obsession, created a great friend in my Father, and someday I hope will keep me close to my boys.