When I returned from Vietnam I was without wheels. Six of us pooled our cash and bought a military surplus lot of ten Harley scout bikes still in crates. Took us six months to put them together. 1955 panheads, probably leftover from the Korean War. Rubber was dry rotted as was some of the leather. They were OD green with the white star, etc., markings. Those old beasts had 3 sets of points and suicide shifters with the clutch pedal on the left. Throttle on the right handlebar and spark advance on the left. Took a while to get used to. We had enough spare parts from the excess 4 bikes that we sold them and made our money back plus a little. I wish I’d left it in the original colors, but we had to chop them, put long ape hangers on them and all of the rest. Easy Rider was all the rage. I rode mine from Camp Legune to Norfolk. To say my butt was numb would be an understatement. Those old things sure did shake, rattle and roll. Also, no electric start. Kick it over. And if it backfired at the bottom of the stroke it would catapult you about two feet into the air and your knee hurt. But, put a little gal on the back and ride her around for a bit and the vibrations got good to her. Then you were in like Flynn.
Had to sell it and get a 1968 Malibu when I got married. Harley was good, but it couldn’t cook.
In the early 80’s, a friend left a 1200 Super Glide with me for a couple of years while he was out of country building embassies. I rode it at least once a week to keep it in shape. My bike at the time was a 1000 Suziki GS. Going back and forth between the bikes was a problem because Harleys of the time had an upside down shift pattern, you toed up to down shift. By that time, I’d decades of riding experience and, just like a car, everything was pure muscle memory. That shift pattern got me in… Read more »
For some reason, Pappy’s bike would take ornery spells about starting. He’d kick it until he got tired, then I’d kick it until I got tired, then Shue, then Gregg. Finally Pappy got back on and kicked it until it fired.
Old days, man, old days. Such memories. The first time I got on a Ducati I damn near killed myself. Everything backward.