Quote:
Originally Posted by flatbutt
How well I remember the days of bungeeing a sleeping bag over the headlight, a tent on the back and some folding money in my pocket.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Nostril Cheese
Rode all over the western half of the United States right out of high school. 1975 Honda CB550F I bought wrecked and rebuilt.
Everyone should travel.
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OMG. One of my clearest memories is the chills of apprehension and adventure running down my spine sitting on a 1975 Honda CB750K along the Columbia River on the way to California. I was 17 and had just left my father's house for the first and which I knew would be the only time. Either I was a man, or I was gonna be one. And I was alone. It was August and, after visiting California, my next stop would be a college dormitory. All of my possessions fit on my motorcycle. I think I was never happier, before or since, than at that moment. And it was a moment and a feeling not unlike Jeff's in the opening story. You just really cannot beat that combination of fear followed by victory, or at the same time. They are a combined feeling. Some folks don't know about that. Alright. Here goes. I hafta do this, though you have all read this one:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”