Who be you, Bucket Head?

So I was sitting here bored, and thought it might be a good time to re-introduce myself.

I'm a 49, and I am PWT, LOL. I have direct relatives in England, United States, and Canada. Indirect, most likely around the globe.
I am an "Underhill" by nature, but you can call me Capt America, or Capt for short.

I got my first beat up, half dead dirt bike when I was about 12.5 years old. I paid $150.00 bucks, for a Honda SL 70 that needed a ring job when I got it. Which was fairly pricey when working in tobacco at the time paid $18.00 a day, with but 35 days of harvest before returning to school. (For anyone familiar with tobacco, "Tabacky is back breaking work, you say?" Yes, yes it is, and my Back truly does ache When I hear that word, Oh Tilsonburg, Oh Tilsonburg. Funny how often I find myself puttin through that town but never stopping. Heh!)



My father had me handing him wrenches under his cars from about the age of 6 that I can recall. He may have tolerated me sooner than that. I remember more than once rattling off a litany of questions and being told, "Hold the damn light so you can see, what do I need it for!" roflamo.. ah I loved my old man.

So my first summer was pretty good on the old SL70, lot of good times and experimenting with crashes, which I wasn't long figuring out I quite frankly didn't enjoy. So I quit doing it. LOL.
All summer long I would leave my house and go down a very steep hill about 10 houses away, which lead to a ravine with a service road that led to the railroad tracks out of the city, and we were off to the races all day, lol.
More than a few times I had the fortune to have a cop at the bottom of the hill who would force me to stop and shut the thing off. At which point I was screwed, and would have to push it back up that dang awful hill. Wait for him to leave, and try again.
I think they all took turns making me push it up that hill, except for one cool Cop, he just smiled and kept driving. chuckle He stopped about 5 of us one day though, and after laughing at our fear, enquired if we knew where his kid could get a good used dirt bike. Sure enough about 2 weeks later his son was part of our little hooligan group of teenage riders for the rest of our days.

I've never looked back, and though other aspects of my life suck the big one, motorcycling and the endless supply of differing people involved in it have made it all worth while. Busted knuckles, burns, scrapes, thrown wrenches... I wouldn't have it any other way.

I worked in Hotels for 20 years off and on, 5 years with Harness horses, 4 years in a scrap yard, along with an endless stream of other jobs. So I've met a character, or two, in my time. I can get along with almost anyone.

I was never much for pictures, and literally don't have any of my first few bikes, but here is a few that survived of some of my rides.


Started as a stock 440 LTD.

The weather around my neck of the woods.

My ugly mug just last year.

Was a stock 750 Ltd Twin.

Was a 1981 750 LTD Twin, I thin. Old ownership buried around here somewhere. So long ago.

Best Friends ride on my ride.

My two girls together on the way to PD13 long ago. Sold one to one brother and one to the other, heh.


Beware:

Remember: Keep yer eyes open out there, Grandmas and Blondes lurk around every corner.

nice, that was what I read during my morning coffee, thanks for that! BTW stompin tom is the man!

"Hold the damn light so you can see, what do I need it for!" roflamo.. ah I loved my old man.



I almost fell outta my chair when I read this. I think every boy at some point in their life has heard this. I swear to god I have to rank up there in total hours logged holding a light for my dad. (he has 5 quadaxel dumptrucks and does all work himself, so lots of opportunity).

Its good to here your still alive, I was remembering a fire, crash, blazing Chopper on the side of the road after some red neck aimed a shot gun at ya!:laugh:

No really good read, same for me during the morning Black Bean drink.