He’s in a pink helmet. It’s not his usual get-up, as you know, but we figured he would need it.
See, for the past few weeks he’d been recalling dangerous childhood memories of the time way back in the day when he and his brother owned a ’75 Honda Trail 90 and rode like hell’s fury up and down and around the buttes of this place.
There are stories about ramping things, checking cows, running around with the neighbor kids up the road and, well, concussions. There were a few concussions.
Just the other night he confessed that, before he was old enough to be issued an actual drivers license, he and his friend drove that damn bike thirty miles to town and back again to catch a football game or something, he can’t remember.
It didn’t matter anyway, by the time they actually made it (it took a little while you know, driving at top speeds of 35 MPH and flinging themselves in the ditch’s tall grasses every time a neighbor drove by) it was past dark and whatever event they were trying to catch was long over by then.
Those are the stories we get from Pops. They’re good ones.
And the reason we did what we did.
Coming Home: Stories ride in on Pops’ old motorcycle
by Jessie Veeder
September 15, 2013
Happy Trails to You.
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