When I walked to my motorcycle with the groceries in the backpack, I saw a boy standing there. As a classic driver you are never without a claim. The boy of about twenty I thought was so friendly and after some casual comments back and forth I asked him if he was also a motorcyclist. He wasn't. He wanted to. But his mother was not allowed to. He thought motorcycling was too dangerous.
Now worrying and talking about danger & fear is, in my opinion, the number one national sport in this country. And that while it has never been as safe in the Netherlands as it is now. Everyone finds at least one something scary or dangerous. And that starts very basically. That is why we see children learning to ride a bike with knee pads, gloves and a crash helmet. Apparently many mothers still drive their 11- or 12-year-old offspring to school by car because cycling is so dangerous. Many parents don't even teach their children to ride a bicycle anymore. Because it is too dangerous.
It is a combination of fear that we are talked into and the fear of mother chickens for her chicks.
But a man in his twenties who didn't ride a motorcycle because his mother thinks it is too dangerous? My mother saw things in the Japanese camp that kept her scared for the rest of her life. When I arrived with my first moped as a twelve-year-old, she was not happy. Years later, when a crumpled motorcycle was delivered to my parents' house while I was still in a French hospital, she must have almost been shocked to death. At that time there was no mobile network yet and the recovery company had been faster than the communication. But her interference for fear of driving through in the winter never got further than: "Watch out, it can be slippery." It was only later that I realized how sincere and pure her fear was. But motorcycling was just one of the few activities where I could lose myself completely.
And then from at least more than 45 years of legal riding and a lot of pointless, fun or dangerous experiences you come to the happy conclusion that you survived it all and that time has added a happy edge to all your memories. By the way, I don't have to think at all what would have happened if my mother had forbidden me to ride a moped or motorbike. Then I would not have obeyed. But apparently that is also a thing of a generation that now has more past than future.
A whole part of that past plays in the time when our current classics were nothing more than old stuff. We were just as young as the guy I was talking to at the beginning of this story. But we were active, hungry to discover a world that was certainly no better then, but a lot calmer and less complicated. And we certainly didn't listen to our mothers. Because if you don't have the chance to learn from your own mistakes? Then you don't learn anything.
And are you still alive when you read this? Then you did well too.
with tons of noise my fader and mother always drove the motorbike together me and two brothers my father did not drive a motorbike after his 40th got an aoto from the company my autste brother could get his motorcycle license paid my fader because he had turned 18 my brother under there went to get the motorcycle license to get his 25th wedding anniversary and then I got the driver's license on my 20th I will be 72 this month still drive steets motorcycle greetings
My mother got no further than “Watch out too” when I went out with my dilapidated moped (donated by an uncle). And not later when I left on my own Triumph TT100 with deafening megaphone pipes! But yes, I am from 1947 ………
That's a great year of construction!
Gosh Dolf, what an incredible motorbike that is in that first picture. You with a big smile. Is definitely a Yamaha TX750?
I have a very good taste! But Maurice Volmeyer is of course also the man who knows how to grab the moment!
Naturally, mothers are concerned, their children are concerned. Often these are the causes themselves. My motorcycling father had been swept together a few times and then her son also went motorcycling.
When I was 17, I had obtained a booklet with traffic rules and signs and booked an exam for my 18th birthday in 1964.
The driving school holders did not insist on lessons and requested the exams. On my birthday there was only room for one exam, so I took another one day after that. I already had the engine (BMW R51 / 2) for 2 years. I rode that too. Uninsured of course, but that was not mandatory at the time. I survived the driving behavior of a drunk driver after 4 days of coma. I also survived a few other cases that were quite spanned. The most exciting was in 2000 in Apeldoorn. I will not tire you further with that.
I went on vacation to the GDR to see if it was as bad as they were told; it was worse. I was detained there. A few hours, but still. When they thought I was in Italy, I was in central Finland with a broken engine. There were no cell phones, we just had a new number at home and I had lost the note where I had written it down.
Well, I would also be a bit pissed if you don't hear anything for 4 weeks and have no idea where they are.
But the other extreme is that young world traveler who twice a day with his mother face-time from South America
Herman
I owe my official motorcycle pleasure to the surgeon who, after a car accident, recommended that I sell the moped and start driving a motorcycle. put. He himself was a BMW R 50 driver and his photo with him the bike was on the desk. He then explained to me that the sitting position on the motorcycle was much better than the racing position with the nose on the handlebars of the moped and a speed of well over 45 km. He even wrote it on paper as a doctor's prescription. I asked him very kindly but also urgently. When my mother got home, the surgeon immediately called him and asked if he had gone mad and would kill me. Fortunately, he upheld his opinion towards my mother. On the day of birth of the current King Willem Alexander, I got a test driving license at the town hall in the evening. The official has therefore signed The Birth Day of our new king.
.
Otherwise it was never accepted by my mother. He had four brothers (my Uncles) who also had physical souvenirs from motorcycling in their early years. On the day of birth of the current King Willem Alexander, I got a test driving license at the town hall in the evening. The official has therefore signed The Birth Day of our new king. My 1st official bike was a blue Honda Dream 250 with megaphone exhausts. I loved that at the time and could be heard from afar.
Later on, many motorcycles followed and now I have a small collection with even 2 Honda C 71, one of which is in a special unique version with a capacity of 400cc.
Being able to look at it and occasionally take a ride with it is still a lot of fun.
The physical souvenirs are now also available, but that won't stop you.
Thank you Dolf for this beautiful story. You will recognize me.
In all those funny and sometimes too clumsy pieces by Dolf, it remains to be seen whether he himself has offspring. At least his mother is. Mine ('34) reacted pale and anxious when I visited her once, after a trip on my first bike, a Honda XL500 (1991?). My father was furious when my oldest sister came home on a Puch Maxi after the day of her 16th birthday (c. 1977). When I took over that moped in about '82 the resistance was already broken, but not quite witness the confrontation with the Honda about 15 years later. Maybe because she also survived a Japanese camp, to this day.
Hi Wiegert! My son drives a motorcycle. But he does that as a student on a Honda CB125 because such a thing rides 1 in 60
In all those funny and sometimes too clumsy pieces by Dolf, it remains to be seen whether he himself has offspring. At least his mother is. Mine ('34) reacted pale and anxious when I visited her once, after a trip on my first bike, a Honda XL500 (1991?). My father was furious when my oldest sister came home on a Puch Maxi after the day of her 16th birthday (c. 1977). When I took over that moped in about '82 the resistance was already broken, but not quite witness the confrontation with the Honda about 25 years later. Maybe because she also survived a Japanese camp, to this day.
At our home, everything was possible in the past. Staged mopeds and later motorcycles. Crashed a Yamaha 900 nearly thirty years ago, and bought myself a young Pan European with one leg in plaster and on crutches. This to the horror of my mother. But she never said anything about it.
My mother fell down on a Berini once in her youth .. Since then everything that moves motorized on two wheels has been “murder vehicle”.
It was a bit of a swallow when I also came home with a moped, luckily I am not the first of her litter to do that.
My brothers had already done the damage.
I was the one who convinced my younger brother to ride a motorcycle, we are the only ones.
Mothers are now at peace with it ..
Well Olav, that's just a story.
Good thing it turned out well !!!
A completely different story than with a good knowledge of the house, who on a sharper hill in a South Limburg B-road driving on his beautiful CB750 head-on by a hurried and overtaking autodebielist from his motorcycle.
However, things never turned out all right for him. Most visible, a completely paralyzed arm. The rest of the damage is under the skin but luckily not in his head !! But in any case, all this could not be prevented by his full motorcycle clothing. It must be 40 years ago.
The speed difference between them was so high that the profile of the rear rubber was stamped into the sheet metal of the roof of the frontal driver like a photo. Whether he would have survived that in a car at that speed is more than the question. His 'luck' was that he himself was catapulted from the steel steed. In the air it was safe for a while.
This whole incident has ensured that my driving style is always punctuated and shaped with reserve in advance. But that too could not have prevented asphalt kissing on the slippery road surface in a Belgian forest. But that was also called 'character building'. The memory is still engraved on the back of the heavy leather jacket as an eternal keepsake. And that is indeed relative….
How bad for your friend. You are also partially incapacitated for work with a paralyzed arm.
My driving style was always defensive, just like in the car. I have also taught myself to drive quietly, which is better for your peace of mind. A Jawa is not that sporty, they are workhorses. A Honda CB750 also doesn't ask for wheelies, going flat into the corner and other weird stunt work.
We understand the art of survival
A lot of Jawa's here! Well, on May 5, 2000 I crashed myself with a Jawa. A black TS350. I approached a right-of-way intersection, from the left came a Ford Sierra with an old man in it who stopped neatly in front of the shark's teeth and just when I got to him he suddenly pulled into the right-of-way. I crashed into the Sierra and then it took quite a long time before I came to a stop via a few posts and a hedge in the verge, while the Jawa landed a meter away from me and immediately ended up with a puddle of gasoline. I had a shattered right arm, an open fracture on my left shin, five broken metatarsal bones, five broken ribs, a lot of bruises and cracks and a few other things. Rest assured: everything turned out okay, two months later I was back on my feet.
But what if I had been in a car and crashed sideways into a Ford Sierra at 90 mph? Would I have survived? And how? Everything is relative!
Bought a second-hand Derbi today. Is still suspended in my name until my son (16) has his driver's license and can pay for the insurance himself (I think that's important from an educational point of view). The kid is so happy that that alone doesn't outweigh my parental concerns about (in) safety. I'll be proud when he drives away. With a big smile on our faces.
I am the fifth of a family of nine children. My younger brother (the sixth) and I were infected with the “engine virus” early on and it has remained to this day. It started with a scooter with auxiliary engine, several (cross) mopeds and at the age of seventeen a Zündapp KS100 in parts. He finished a week before my driving test, had no lessons. Back in 1971, that was not really necessary. In one week I had to take a car and motorcycle exam with the same examiner. Dropped in front of the car and passed the engine. That examiner must have thought; this is no fool, just let him go. Mind you, there was no speed limit outside built-up areas and on highways at the time.
It has always amazed me that my parents let us do it. Never an unconventional word about those engines with sometimes an open megaphone exhaust. If you were damaged by a slider, Dad was the first to help you with some straightening work and you added a small contribution towards the purchase of that new headlight. On the motorbike with friends to the South of France, no communication and then stepping back in after three weeks. Oh are you back; nice. They must have been worried, our parents, but let us enjoy the then relatively carefree childhood. In 1985 I was in Tunisia for three months for my work. My wife called me saying, Your little brother had an accident on the Isle of Man. And soon after; not very serious, a broken leg I believe. My first thought then was; I am flying back from Tunis to Douglas. We are now more than 45 years later and there are four motorcycles in my garage. Call or speak to my brother (today) then it is about ……………. Motorcycles.
Doing well!
My mother (late) never said that.
After I got my driver's license, it just crawled on the back of me.
This is how she came to my father. Her previous boyfriend had a Jawa, which he sold to my father and she (she once said with a funny face) went with that bike 😀.
On the first oil-free Sunday of October 1973 (?) My Puch 250SGA double piston arrived. Parents' dismay and a happy looking new owner. De Puch was the same age as I was (18). Already a car license, but no motorcycle license yet. With an L plate on the license plate I was allowed to travel throughout the city, but that was of course too limited. No L plate was the choice. However, on the motorbike to the motorcycling lesson a village further down where the shaking head teacher was already waiting outside. Two driving lessons to unlearn what I did wrong and then finish. To this day I drive a bike with great pleasure, but that first Puch (13 hp) was really the fastest and the most beautiful. I still dream about it often. Never should have sold that thing. But yes, of course it had to be faster. For nostalgia there has been a BMW R25 from 27 next to the 'real' engine for 1963 years. Just beautiful. At least I understand that engine.
Ha, my father didn't allow me to speed up my moped, if you want to drive faster you can buy a motorbike.
He shouldn't have said that to his 16-year-old daughter.
Three weeks later there was an (old) motorcycle.
Dad's name and insurance and the words, don't break down and if they stop you you've stolen the thing from the shed. (never stopped)
The man died on my 22nd and on my 26th I finally got my pink paper. (not recommended, you have to unlearn too much for the exam)
Thanks to a car accident (hit from behind) I no longer drive a motorcycle, but I miss it every now and then.
But you are still alive! That is a nice extra! And I don't feel like you're bored
No, I am certainly not bored, you know that. 🙂
If I ever want to ride a motorcycle, I use the old GL1000 from my older (foster) brother.
It is not going fast and we have one of the most beautiful dikes in NL in our backyard.
The difference with years ago is, that current “beginners” receive serious lessons. That was different in my time (late 60s): 3 months on a “test driving license” (all over the country of course), followed by 1 driving lesson and an exam, where the main goal was not to lose the examiner. . Afterwards made a lot of km and had a lot of fun and luck.
Dear Dolf. Everything is less dangerous than a Japanese camp. Luckily your mother survived, otherwise you wouldn't be there. Motorcyclists need to know what is dangerous. As a racing cyclist I have also experienced and survived enough danger. Mothers created and raised you. And want their offspring to go well. Fathers too, by the way. If you are afraid, you should not get in a car or on a motorcycle. But sitting at home is also dangerous. Dementia and Alzheimer's are always lurking. Stay healthy and do what you can not resist. Also care about your fellow man.
I completely agree!
My experience was also from my mother who thought it was too dangerous for me to ride a motorcycle. When a friend had a Honda CB 250 for sale (ideal starter bike) mom spoke admonishing words. "Nothing comes in!" This while my father was already walking around with the folding rule to see where the best extra door in the garage could be made, so that the CB could easily reach. It would never get that far. But later, yes…. when I got married, my wife of all people signed me up for motorcycling lessons! “Better to test drive with pink paper than without”.
Well, I maintained the motorbikes in my circle of friends and when they had to do a test, they always nodded “you're okay, go and drive yourself”.
Well, and so one thing led to another. I have been riding a motorcycle legally with Blauwtje for over 25 years now and I have had nothing but fun with that. Assume the same is true for most motorcyclists.
Ha Maurice, one on one same story here LOL! Mother murder and fire and make a place ...
Regards, Hein
Mom rode her dad's jawa as a 16-year-old, she never banned me anything.
one time I came home when she was visiting, my bmw 75/7 was in the living room, she thought it was going to rain and she thought it was a shame that it would get wet ...