It Was the Summer of '69

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I was 17. The president of the motorcycle club The Brother Speed invited me on a run up to Idaho City. He picked me up in his Impala and we drove over to his place. His bike was this beautiful blue color. I'd never ridden on a Harley. It was thrilling going down the highway, wind at your back, riding behind a leathered motorcycle man. We'd ride at the back of the pack and I could watch the others as they snaked their way around the curves, and then speeded up on the straight aways. The curves scared me and instead of swaying with him I would move the opposite way. A big mistake. This could have made us wreck. When we took a break he asked one of the other girls to talk to me. She explained how dangerous it was to do this, that these guys were good and knew how to maneuver a chopper. I had nothing to fear. The rest of the day I swurved with GS. Even on the hair pin curves up above Idaho City. What a day! We rode together a few more times that summer. He was a gentleman and a good leader. He later moved to Washington, open a repair business, built his own home, got married and had eight kids. I was watching a movie tonight and thought about that experience. That was 56 years ago.