Until I stumbled upon this website, I assumed mini bikes were a thing of the past.They're not.
They are now called "old school" mini bikes, but they look essentially the same as the one you see me sitting on here in the late 1960s. Mine consisted of a lawnmower engine mounted to a crudely welded steel frame (that often cracked and had to be re-welded). No shock absorbers. No lights, horns or turning signals. Small wheels. Questionable brakes. And a very hot muffler.
In terms of safety, a mini bike was an amazingly dangerous vehicle. But these tiny motorcycles also provided the first taste of freedom for many kids my age in that era. You could go farther and faster on a mini bike than on a bicycle. In a pre-Internet, pre-virtual reality time, this was a way to see the world -- or at least the world beyond my school and backyard. There was a bit of an anti-establishment vibe to riding a mini bike, too, which was appealing to anyone over 10 and under 30 years old in the rebellious 60s.
Like other kids, I went everywhere on my mini bike, whether it was legal or not. Cops would chase us. Parents would freak out if they learned about our cruising down Sunrise Highway or along residential streets where adults would wave their arms at us in anger. But we had a blast and weren't confined to the new cookie-cutter neighborhoods that sterilized life on Long Island. For less than 50 cents worth of gas, any day could be turned into the ultimate adventure and escape from whatever we needed to escape from. Regardless of age or circumstances, we all need an escape at times.
The only other material object that I can recall being as cool as a mini bike was an electric guitar. And, in a different way, the electric guitar also represented freedom.
To this day, nothing remains more symbolically cool in my mind than a motorcycle or guitar. A motorcycle can physically transport you in a way that a car, plane or train can't. Its engine rumbling as the wind blows against your face creates quite a feeling -- one that can't be simulated on a computer. Strumming a guitar can also transport me to a good place, particularly if shared with the right people or audience.
Playing music and riding motorcycles can be solitary or group activities, though I suspect doing either is better with people you enjoy being around.
Even though I no longer ride motorcycles of any kind, I am always looking at them -- gazing like I am staring into the past or longing for more freedom in the present -- examining color and chrome. Wanting to reconnect to something that even my guitar doesn't totally allow me to recapture these days.
While the digital age has provided an array of new toys and opportunities, I would gladly turn in my laptop for a Harley and a chance to play music in a dive bar or two a couple times a week with friends. I'd blissfully turn off CNN for a chance to strap a six-string to the back of a motorcycle. I would never give the debt ceiling or politics another thought.
These are the dreams of that kid sitting on that mini bike in the picture above. Dreams of freedom and simple pleasures, not of bills, deteriorating news and colonoscopies. Dreams and desires that settle the soul and ignite the spirt, and that become strangely more vivid as time passes all too quickly.
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