I Scored an 85 on my Blood Test

Hmmmmm.
I wonder how long she's been smoking.


I never got into doing burnouts or other silly shit with my bikes because I didn't have them handed to me free of charge as a plaything to get me out of my parents' hair.
*cue violin*
I had to get my first job at age 15, working for the Town of Sprague, clearing brush around the Baltic reservoir.
With this money, I bought my first bike - a $100 P.O.S.
It was a 1972 Yamaha AT-2, a dual-purpose bike that had seen one too many retards in charge of it's upkeep.
I had to learn from scratch how to ride it and maintain it.
I even had to learn how to install a new part called a contact breaker (AKA points) just to get it running.
My point is:
I wanted to ride a dirt bike really badly, and there was no way I even remotely wanted to do any silly, abusive shit to the bike.
It was my only one, and I'd worked to earn the money for it, and I wanted to keep riding it.
I had to make it last.
Even though I call it a P.O.S., that's only because it was what I today call a piece of shit - it wasn't in excellent mechanical condition like I eventually had the rest of my bikes that I bought after that first one.
I simply did not have the money or experience to make it much better than it was.

There were other kids I knew and rode with that had the opposite view.
I rode (just a couple of times, thank God) with a kid in town who had parents that had enough money to spoil the kid rotten.
We were riding behind this kid's house, and I was on my P.O.S. AT-2, while he was riding a one-year-old Yamaha YZ-80.
I thought that kid's YZ was fantastic with all it's newness glistening in the sun, and I wished that I was on a bike that was thoroughly modern like that one was.

Well, the kid made some kind of mistake and either stalled the engine, or nearly crashed, or did something that made him upset with his YZ for a moment (can't remember exactly what).
So, the kid gets off the bike and basically pushes it over and lets it fall to the ground, saying something like, "This f-in' thing is a piece of shit...blah, blah, blah..."

Yeah, you can probably imagine my reaction.
I pretty much instantly lost my desire to ride with the kid, which pretty much went along with my feelings toward the kid to start with, anyway:
You're a spoiled brat loser retard, buddy, and I'm thoroughly disgusted by your actions.
I'm outta' here.

The point of that true story is the difference in our backgrounds and what we thought of our motorcycles.
I still feel very much the same way, today, too.
I'm all for riding the bike as well and as accurately and as fast as I can without crashing.
I'll still leave the temper tantrums to the retard neighbors and the smokey burnouts to the girls wearing the pink tops sticking their butts out. :)

Off to jerk for another freebee Saturday,
-John