There isn't a man on the planet who can forget his first set of wheels. It's an American rite of passage! You got wheels; you’re a man, a man with freedom.

I was an early bloomer - automotively speaking. I got my first set of wheels when I was 10. That's right, 10! Got wheel envy? I remember the day like it was yesterday.  My grandmother was off to visit her sister in Paducah so my granddad, Pappy as all knew him, decided we’d come to Lubbock and get me a motorcycle.  Little did we know what we had bargained for when Big Mama got back from her trip.

Anyway, I tore the ditch and dirt road up on that little Honda Z-50 all afternoon. All my cousins grew up on motorcycles so it was only fitting that I follow the same path, right? Well, that would be a big NO as far as my grandmother was concerned. You have to understand that my grandparents raised me, they were my primary caregivers.

That night, I parked that little motorcycle beneath the tree in the back yard, and me and my Pappy went to go inside…to no avail! My grandmother had locked us out of the house! I guess she was mad.

She finally got over it and I continued my love affair with the steel horse.  Honda SL-70 was next, then a Honda XL-80S and finally the 200cc Honda Twinstar.

I don’t think you could pay me enough to get on one of those things now.