After using our motorcycle learner’s permits well beyond their restrictions, my older brother, David, and I decided it was high time to legalize our activities and get properly licensed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
We made appointments for concurrent time slots in a city just outside Boston. This was 1974. My bike was unsuitable for the road test and my brother’s 1969 Triumph Tiger 650 was in pieces, so we arranged to borrow a friend’s Honda CB500 Four.
Upon request, we handed over the registration to the uniformed Registry officer and after a quick perusal he inquired, “Who’s first?” in a barely audible mumble. I raised my hand as my stomach went in the opposite direction.
The Honda’s electric start fired her right up, and I followed the cop’s commands for figure eights, decreasing radius turns and an assortment of hand signals on a narrow, crowded and crowned public street.
I finished my demonstration of riding skills and glanced over to my brother, looking for an indication of my success, but all I saw was an expression of concern.
The registry cop snapped his left wrist free of his sleeve and glared at the watch, which was anchored by a wide leather band.
“It’s almost lunch,” he growled. He then recited directions to a local deli and expressed his desire for an Italian sub.
He made no movement toward his wallet.
My brother dropped the Honda into gear and was off. I sat on the cold granite curb, contemplating my fate and praying my brother would return safely with the hero in hand.
Soon a crisp exhaust note echoed off the triple-decker houses that lined the street, heralding his arrival. The tube-like, oil-stained, brown bag testified to its contents: a foot-long submarine sandwich, awaiting consumption.
My brother handed over the paper bag, and the officer simultaneously handed each of us a temporary paper license that held the promise of freedom to cross state borders, ride two-up and navigate legally into adulthood.
We’d started the journey years earlier side by side, glued in front of a black and white television set, mesmerized by Michael Parks on his Sportster in “Then Came Bronson.” Now, it was finally our turn to hit the open road.
While the anecdote above may be unusual, it is part of my life on two wheels. It is illustrative of what makes this endeavor so much more than just a mode of transport. We all have our own experiences, or we will.
It also demonstrates the remarkable influence a fictional character from a television series that aired for only two seasons (1969-70) can have on impressionable adolescents, and the profound effect it can make in life.
Back then, not only was there no internet, there were no DVRs, VCRs or any other way to watch your favorite shows without sitting in front of the TV on the right night at the right time. Yet, we gladly arranged our lives to do just that, and we looked forward to those time slots with anticipation.
My first chosen profession as scuba diver/underwater photographer was a direct result of my fascination with Lloyd Bridges’ adventures in the TV show “Sea Hunt.”
The counterculture appeal of motorcycling as exhibited in “Then Came Bronson” and the movie “Easy Rider” (with the added rumble of Steppenwolf’s music) contributed to putting my generation of bikers on the road.
But what is keeping us there? And what inspired those who followed or came before?
There may be as many reasons as there are motorcyclists. But I like to think there is some commonality among us. It might be a desire to be a part of something or, then again, as in my case, to be apart from something.

..the idea of motorcycling gets your cerebral cortex ablaze with electrical pulses.

The physical joys telegraphed to the brain that result from a twist of the wrist or a steep lean angle are a component, but even before you swing a leg over the machine, the idea of motorcycling gets your cerebral cortex ablaze with electrical pulses.
So, as the song says, “Get your motor running.” Or, quoting the immortal lyrics of Arlo Guthrie: “I don’t want a pickle, I just want to ride my motorsikle.”
After all, I’ve got a license to ride!

Jonathan Lewis is an AMA member from Los Angeles who now rides a 1993 Ducati 907IE.