Like most here, I rode bikes as a kid. Had a paper route and even manage to put a paper into the spokes and flipped the bike on the scariest part of my route right at the scariest part of the last house on my route 2 miles out of town. Probably like most here, I stopped riding in my teens and started driving. I probably would have gotten into motorcycles but my mother had a standard response to any motor related hobbies I might have pursued…”You’ll kill yourself.” My younger brother, on the other hand, got the motorcycle and Camaro without the warning. I got stuck with a 73 Vega instead of the 454 Chevelle SS. Thanks, Mom
Shortly after I got married in 1976…I was 10…, my wife took me roller skating and managed to break my ankle. It was her fault for taking me skating and convincing me that I was getting better at it. I had let go of the wall and was even enjoying myself until I found myself flying through the air and landing on the rink surface with a loud “crunch” in my ankle. I had signed up for an exercise/weight loss class before I went skating and, after getting a pin, plate, and two screws to hold my ankle together, the walking/running part of the class was out.
I still had my Sears 10 speed that my parents let me buy in the late 60s…no admonishment about “killing myself” from my mother…so I started riding that. Here I am, nearly 50 years later, and I haven’t missed riding at least once in every month since then. Over 600 months of riding despite getting hit by a car, breaking my ankle another time, raising of kids, winter storms, and summer heat as well as countless crashes.