Christopher J. of Houston, TX opens up about how his love of motorcycles helped fuel the love between him and his father. We can't think of a better way to celebrate all the dads out there than by sharing his story with you.
Thanks to Twisted Road I will be afforded the opportunity to go for a lengthy Father’s Day weekend ride with, well, my father of course so thank you Twisted Road. So where to begin?
Riding: A Family Legacy
My father’s first experience on a bike was as a child on a family friend’s Red Indian Chief in 1937. He then recounted his experience riding his brother’s Ariel Red Hunter 500cc single and how it would go thump-thump-thump in top gear riding through the streets of San Antonio, and riding it to Pharr, Texas on numerous occasions. Back then Pharr was a long, long way to go.
He then acquired a 50’s model BMW, which he rode from San Antonio to Acapulco and back, riding up a caldera during the trip. That old BMW was a real adventure bike. While my father was going to St. Mary’s University, he was working as a DJ at a classical music radio station. My uncle was a classical music fan and brought my mom to the radio station and it was love at first sight. Mom was movie-star beautiful. My uncle would tell me they could always hear my dad’s bike coming down the street when he came over. Not long after that they were married and the BMW was subsequently sold.
My first experience on a bike was at two years of age on a Suzuki "Water Buffalo" around the parking lot of the apartments I lived in, and I could not wait to get back on when it was over. I asked Santa for a bike at 4 years of age and Santa kept saying “how ‘bout a bicycle?” Me and Santa went round and round about that and I ended up with a bicycle; not long after Mom put me in gymnastics and my dream faded. My father and I had a pretty contentious relationship early on which looking back was a good thing as I never got homesick when I spent time away from home. I grew up with a somewhat unhealthy fear of my father as my father did with his. My stepdad's arrival put me in a full-on rebellion.
Undiagnosed learning disabilities meant that school was just another place of I felt unfulfilled. So I dropped out of school, ran away from home, and lived the punk rock dream in Austin, squatting in an abandoned dormitory, and other empty dwellings as they became available. The housing market in Austin was a lot different back then (weird, I know). I dropped back into high school, after a one-and-a-half-year hiatus, during which time I got an "education" I will never forget.
Revisiting Motorcycling
After a failed attempt back home with my mom and stepdad and at my uncle’s home in Dallas, I ended up with my father in a garage apartment in Houston starting my junior year of school. Towards the end of my senior year, my father dropped back into motorcycling with the purchase of a running 1973 BMW R100/7 from Union Motorcycle Salvage for $750. A friend of mine had recently purchased a Moto Guzzi 850T for $400, so my dad had to go see if he could find a similar bargain.
The bike was lucky to survive the outings I took it on while my dad was at work. By now things were going quite well between us— as evidenced by the time my father came home from work, set out to take the bike for a spin, felt the very warm valve covers and asked, “Have you been riding this?” I said no. His response was “Just don’t crash the damn thing.” Concern of the well-being of a machine over your own, I later discovered was genetic. Once, I had to turn in a paper for school that I had stayed home all day to complete by the end of the day. The METRO was not going to do the trick in this case, so I hopped on the R75. This being my first trip on heavily trafficked streets, I was in for a real adventure. I throttled up to pass a car and the torque of the longitudinally-mounted crankshaft had me veering into the right lane which was not my intention; I was just not ready for that. But I made it to school and turned in the paper.
But then I had the perilous journey back home. As I was helmetless, my home room teacher Mr. Van Beck recognized me and rolled down the window of his Jetta and gave me a thumbs up. He said, “A cycle huh?" Well, right in front of him I downshifted into 1st and let the clutch out mid-corner and the heavy flywheel of the R75 locked the rear wheel and lurched sideways. I instinctively eased on the throttle and survived. A block away from home I ran a bit wide and hit some leaves and mud gathered on the street against the curb, and I had no choice but to get on the throttle and the rear wheel threw up a rooster tail of mud and crud. Alas I pulled into the driveway laughing that I had made it home intact (and most importantly with the bike intact).
Not long after, I was cruising a back street where I found a friend in front of one of the apartments working on his R100RS so I stopped. He let me take a ride; I goosed the throttle and immediately recognized how inadequate the R75 was. Shortly thereafter I acquired a 1978 BMW R100/7 and so began a fellowship that my father and I have shared to this day. We rode together a great deal on those bikes.
Crashes & Other Setbacks
I did have a monumental crash on theR100 though. I pulled out from behind a van at an intersection coming home from summer school and ran a yellow light. A car turned left in front of me and the left cylinder caught the bumper and I somersaulted through the air landing on my back. Luckily, I was wearing a Kenny Roberts replica AGV, jacket and gloves, and I had a backpack filled with textbooks, so I survived. My shin was severely bruised though, making me realize that the left cylinder head bore the brunt of the impact thereby possibly saving me from a broken leg. Thanks BMW. All I could think of was what kind of shape the bike was in, because I could not wait to get back on.
The bike was quickly repaired thereafter, and the riding resumed. I eventually ruined the motor because of my unwillingness to check the oil on a bike that requires constant monitoring of its very limited oil capacity. We spent countless hours together, father instructing son in the art and science of motorcycle repair and maintenance. This time was instrumental in making me the man I am today.
The bike ended up in boxes, so I sold it to acquire a 1989 Yamaha FZR600 as the racing bug had set in. A fellow by the name of Collin Edwards showed up at Oak Hill Raceway at the same time I did and put the world on notice that he was the future GP star, and not us. My father was always at the races with me, snapping photos with his Leica R3 camera. A lack of funding ended my racing career before it started. Once I walked away though, years of depression followed.
My father kept riding because he knew where not riding could put you, and he was not going to re-live that nightmare. I sought relief in doctor’s offices and prescription bottles. I rode on and off, bumming rides on other people’s bikes all the while not letting my M classification on my license lapse as I viewed it as a badge of honor, never realizing that riding might help pull me out of my funk.
My father ended up buying the R100—still in boxes—and revived it. About 8 years ago he had a death scare and made me come get the R100, as it kept him off the R75. The death scare was just that and he has never been better. I reacquainted myself with my trusty steed and we had a good time together, but I knew that time would be limited as I quickly realized that we had long since outgrown each other.
A Catalyst for Change
Meanwhile, my father was rekindling his love affair with single cylinder machines, yet unable to find anything closely matching the Ariel from long ago. KLR650 and BMW F650 were nice but just not the same ergonomically as a purpose-built street machine. All the while, he kept mentioning how much he liked the Suzuki SV650. For years it was the subject of conversation in passing but never got past that. This time, I would be the catalyst for change.
An in-law had a 2003 Suzuki SV1000 that he was looking to divest himself of. My father and I were discussing long overdue replacements for the BMW’s in the meantime. I acquired the SV1000 and rode it home to Houston from San Antonio and found instant deep relief for what had been ailing my mental health. I immediately told my father what an exceptionally nice ride it was; it had no flexi-flyer frame, spindly forks, and inadequate brakes (something most beginner bikes are sorely lacking these days in my opinion, as chassis oscillations and very mild tank slappers can be great instructors in rider control).
He expressed interest in a liter bike but I steered him towards the SV650 he had longed for all these years, because the SV1000 is a bit heavy and his upper body strength at 88 is more conducive to the 650. So in February, we loaded up the BMW F650 and headed to RideNow in Austin for a 2020 SV650. He got his head ripped off on the trade-in of course (funny the bike is now for sale at a dealer in Huntsville for $3,000—who says dreams can’t be had by dealerships?).
I rode the SV650 from Austin to Bonham, Texas while he followed me in his pickup, struggling to keep up, of course. He now has over 3000 miles on the bike and couldn’t be happier. The SV1000 had a sprag failure and needs new brake lines, a clutch line, and fork oil, so with Father’s Day quickly approaching I opted to rent a Triumph Street Triple RS for the coming weekend.
A Father's Day Ride
Thank you so much Twisted Road for providing this opportunity for what has been a long awaited re-kindling of a fellowship my father and I have shared all these years. I hope this will be an experience that will long be remembered. I just hope I can keep up with the old man as he is still no slouch, “damn rear tire keeps sliding on me, I think I have too much air in the rear tire.” No, Pop, I am convinced it’s that damn right hand you used to bust my ass with. Thanks Twisted Road for making dreams into memories.
If you look closer at the BMW Motorrad jacket passed out on the sign -- you guessed it Mandalorian armor (that ain’t plastic). The roads were awesome, 2nd gear hairpins, medium speed sweepers, no traffic lights, no cars, just open twisty roads under national forest canopy to keep the heat at bay. Lots of bikes out. Started at 9am and got home about 5:30. Put in about 500 miles. Stopped for gas a bunch. Once at Gasquatch and once at Tote-a-Poke. With all the THC dispensaries around I never saw a Tote-a-Toke, probably cuz it’s illegal to Toke medical stuff like that
P. S. The R100 was sold and the R75 is as Kris Kristofferson once penned “lookin’ for the home and I hope he’ll find it.” Meanwhile me and the old man are going to enjoy the freedom that affords us the luxury of nothin’ left to lose. I'm happy to be able to publicly proclaim that I love my father. And, while he may not be able to accept it in those terms, I know that I have his approval and affirmation. Isn’t that what we need and long for from our father’s after all?
I’ll leave the rest of the world to decide that on their own.
Happy Father’s Day everyone.
Christopher rented Alex C.'s bike available for rent on Twisted Road. Check it out:
