Ravnhaus Rides... again

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ravnhaus
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Ravnhaus Rides... again

#1 Unread post by ravnhaus »

The first work day of 2007 seems like a good time to start a new blog, so here goes...

In the summer of 1968 I decided I wanted a motorcycle. I had to settle for a mini-bike.
A mini-bike was a small, rectangular steel frame with 10" wheels. It was powered by a lawnmower engine (Clinton 2 cycle - 3 HP) and driven with a chain connected to a centrifugal clutch. It was slowed with friction brakes.
I managed to con my dad out of some cash and we found one in the classified ads. I was in adolescent heaven and very soon had a blister on my thumb from throttling it up. My clothes reeked of gasoline and oil. The cops in Corpus Christi, Texas frowned on riding this type of vehicle on the street, so I was restricted to parking lots and my mother's suffering back yard.
Shortly after I got my first motorized vehicle we moved to Odem and I was able to ride it freely on the streets. I custom painted the bike metallic purple and had the abused, torn seat redone in basic black vinyl. I would transport myself to Odem High School and park it in the lot among pickup trucks, a metal-flake blue 57 Chevy, and a few assorted motorcycles.
I soon wanted a real motorcycle, as the diminutive mini-bike looked pretty lame next to the real thing. Somehow I managed to scrape together $125 and purchased a used Honda 65 cc bike. My grandfather helped me get the cash together. It was black and chrome and it gave me quite a thrill to be riding a real motorcycle.
At that time in Texas you had to be fifteen years old to get a motorcycle license. I did not have one yet, being only fourteen years old. The single policeman of Odem was named Mario and my grandfather had once loaned him a suit for his high school graduation. He didn't care if I had a license. However the Texas Highway Patrol did care and would give you a ticket if they caught you, so you had to be careful when on the county roads. Mario would sometimes warn us if the DPS trooper was coming to town for license checks.
The first day I had my new bike I put on the front brake a little too hard while navigating a gravel road. I ended up with some of the gravel in my elbow. That same day we went for a group ride on the county road. We settled in behind a dump truck loaded with sand. The sand blowing off that truck about blinded me, as I had no goggles or wind visor. Live and learn the hard way.
I rode that bike down country roads at full throttle. I would lean into curves and scare the heck out of myself, as I would drift from the road towards the awaiting grain fields. The freedom of motion was like a drug. I explored farm roads all over San Patricio County, always with one eye open for the dreaded Highway Patrol.
That bike put me in a minority among my peers. I had my own transportation, which also carried the decidedly "cool" factor of being a motorcycle.
I read Hunter S. Thompson's "Hell's Angels" that year. I was stoked.
I perused motorcycle magazines and began plotting my next motorcycle acquisition.
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#2 Unread post by ravnhaus »

When my mom and I came to Austin to look for an apartment in the spring of 1969 I bought a Cycle World magazine and read an article on the Kawasaki 90. I decided right then it was the motorcycle for me. It cost $450. I began planning on how to accumulate the cash.
My grandfather made a deal with me. He would match whatever money I could save on my own. He offered me a job painting his house that month of June. I got out there and went to work. I scraped, I washed, and I painted that whole house in the humid South Texas heat. I worked my a** off and got the job done despite yellow jacket nests, sweat in my eyes, and the desire to get on my Honda and ride.
It was the second house I had painted, as my dad had bribed me into painting his the year before. Little did I know that would lead to a brief career as a housepainter later in my life.
Coca Cola had a contest that summer. You lifted and collected plastic insets out of Coke caps. The insets had historical figures printed on them. You matched the figures to questions on a bingo-like sheet. Being a historical wiz at the time I figured this was a sure thing. I saved up caps, digging them out of Coke machines by the dozen. I filled in the sheet and got closer to the goal. The top prize was $125. I was counting the money in the bank before I had even sent it in. I sent in the sheet and awaited my check. One day the letter came from Coke. I had been foiled by a trick question involving Admiral Byrd and the North Pole. I had gotten cocky. I had neglected to check my facts. A $125 check was not in the envelope. Live and learn once again.
I was able to save the cash in spite of myself. Shortly before my 15th birthday we drove to Corpus Christ. I had the cash in my pocket. I traded my earnings for a brand new 1969 Kawasaki 90 TR motorcycle. It was a brilliant orange and white. The orange matched my mom's 69 Camaro. The chrome glistened in the South Texas summer sun. It had knobby tires and an upswept tailpipe. It was one cool-"O Ring" trail bike. I got a bright white Bell helmet thrown in the bargain. I was as high as a kid could get.
My 15th birthday rolled around a couple of days later. We hauled my motorcycle to Sinton where I took a written test, followed by a driving test. With the dreaded Texas Highway Patrol car observing behind me, as I drove around the block, I proved to them my safe motorcycle driving skills. I passed, and I officially became a licensed driver in the state of Texas.
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#3 Unread post by ravnhaus »

When we moved to Austin in September 1969 my motorcycle rode with us, snuggled securely into a set of wheel racks that were attached to the bumper of my mom's Camaro.
I don't know what I would have done without my motorcycle when I got to Austin. It was the key to my exploration of this new town. Armed with a street map I began to find my way around the city. I had to start school the day after I arrived and my bike took me there. Most of the early friends I made were centered around motorcycles - Kawasaki 90's in particular.
As soon as I pulled into the parking lot of Austin High I saw an orange Kawasaki that mirrored my own. Right next to it sat a blue one. The blue bike belonged to a guy, whom I soon met in art class. We found he lived right down the street from me and we began a friendship that has lasted for many years. In a few months to come I would meet other Kawasaki 90 brothers. This common ground would form a core group of friends and associates that radiated outward to many years in the future. Many of the people I know now are connected to that initial shared interest. A simple magazine article had helped determine my future.
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#4 Unread post by ravnhaus »

A couple of days after arriving in Austin I got on my bike and went exploring. I started cruising through West Austin taking random twists and turns. I ended up in Tarrytown and admired the fine houses and mansions that graced the hilly, tree lined streets. The neighborhood was such a welcome change from the flat, sun bleached streets of Corpus and Odem. I ended up on Enfield Dr. heading west and was soon confronted with Lake Austin and Tom Miller Dam. The limestone cliffs, the huge trees, and the cool green water of the lake
reflected into my eyes with amazement. I didn't know such a landscape existed in Austin. All I had seen of the lake so far had been Town Lake winding it's way through downtown. To my coastal plain eyes this looked like a piece of wooded paradise.
I stumbled across Scenic Dr. and wound the curving road that sat high above the lake and gazed out at the then undeveloped hills of Westlake. I could hardly believe the sites around me. I spilled out onto 35th street and headed west. I gunned the engine and accelerated up a steep hill that turned out to be Mt. Bonnell, the highest spot in Travis County. I was amazed with the city I was now living in.
I headed back down 35th street and soon found myself back on Kirby Lane where my mom was anxiously awaiting me. I had been gone for a couple of hours and she was worried.
"Where had I been? Did I know that the Austin State School for the Mentally mentally challenged was just right up the street! You have to be careful in this strange, new city! There are crazy people out there!"
"Oh mom! I'm fine, don't worry about. You wouldn't believe what I just saw. This town is so cool!"
She never really worried much about me alone in the big city after that initial hand wringing. At least she never mentioned it to me if she did. She was soon too busy with her own trials at the University.
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#5 Unread post by ravnhaus »

Motorcycles and teenagers can be a dangerous combination, however my luck held and I tended to be a fairly safe rider. I was not one to run red lights or stop signs and I wasn't particularly addicted to high speed. I was riding with KP and GP one day and they were ahead of me. They shot through a stop sign and I almost followed them. I looked to the left and had to slam on my brakes to avoid a car that had the right of way. I never ran a stop sign again. I did have a couple of spills over time, but never suffered serious injury.
I once came over a rise on the dirt trails near Town Lake and was going to drop down a steep incline when I was clipped by a much heavier Honda 450 coming up the hill. His handlebars whacked my hand and caused considerable pain. He cursed me out for being in his way, hurting my pride in addition to the sprained hand. I had a hard time working the clutch on my way home that day.
In another incident I was riding down a residential street at about thirty mph when a dog charged out at me and ran right in front of me. My front tire plowed into him and I was thrown onto the street very hard. I landed on my hands and elbow and had the breath knocked out of me. I almost passed out and threw up from the pain. The damn dog just ran off yelping. I was wishing I had killed his dumb a**!
It was a deep burn from the exhaust pipe that caused the most pain of my motorcycle career. That metal pipe would get so hot it turned a tempered blue color. It would fry your skin to the core. In this instance it was my bare ankle, as I was wearing shorts. Those wounds would take forever to heal and would leave a scar that would last for years. It usually would only happen to you once, as you tended to avoid them quite successfully after the initial learning experience. You would see similar burns on the legs of girls that rode on the back of motorcycles for the first time. The wounds would be hard to explain to parents who had told their daughters to stay away from motorcycles and boys who rode them.
Not all of my friends were so lucky. GP had wrecked his bike shortly before I moved to Austin. He had plowed into the back of a boat trailer parked on the street while driving drunk and broke his arm. He was just recovering and getting his bike back from the shop about the time I met him. CH and WS broke their legs in separate motorcycle crackups. KP crashed his on more than one occasion.
Right after high school graduation a kid I knew named James Francis was killed when he lost control of his bike and ran his head into the curb on Windsor Road near Lamar. He was not wearing a helmet. He was the first of our graduating class to die.
Years later another friend named Tom also crashed his head into a curb while driving a Honda 450 motorcycle I had sold him. I had thrown in a helmet and begged him to wear it, but it was not on his head when the accident occurred. He had his jaw wired shut for six weeks and was never the same again, as some brain damage had occurred.
My cousin, LJ had an encounter with a yellow taxi cab while riding his suicide clutch Harley which left him with a couple of pounds of surgical steel in his rebuilt leg and knee. It did not seem to faze him, as he continued to ride as soon as he was able to limp on to one.
I guess a little fear and a lot of luck paid off for me.
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#6 Unread post by ravnhaus »

My Kawasaki was a trail model and I loved to ride it on the dirt. I visited Adrian Krumm's Kawasaki shop on Barton Springs Road soon after arriving in Austin. I asked them a good place to ride and they pointed me in the direction of what is now Austin High on 1st Street.
At that time the area was undeveloped land that had used to be a sand quarry. It was loaded with sandy roads, trails winding through heavily wooded areas, and cliffs that just begged to be assaulted by dirt bikes. The air crackled with deep rumble of four-cycle engines and the high pitched whine of two-cycle engines that filled the air with blue smoke caused by heavy mixtures of gasoline and oil. Riders raced around the dirt tracks sending clouds of dust into the air. Bikes shot up the cliff, flying into the air at the end of their rapid ascent.
I would head there everyday after school. I didn't really have anything else to do. There was always somebody there riding the trails. It was here that I met KP one day. He showed up on an identical orange Kawasaki, so it was only natural we gravitated together. He attended Holy Cross School at that time. However, that school closed later in the year and he transfered to Austin High. We started hanging together and became good friends.
The 1st Street trails were my mainstay, but there were other places. I heard of one place out off of Manchaca Rd and FM 1626. I got out my map, found Manchaca Rd and headed that way. After driving for what seemed like forever, I finally reached 1626 and found the area. Trails were everywhere, as were the motorcyclist. I rode for hours and had a great time. I recall taking 1626 east to IH35 and seeing the Adams Extract Plant at the corner. I had grown up with Adams Extract food coloring in the cabinets, so I thought that was pretty cool.
Another spot I sought out was east on Highway 290, near the city dump on the way to Manor. It was so far out that I fouled a spark plug and had to remove and clean it on the side of the highway. The Kawasaki was a two-cycle engine (oil was mixed with the gas) and they would foul plugs all the time. The engine would cut out and smoke would pour out the exhaust. The only cure was to pull and clean the plug with a piece of sandpaper. It could be a real pain in the "O Ring", but it was the price of the ride.
I remember stopping at the Academy Surplus on IH35 on the way back home from that journey and buying a pair of yellow aviator sunglasses and an old Army field jacket. Academy Surplus in those years was a true military surplus shop. It was full of old, moldy wool uniforms, steel pot helmets, sailor hats, camouflage netting, sterno heat tablets, field jackets dating from the Korean War, trench shovels, canteens, mess kits, and other military accruements mixed in with fishing gear, hunting supplies, basketballs, baseball gloves, and sporting supplies of every type. I loved that store and spent more than a few dollars there over the years.
Eventually the Kawasaki threw a gear in the transmission. This was likely due to the fact that I would sometimes speed shift without using the clutch. Someone had taught me this trick and told me it would not cause any harm. Like a dumb a** I believed them and soon was without transportation. I took it to Krumm's and they kept it for months before the part was shipped in from Japan.
The Kawasaki was eventually repaired and returned. However, as the summer of 1970 approached August, I turned 16, and received my automobile driver's license. The faithful orange steed began to spend more time under the carport gathering dust. I cruised the streets of Austin in my mom's Camaro and probably helped send that car to an early retirement in the junk yard. Soon after my birthday I was riding in an old, blue, 65 Volkswagen with a tattered sunroof that my father had given me.
The age of the motorcycle was transformed into the age of the automobile. I ultimately sold off the Kawasaki and never looked back for about fifteen years.
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#7 Unread post by ravnhaus »

In 1980 my dad came to town and wanted to go garage sale hunting. He was always looking for something or another. We drove out to the sticks somewhere, and as he was haggling over what ever it was he was looking for this trip, I spied a black Honda 450 weathering under a tree. I had not thought about motorcycles for years, but for some reason my heart started beating a little faster.
I started talking with the owner and in no time I had managed to trade him a jon boat and motor that I had plus a bit of cash and I was the owner of a motorcycle once again.
We hauled it to my house and I manhandled into the living room where it sat for about a year. I pulled the gas tank and had a fresh coat of paint sprayed on it. Black of course. The seat was fairly ragged, so I had it upholstered. I cleaned, polished, and admired the handsome beast from my couch. My wife rolled her eyes.
Finally I deemed it ready to ride, so we rolled it out the front door and I took off. It died about three blocks from the house.
I pushed it home and called my mechanic buddy. He tinkered with it some and we got it running again.
One morning I decided to commute with the wife to work. We almost got there and the beast sputtered to a halt. I was able to nurse it home somehow. It sat on the porch for a couple of weeks before my wife came home announcing that she was pregnant. I looked at the bike and decided it had to go. I had to keep my body in one piece for the coming child and the bank account need a boost.
A friend was over one night and made me an offer. I took it. I threw in my Bell helmet that I had purchased a few months earlier and begged him to always wear it. He told me he would.
Within a couple of weeks he took a spill in the early morning hours after many beers and plowed his unprotected head into a curb. He was never quite the same after that and I lost all desire for motorcycles for about twenty-five more years. I vowed never to ride again.
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#8 Unread post by Wrider »

And yet now look at ya! :lol: Anyway, welcome back to the club, sounds like you've got quite a bit of experience from "back in the day."
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#9 Unread post by ravnhaus »

I finally found a picture of the Honda 65. Unfortunately it is painted up for the 1968 Odem High School Homecoming. It won first prize in the motorcycle decoration division. The prize was a bucket and sponge. After washing it went back to being a black and chrome motorcycle.
It was capable of hitting 65 mph with a good coastal tailwind. It would also tear up the freshly plowed cotton fields across the street. I am sure the local farmers appreciated my contribution to aerating their soil.

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#10 Unread post by blues2cruise »

Thanks for sharing your story. It's going to be a good blog, I think. :)
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