The Boy Who Dreamt of Motorcyles

I have always thought of it many times… If I ever write my memories, I’d call them The Boy Who Dreamt of Motorcycles, as that’s what I’ve been doing most of the time of my life.

It happened some 35 years ago, I was still a project swimming in mom’s womb, and she sat as a pillion in dad’s Bultaco. The engine vibration entered my mom’s body and shook me forever. The two wheels poison came into my veins and is still running through them, I will be a biker as long as I’m alive, and even longer.

Patience was not my best quality back in childhood years, so I was desperate for a motorcycle just being a toddler. My father changed his Bultaco for a Vespa, which I clearly remembered parked right outside home. I could see it from the window, and anytime I had mom’s permission, I would sit on it and imagine I was riding it away.

I loved to be standing behind the handlebars of the Vespa and get the wind right on my face after school when dad picked me up to take me home. I got so anxious about a bike my parents decided to buy me a toy three wheeled vespa replica for Christmas. The batteries lasted for one meter, and it never got batteries again… but I could pull it myself and pretend I was on a highway to hell!

I haven’t stopped crying tough to get a bike, or riding bikes since then. I have never ever doubted at all that I wanted to ride, and since I stand on my own feet and get my living I have always ridden bikes anywhere possible.

Bikers are forged at a very young age, everyone can have a few grand to get a bike, make a few miles and call himself whatever… that will not make you a biker.

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