“I was up in a tree ... looking down at Cheryl. “Do you want to ride on my new motorcycle?”
She smiled. “Sure!”
I jumped down ... handed her the helmet. “Hop on.” Once she settled in, I took off down the road. I liked how she held on tight to me.
“Should we be riding on the road?” she yelled above the sound of the engine and the wind.
“It’ll be fine.” After about a quarter of a mile we stopped at an intersection, ready to head back. Then I heard the whoop whoop sound of a state trooper. He walked up and said, “Turn off your motorcycle, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
Looking at me, he said, “Your bike doesn’t have a plate.” He looked a little closer at Cheryl and me and said, “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
So begins Scott Ocamb’s long love affair with motorcycles – getting caught illegally riding his unlicensed, dirt- bike, on the county road.
Flash forward a few years to another kind of ride.
“I had the urge to get back on a smooth winding road again. I put on my helmet and roared off, leaving Ross and Bill behind. Cruising at about 60 miles per hour, I came upon a tight curve. The smooth road felt wonderful after hours riding on the rough and dusty dirt roads. I downshifted into the turn. I felt a harsh jolt and the bike slid sideways, the rear wheel locked up, skidding across the road. I attempted to steer into the skid, turning the handle bars to the left as far as they would go, then right, then left again, and came to a screeching stop. I was still upright. My heart was pounding as a rush of adrenaline rocketed through my system. I turned and looked behind me and saw a long, winding black skid mark. I was in the middle of the road just beyond the curve where I almost crashed. I was shaking and got off of my bike so that I could push it on to the shoulder. Because the rear wheel was locked, it wouldn’t budge. I felt panic set in.”
From his very first brief encounter on the road to his very last, Ocamb puts you squarely behind him in the pillion seat, allowing you to share the road and the scenery along the way. I recommend you read this fine memoir of the open road by Scott Ocamb! Sharron at 🍁Leaves
PRAISE FOR MOTORCYCLE STORIES
Fall, 1971
“I was up in a tree ... looking down at Cheryl. “Do you want to ride on my new motorcycle?”
She smiled. “Sure!”
I jumped down ... handed her the helmet. “Hop on.” Once she settled in, I took off down the road. I liked how she held on tight to me.
“Should we be riding on the road?” she yelled above the sound of the engine and the wind.
“It’ll be fine.” After about a quarter of a mile we stopped at an intersection, ready to head back. Then I heard the whoop whoop sound of a state trooper. He walked up and said, “Turn off your motorcycle, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
Looking at me, he said, “Your bike doesn’t have a plate.” He looked a little closer at Cheryl and me and said, “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
So begins Scott Ocamb’s long love affair with motorcycles – getting caught illegally riding his unlicensed, dirt- bike, on the county road.
Flash forward a few years to another kind of ride.
“I had the urge to get back on a smooth winding road again. I put on my helmet and roared off, leaving Ross and Bill behind. Cruising at about 60 miles per hour, I came upon a tight curve. The smooth road felt wonderful after hours riding on the rough and dusty dirt roads. I downshifted into the turn. I felt a harsh jolt and the bike slid sideways, the rear wheel locked up, skidding across the road. I attempted to steer into the skid, turning the handle bars to the left as far as they would go, then right, then left again, and came to a screeching stop. I was still upright. My heart was pounding as a rush of adrenaline rocketed through my system. I turned and looked behind me and saw a long, winding black skid mark. I was in the middle of the road just beyond the curve where I almost crashed. I was shaking and got off of my bike so that I could push it on to the shoulder. Because the rear wheel was locked, it wouldn’t budge. I felt panic set in.”
From his very first brief encounter on the road to his very last, Ocamb puts you squarely behind him in the pillion seat, allowing you to share the road and the scenery along the way. I recommend you read this fine memoir of the open road by Scott Ocamb! Sharron at 🍁Leaves
Looking forward to the next adventure!