My little red Honda was a gift from one of my fathers. I don’t recall which one – it was one of those gifts that was supposed to substitute for being there. Nonetheless it was a good call I used and abused that little 70 cc motor and clunky steel frame from every fun angle we could think of, until it had little left to give. Every trail we had made through the woods had new meaning.
Not the kind of gift to go unnoticed by other fathers who wanted a good substitute for being there, soon we had a small band of little Hondas – and one Suzuki. The little Honda’s are too clunky for jumps and tricks, but that did not stop us from trying to get every inch of air and every wheelie.
Somehow someone almost landed on my head once, but they did not because I moved too fast. Plop’s intent was not intentional, just reckless – although once he saw I had to mid jump spin out sideways to avoid a collision he should have figured I may need a moment to move as he came up close on my tail.
Michael David suggested we ride naked, with him on the back of the over-stuffed wide seat. He had developed early and long. His long development prodded my bare ass. I had a pleasant feeling, touch is nice. Touch where you haven’t had it before, in such a way and such a unordinary context is a surprise to the flesh.
I wasn’t fully sure if the touch was welcome or not, but the motor’s vibration added to the pleasure. He laughed, thought it was a joke. I had to re-think my idea of homosexuality. We did not do it again, although I brought it up a few days later. Then four or five years later he propositioned me for sex. I am overwhelmingly geared with a sexual appetite for women. I think he knew this, but wanted me to be sure. He also wanted a hitch-hiking partner for his escape to San Francisco.
The red Honda became more and more battered. I didn’t know about spark plugs and forget getting help from one of the fathers. The one who gave it to me didn’t think to teach me about routine maintenance or engines. That would have been too much like fathering, to be sure. The other one surely thought the other would have taught me. I used a wire to pull the throttle up directly from the intake valve, over-riding accrued grime, and even got a couple extra miles per hour.
The last ride, or one of the last was with Antony. He panicked. I was giving him a ride from the meeting spot in the woods, we were racing someone else back to the road. Antony started screaming, “We’re going to hit that tree.” Stupidly, I said that we were not going to hit the tree. There was plenty of distance between us and the tree. I didn’t know then how to meditate through and let bad energy ride on by.
Merely stating the opposite of what someone said of course is a good, or rather bad way which can make the energy stick long enough to do the damage. In this case, the damage was a bent front fork which didn’t alter the over-all functioning of the red Honda except that it would never quite go quite fast enough again.
We were OK. Antony had some scratches. I had just another knock to the head. The angels shook their heads, a couple chuckled. I lost interest forever in motorized cycles.