The Motorcycle Mechanics Little Girl Staff
by Staff
The sound of an engine revs up to a higher and higher decibal with each gear change and suddenly back to the quiet sound of idling. Over and over again this sequence repeats itself well into dusk.

These sounds are memories I have of my father fixing motorcycles. I was about 10 or 11 years old when he would work feverishly on bikes in our garage. I clearly remember our garage packed with tools and parts, along with the intense smells of oil and gasoline. A large oil pan under a cycle and large pan of gasoline with parts in it for cleaning was the usual scene. Being the little brat that I was, all I cared about after school was watching my favorite show on the tube with out the sounds of an engine in the background. Little did I realize at the time, how important my dad's activity in the garage was. He was doing a little thing called supporting his family.
My father was a 1/2 mile and TT (Tourist Trophy) motorcycle racer in the 1960's and early 70's. He obviously loved motorcycles and wanted me to enjoy them too, so he found and fixed up an old Honda 90 with my name on it. The fact that I was a girl wasn't of any matter to him. We drove out to an old hunting trail where he taught me how to ride.
I was very insecure at first, without sugar coated words he made me feel as if I was very capable, "If you can hold it up you can ride it."
After the practice trail rides we moved on to a ride for the more experienced...The Levee! Most of the levee holds the Mississippi river back during the floods,but there is a secluded and secret section of the levee known only to the local riders as a good place to push the envelope. Riders start at the top of the levee and then down a steeply graded 300 yard slope, into a natural valley of motorcross. The track, originally grass worn down by years of riding is now bumps and humps of dirt. It was crude and rough,but awesome to us. There was another feature at the levee for the fearless....the Hill Climb. Going down the levee wasn't bad. Going up left me with visions of a backward wheelie. I only went back up because I had to.
These were exciting and great memories I'll never forget, given to me by dad. My dad is 65 years old now and going strong. He is still on the prowl for disabled bikes that he can fix to ride or sell.

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