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My ignominious introduction to motorcycles and the law - Page 2

© Brian Salisbury

Within a day or two, the soon-to-be former owner drove the motorcycle to my parents' house where I paid him. He then showed me what to first turn and tweak in order to kick-start the engine. With the machine on its center stand and its rear wheel off the ground, he taught me the rudiments of engaging the clutch and shifting gears. After this brief lesson, he removed the bike's license plates then drove off with a friend who'd arrived by car.

And there it was, my own beautiful gold motorcycle sitting in the driveway. Only my 17th birthday and a driver's test stood between me and the open road. Both were only a few weeks away.

As the days dragged, I honed my ability to fire up the engine with a single dramatic downward lunge on the kick-starter -- a bit of theater eliminated years later by the electric starter. With the motorcycle still propped innocuously on its center stand, I also practiced working the clutch and gearshift.

Soon, of course, I tried engaging the clutch with the bike solidly on the ground to see if I could get it moving forward ever so slightly. After mastering slow rolling starts, I advanced to coasting to the end of the driveway, doing a U-turn in the street then riding back up the driveway. Then, hey, if I'm already in the street, why not head up the block to practice going through the gears.

Within a week or two after first sitting on this motorcycle, I was taking short, stealthy trips around neighborhood. I cruised slowly along residential streets no faster than if I were on a bicycle. I steadfastly obeyed all traffic laws -- the ones pertaining to the actual operation of a moving vehicle, that is. I stayed off busy streets and avoided other traffic.

Then it happened. I'd driven up my street and strayed into the next town when suddenly a police car pulled up behind me with its lights blinking. I wasn't speeding, but my empty license plate bracket had attracted his attention. You know, until that moment, I'd never seen a police car in that area. And I never did again. I guess it was my lucky day.

After parking the bike on the side of the road and turning off the engine, I can't recall the specific details of my conversation with the officer. However, I remember the situation deteriorating rapidly when, in response to his questions, I mumbled something about not having a driver's license, registration or insurance.

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