My Honda 599
My fascination of motorcycles started at a very young age and was embodied in two forms, or more specifically, through two faces. The first was Arthur Fonzarelli aka "The Fonz" or "Fonzie" from the Happy Days TV show. The leather jacket, perfectly sculpted pomade-filled pompadour, jeans and boots were the definition of cool for many an impressionable kid in the 1970s. Of course, his character would have been woefully incomplete without the biggest, baddest cool-guy accessory of them all: his motorcycle. Whether he was jumping trash cans or sharks with his bike, or just sitting on in it front of Al's Diner "bird watching", the motorcycle was as much a part of Fonzie as his thumbs. He was cool—at least in the 70s.
The other face of motorcycling for me in the 70s was the daredevil himself, Evel Knievel. Like many boys at the time, I had an Evel Knievel toy that would replicate his heroism on two wheels—star-spangled cape and all. With this miniature version of stuntman and motorcycle, I'd spend many idle moments (some of the best in your life) simulating death-defying tricks using ramps and whatever else allowed you to propel miniature Evel on his bike through the air, usually ending with a dramatic smash against a wall or slide across carpet or concrete driveway. Spectacular. Fortunately, unlike the real Evel Knievel, who suffered his share of broken bones or worse over the span of his career of show-stopping stunts, the plastic/rubber version of himself only suffered the mild humiliation of a soiled white jumpsuit after too many launches off the porch and into the flower bed. His name alone was already bad ass sounding, with or without the bike. Truly motorcycling didn't get better than this.
The other face of motorcycling for me in the 70s was the daredevil himself, Evel Knievel. Like many boys at the time, I had an Evel Knievel toy that would replicate his heroism on two wheels—star-spangled cape and all. With this miniature version of stuntman and motorcycle, I'd spend many idle moments (some of the best in your life) simulating death-defying tricks using ramps and whatever else allowed you to propel miniature Evel on his bike through the air, usually ending with a dramatic smash against a wall or slide across carpet or concrete driveway. Spectacular. Fortunately, unlike the real Evel Knievel, who suffered his share of broken bones or worse over the span of his career of show-stopping stunts, the plastic/rubber version of himself only suffered the mild humiliation of a soiled white jumpsuit after too many launches off the porch and into the flower bed. His name alone was already bad ass sounding, with or without the bike. Truly motorcycling didn't get better than this.
0 comments:
Post a Comment