Why a Biker

I have been asked many times why did you become a biker? Was it because your father was a biker? No. Was it because of some traumatic event in your childhood? No. Did you start hanging out with the wrong crowd? No. I have to look them in the eye and say I do not know why you are not a biker.

When growing up I was given a tricycle and quickly learned how to petal down the driveway. As I got older my father spent many hours teaching me how to stay balanced on a two-wheel bike. After a while I learned how to challenge physics, stay upright and ride down the block. I learned how to Jump curbs and pull wheelies. Often riding the bike on one wheel for blocks. The feeling of freedom was overwhelming. I was away from the front of my house. I could meet new people. I was on top of the world. On rainy days I would look out the window bored. I could only watch the TV show Sky King so many times. I would look out onto the street and wish I were riding my bike, finding new streets and new fields to play in.

The kids from my neighborhood would get together. We would build jumps; dirt tracks and we would pretend to be racers going around those worn paths as fast as our legs would let us go. We would put playing cards in the spokes with clothespins, all in the attempt to sound like a real motorbike. I would let my mind go and think I was on a motorcycle, fast, shiny and loud.

Neighborhood gang and yes we called ourselves the Gavitoa Gang for that was the street we grew up on. Even our parents called us the gang. We all hung together as a tight nit group. Yes we had our fights but if one of us had trouble all of us had trouble. As I got older the gang got into mini bikes and go-carts. We would work our butts off mowing yards or doing other odd jobs for a few dollars. We would pool our money together and buy an old lawnmower. We would get one of our dads to help with building a frame and one by one all of us had a mini bike. Some with no breaks but we had a running bike. We would push them to the dirt fields and ride them for hours. Than once again push them home. The ride was worth the effort to push them for several miles. There was this one place called Dominguez Hills and it was a great spot for riding bikes, mini bikes or real motorcycles. It was about five miles from my house but I would push my bike all that way just get a chance at some new hills. I learned how to jump a bike there. What a thrill it was to land right and not fall.

I learned from my parents to stand by your friends. That it was an honor to have a true friend. In my neighborhood I had 5 true friends. In school I learned to stand by the school colors. In my grade school it was green and white. In high school it was blue and white. The group us from the neighborhood grew up and went different paths. One never came home from Nam. One was hit on his bike and the car kept going after dragging him 100 feet. He now has pins in his foot leg and hip. He was hurt so bad on his bike but at the first chance, with a cast still on his foot we went for a ride. I don't wonder why I became a biker. I wonder why you did not. Didn't you have a tricycle? Didn't you have a bike that taught you about freedom, trust and friendship? Didn't you have friends that were true to you no matter what? Didn't you learn how to cheer on your school colors?

I know why I became a biker. The things I learned as a young man prepared me for loving this life of freedom that no car or drug could ever replace. Ride free Harleys forever.

Learn more about this author, Frank Oquin.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Reflections: Motorcycling?
We want to hear your view. Write now!