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271 Posts
My first bike was a 1964 Honda CB 160. Honda said, “You meet the nicest people on a Honda”. Damm they were right. It was the end of spring semester at Michigan State and I needed a summer job. I could work for the State going around to small airports taking surveys of small plane arrivals (needed a car). Or, my Uncle could get me a job in Aurora, Ill. at All Steel Equipment making office furniture (didn’t need a car). I purchased a new CB 160 for $625.00 and took the job in Aurora. It was the best $625 I ever spent in my life. I had more fun on that bike. It was my street bike, my dirt bike, my everything bike.
Now I have a 04 Goldwing. Then you could buy long neck Buds for $3.95 a case and they came in a waxed box with two flaps on the top, with two bungee cords it made a perfect top case.
Aurora is 40 miles west of Chicago and one weekend I party in Chicago on State Street, Rush Street, and Lake Shore Drive. The next weekend I’d head home to party. Home was 2.5 miles south of a small town in western Michigan called Custer. There are more living things in my computer case than there were people in Custer, but it was the greatest place in the world to grow up as kid. I worked the swing shift in Aurora and Friday night my Bud box was pack, bungeed on my bike, and ready to go. Midnight I’d hit the road for Milwaukee and take the ferry across to Ludington ($6.00 for me and my bike round trip). I never heard of NASCAR then but I sure learned how to draft big rigs. The best my 160 would do with the Bud bag was 55 maybe 60 with a tail wind. When a rig would pass my I’d cut in behind them and hope for the best. If they were going too fast you would loose them before you caught the draft. Once you caught the draft you could feel yourself being sucked in. The engine would be screaming and you would hear it slowing down to a purr. You were like in your own little eggshell. There was no wind and all you heard was the sound of tires on the road. You could move around in the draft and feel the edges. It would be late at night and not much traffic and I’d poke my head every once in a while to see what was up ahead and let the driver know I was there. Most of the drivers were nice and would tap their brakes well in advance to let me know they were slowing down. The thing to do was catch the fastest rig. You had to do it in stages. If you were drafting a rig at 65 MPH and one came by at 75MPH it was an iffy situation. Once you pulled out you caught the turbulence between the trucks and it would slow you down. If the rig you were trying to draft was going too fast you could not catch his draft and you’d loose both of them and have to start over. Like trying to catch a wave surfing, you’re right at the crest paddling like hell, are you going to make it, are you going to make it, ah you did. You could feel the wind at your back, come on baby suck me in, you can do it. I made it, now I’m doing 75. I always waved to the driver I was just drifting and thanked him as I went by. Now is there any driver doing 80+, come on by, I’m waiting. Thinking about it now I was nuts, but then I was 20 and having the time of my life.
Now I have a 04 Goldwing. Then you could buy long neck Buds for $3.95 a case and they came in a waxed box with two flaps on the top, with two bungee cords it made a perfect top case.
Aurora is 40 miles west of Chicago and one weekend I party in Chicago on State Street, Rush Street, and Lake Shore Drive. The next weekend I’d head home to party. Home was 2.5 miles south of a small town in western Michigan called Custer. There are more living things in my computer case than there were people in Custer, but it was the greatest place in the world to grow up as kid. I worked the swing shift in Aurora and Friday night my Bud box was pack, bungeed on my bike, and ready to go. Midnight I’d hit the road for Milwaukee and take the ferry across to Ludington ($6.00 for me and my bike round trip). I never heard of NASCAR then but I sure learned how to draft big rigs. The best my 160 would do with the Bud bag was 55 maybe 60 with a tail wind. When a rig would pass my I’d cut in behind them and hope for the best. If they were going too fast you would loose them before you caught the draft. Once you caught the draft you could feel yourself being sucked in. The engine would be screaming and you would hear it slowing down to a purr. You were like in your own little eggshell. There was no wind and all you heard was the sound of tires on the road. You could move around in the draft and feel the edges. It would be late at night and not much traffic and I’d poke my head every once in a while to see what was up ahead and let the driver know I was there. Most of the drivers were nice and would tap their brakes well in advance to let me know they were slowing down. The thing to do was catch the fastest rig. You had to do it in stages. If you were drafting a rig at 65 MPH and one came by at 75MPH it was an iffy situation. Once you pulled out you caught the turbulence between the trucks and it would slow you down. If the rig you were trying to draft was going too fast you could not catch his draft and you’d loose both of them and have to start over. Like trying to catch a wave surfing, you’re right at the crest paddling like hell, are you going to make it, are you going to make it, ah you did. You could feel the wind at your back, come on baby suck me in, you can do it. I made it, now I’m doing 75. I always waved to the driver I was just drifting and thanked him as I went by. Now is there any driver doing 80+, come on by, I’m waiting. Thinking about it now I was nuts, but then I was 20 and having the time of my life.
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