My name is Dallas Knocke. I am 23 years old, and I love motorcycles to a point of near autistic obsession. When I was 17 and skateboarding wasn't cutting it to my minimum wage job anymore, something had to change. A car was out of the cost equation, let alone drivers ed classes. Enter a non-running 1978 Foxi GT moped for 100 dollars, no license needed!
One Problem: IT WASN'T RUNNING!
And I knew nothing. Crankshaft and 2-stroke sounded like things I did in the shower. After 2 weeks of endless wrenching in the dark(wrenching-what vice grips and pliers were made for), badgering Google and some old ex-Ascot racers who held the mechanical secrets to life, and enough variations of screaming F-bombs to make a sailor blush, she fired up like a 28.5 mph bumble bee outta hell.
A fire was caught in my gut on that quiet street in Carson, CA that day that will never burn out, not like that little 50cc motor did 2 months later.
Many many many unlicenced miles and 5 years later, after buying, fixing, breaking, crashing, fixing again, and selling over 20 bikes of all sizes, elegant styles and foreign models(or, more truthfully, brutalized Hondas on Craigslist), the flame is still burning strong.
My fathers 1997 Harley Davidson FLSTC. 72,XXX miles and counting.
Not like his old bikes from back in the day.
My dad bought it used and put over 20,000 miles on it in less than 2 years.
Until he went down. Hard.
After a month in a coma and six more in a rehabilitation care, he started talking.
I remember shortly after, the conversation of riding came up with my mother. She said he'd never be able to again.
"I'm gonna hop on my bike, burn rubber, tear ass down the street, and get the hell outta here!" he said, taking a good five breaths to get it all out, like Stevie from Malcolm in the Middle.
After blowing the doctors expectations, he's walking, eating, talking(mainly crap to my mother), and riding a 21-speed Schwinn.
But he'll get lost in his own house and ask where the bathroom is located.
It took him three years to realize she was right.
It's the only bike I've ever been given, and the only one I'll never sell.
Simple. Something like this.
1 Harley, 2 heels, 4 skateboard wheels, and some camping gear for 30ish days.
Here's my plan:
1. Wake up, ride as far as I want to that day, to wherever I choose that morning.
2. Arrive. Meet people. Explore. Have fun.
3. Sleep. Where? Here's the procedure.
-make new friends and stay at their place
-camp wherever I can.
4. Blog the days' spontaneity.
5. Repeat 1-4 until I have to be back at work.