I spent my early years around a lot of motorcycles. We had a few and the brothers had many more. Growing up I remember parts all over the kitchen and cleaning parts for my dad in the driveway with gasoline. I have always wanted to get one myself but have seen too much damage and too many close calls to be able to motivate myself to do so. My uncle rode his Goldwing off of a cliff. He had been riding for many years and still screwed up. He still has the jacket he rode the pavement on to the edge of the cliff, all torn up with the stuffing popping out. He came about a foot from a very long fall. That was the last motorcycle he bought. My mom still has gravel in her leg from a time when her and my dad layed one down up in Washington state. Those are a couple of the lucky stories. I cant even think about the unlucky ones.
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