Summer, 1984, Northbrook, Sunday afternoon. I’d been drinking Miller Lites all day with my girlfriend Laura’s brother when the notion came up to fire up the Honda 125. I was naïve to motorcycles. Laura’s brother Bill rode an old Harley Davidson, a 1948 Pan Head. The sun was in the golden setting phase, and we were on a N/S road. Bill fired up the Honda, and showed me where the brakes, clutch and shifter were. I took off East across Pfingsten Road onto Oak/Royal. Within moments I was mesmerized. I was free as the wind, riding down the streets, soaring.

I eventually turned around and headed back to the house. Upon parking on the back patio, I was informed that I needed to have a helmet or at least eye protection and that I needed a license to be on the streets. A license? How do I do that? It turned out that I needed a bike that was at least 150 cc to qualify for an “M” on my license.

That night I called my friend Tom that had a bike and asked him if he knew anyone that had one for sale. He did. His friend Max had a 1969 Honda 175 that he would sell for $150. He’d take me over to Max’s that next morning to buy it. I was sold.

We went over that next morning and bought the bike and I ride it over to Laura’s house and started practicing in the driveway. The next day I went to the Deerfield DMV and took the written and driving tests, passing both easily. I was in heaven. I was legal. I had a motorcycle.

Two weeks later, I left for ISU. I begged my parents to trailer down the Honda the next weekend. They finally relented. I rode the bike in all weather all over the country roads around Norman and Bloomington. Tom, with his 750 Honda would ride with me, I barely being able to keep up at 55 mph. But I still loved the freedom and the ride. Now I understood what Pirsig was talking about. Now I understood the Zen of the motorcycle.

Right up until I got the Yamaha XS 1100…