I was already tuned into motorcycles in 1972, but not MOTORCYCLES. The kid down the street had a Mini Trail 50, the couple with no kids had just bought themselves his and hers Honda Elsinores for Christmas – a 125 and a 250. They let us into their rumpus room to gaze slack-jawedly upon them in all their new-bike glory. I remember the nubs on the knobbies, and the fact that they looked huge to me. When you see an old Elsinore now, it’s tiny.

I was only thinking dirt bikes in those days; 16 and a driver’s license was eons away. And then Big Kev rolled past on his new Kawasaki Z1. Actually this must’ve been 1974, which I believe was the year of the striped gas tank and still my preferred Z1 livery. The basketball came to a halt; 10 pairs of adenoids hit the driveway as one. It was the first big streetbike I remember ever noticing. It was really too big, beautiful and powerful a thing to even aspire to, like Ginger on “Gilligan’s Island.” Holey moley. Lookit those pipes man.
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