Parents don’t want me to get a bike

I never had that problem with my parents since I had no interest in motorcycles as a young adult. But my bride was dead set agaiinst me getting a motorcycle, and she got more adamant when our first child came along. I acquiesed to her fears for awhile, and then decided this was something important to me. There were a few chilly days when I came home on a motorcycle at first, but it wasn't long before she became my regular passenger. And now, 40 plus years later, she is still my passenger as we enjoy rides together.

As an adult you have to live for yourself and your values, and not those of your parents. My parents were unhappy when I decided to extend my time in the Army beyond my two year obligation from ROTC. But this is what I wanted and I stayed in for 24 years. And until she died at 103 my Mom never approved of my riding motorcycles and would ask me at every visit if I had finally quit this activity. But she accepted that I had a mind of my own. I only regret that I never was able to get her to ride with me just to see what the experience was like. And FWIW, my parents were even more unhappy with my taking up skydiving, but they got over that as well.

This looks like a good time to post my own "first motorcycle" story.
1968. Couldn't afford a car, so I mentioned that I could buy a small motorcycle so I'd have a way to get around. My father blew his top! "NO efin' motorcycles! Only an efin' idiot would ride one of those!!!" You could have heard him screaming down the block!
My mother always took my side in things. So, we waited for the heat to die down for a couple of weeks and mom took me to pick up the first bike, a 1964 Honda 90. We brought it home in the trunk of the big '56 Chrysler my parents had.
We lived in a rented house, second floor. My father NEVER went in the basement, so that's where the bike went. Over the next couple of weeks, I taught myself to ride on the streets in our neighborhood, and got my license.
I had that bike more than two months before my father found out about it.
And that is part 2 of the story.
My father owned a small grocery store only a few blocks from home, and I worked there part time. So everybody around knew me. "Apparently" one of his lady customers saw me somewhere. She came into the store and said in a very cheerful tone, "I didn't know that your son had a motorcycle! I saw him yesterday!"
That night when he came home, the kaka hit the air distributor! My mother sent me to my room and SHE fought it out with my father! And she won and both I and the bike stayed. But he was still beyond pissed!
Now, as if I wasn't unpopular enough already, I then taught both of my younger brothers to ride...and they BOTH got bikes. Now there were three of us. My father was done, completely defeated. By the time he died, I was on bike number 7. Til the day he died, he never so much as looked at one of them or mentioned them, like they didn't exist.
About 20 years later I was reminiscing with my youngest brother. He said, "Mom sent you to your room. You didn't hear that fight. That bike almost caused a divorce!"
LOL!!
It's now been 55 years. My youngest brother and I still ride, safely I might add.
Middle brother gave it up years ago.
Thanks Mom!

Okay, here is a little story of mine about my first bike. Neither of my parents were real happy with me getting a bike because they are "too dangerous" they said. My Mom never got her driver's license and my Dad was about the most nervous driver on the road, which is crazy because he was very handy with his hands and very athletic. Anyway, the only time I saw him drive over 60 mph was one day when we saw a moose on the road quite a distance ahead of us and he wanted to get up and see it before it went into the woods. I think he got up to 65 mph!

Anyway, I got my bike a 185 Yammie two-stroke. A short while after I got it, I noticed the front tire had a bulge in it. A new tire cost around $30.00 at the time and I had around $15.00. I was 18 at the time and my Dad's health had deteriorated to the point that he could not do much so any work around the house was done by me or relatives. We had some plumbing to do under the house and my Dad was instructing me just exactly how to insulate one of the pipes. Now, this is not rocket science for a handy guy like me and I had had enough of my Dad treating me like a 10 year old. So, I sat there and did nothing. He got mad and asked me if I was going to do it and I told him yes, just as soon and he went in the house and left me alone. I had never spoken to my Dad that way before and he was angrier than I had ever seen him. His face turned all red and since he couldn't do anything about the situation, he got up and went in the house and I finished the job. My brother-in-law was there and he just smiled at me and said something like "wow". My Dad and I never spoke for days and my bike just sat in the driveway since I didn't have enough money to get a new tire. About a week later, my Dad came to me and asked how much I needed for the tire. I told him $15.00 and he gave it to me. My Dad grew up working in the coal mines from 8 years old and missed getting much of his social education and this was his way of apologizing. My Mom told me later that she had a talk with him and convinced him he was wrong to go on treating me like that.

I hitchhiked to the motorcycle dealer the next day which was about 30 miles to the city and got my tire. I think I was still a dollar or two short and they discounted it for me. I got to ride my bike again and my relationship with my Dad started turning more to a man and a boy to a man and a young man.

Wouldn't you know, I busted the crank on that Yammie a month or so later. It may have had something to do with using four stroke oil in that two stroke eninge. Ididn't know any better and no one else I knew had any experience either. I never got another bike until a year and a half later when I had moved out on my own.