A Lifetime of Experience - Dare to Dream

[UberGoober]

My neighbor growing up, Wayne Storwick, was a quiet, gentle guy who loved machines. Growing up as a car nut myself, it was hard to miss the fact that the Storwicks had almost every kind of cool machine you could imagine - motorcycles, trucks, cars, boats, tractors, hay bailers even a couple of bulldozers and a ramp truck. If it rolled, floated, or crawled, Wayne probably owned it at one time or another.

For a guy with an enduring love of machines, however, Wayne had one fault – he never really took especially good care of anything and as a result almost every machine he owned died within a few years of purchase. That was no problem for Wayne, however, with almost 60 acres of forest behind his house, he simply got some new machine and dragged the old one out to its final resting place in the woods. Once there, nature and time took care of the rest.

From a kid’s perspective, this was great. Since Wayne’s kids were just about my own age I was able to spend most of my youth out in that same forest and everything that Wayne put to rest out there soon found a new life as a plaything for every kid in the entire neighborhood. We played pirates from the deck of the boats, had our first behind the wheel experience in the abandoned 1958 Chevrolet or the big pink ramp truck and re-enacted every scene from the Fighting Sea-Bees from the seat of the bulldozer. It was always a lot of fun to play in the woods, and unless we got too carried away – like the time another neighbor, Mike, busted out the back window of the ’58 – Wayne never seemed to mind what we did.

Like everyone who loves machines, sooner or later Wayne brought home a motorcycle. It was beautiful black mid 60s Honda 300 Dream with low slung chrome exhaust pipes, hard plastic saddle bags and a plastic windshield. It was the first real bike I was ever around and the effect was mesmerizing on every kid in the neighborhood. It drew us in from the forest like moths to a flame and we spent hours admiring it from a safe distance as it sat on the car port.

Wayne was obviously very proud of the Honda. He doted on that bike, bought various doo-dads from the back of the JC Whitney Catalog to enhance his riding experience and polished it religiously. Unlike so many machines that had preceded it, Wayne’s interest in the bike did not wane over time and his future as a motorcyclist seemed assured – at least until he had his big crash.

Since I was only about 10, I’m sure I never got the full story on just what exactly happened. As I recall Wayne’s crash was caused by a slick road in the latter part of autumn. It may have been wet leaves, pine needles or something else, but whatever the cause Wayne’s spill was not enough to do any great damage to the bike. It did scare him enough, however, that when he brought the bike home, he parked it under the eaves around the back of the house and never threw a leg over it again.

Photo - a Honda 300 Dream very similar to what Wayne Storwick had.

[UberGoober]

The years passed and the big Honda suffered as it sat semi exposed to the elements behind the house. The hard plastic saddle bags filled with water and their once bright red felt linings rotted away. The seat split and its orange foam spilled out into the elements where it eventually hardened and chipped away little by little. Chrome parts pitted, then rusted and the once shiny paint faded to a dull hopeless looking shade of black. Generations of spiders made their homes in the various nooks and crannies of the bike and their webs collected still further debris. Tires went hard and cracked with age while grass grew up through the spokes only to wither and die at the end of each season.

Each spring the process repeated itself and eventually the bike sat there so long that it ceased to be a vehicle and became a part of the house and yard. As we kids lived out our childhoods and grew into adulthood, the idea that the bike had itself once been a running, moving thing slipped away from our conscious minds and our own brief obsession with it faded from memory. At least until the day I brought home my own motorcycle.

My Kawasaki was an amazing bike. At just 550ccs, it was just a mid size bike, one of many imported in the early 1980s to get around tariffs that Harley Davidson had successfully lobbied the US Government to enact in order to protect the American motorcycle industry. Fast and smooth, the Kawasaki was thoroughly modern and just like Wayne’s 300 had a decade earlier, it got the attention of every kid in the neighborhood.

Wayne’s son, Kenny, was especially excited. At 17 he was a decent enough driver, but he wanted to ride in the worst way. Knowing that there was no way he was going to get on my bike, he soon determined that the best way to get on the street was to get the 300 back out. So, like countless motorcycle obsessed teenagers before him, Kenny hatched a plan.

I wish I could say that Kenny pulled the bike out and restored it, but that isn’t what happened. Together, he and I pulled the old Honda away from the side of the house and rolled it out into the yard. We spent about 10 minutes pulling grass out of the spokes and then turned to the garden hose to wash away a decade’s worth of cobwebs, dead bugs and leaves. Rolling the bike up onto the carport, Kenny put air in the tires and added some lawn mower gas whatever liquid was sloshing around in the bottom of the bike’s tank. He pulled and cleaned the spark plugs and then jimmied the bike’s ignition lock into the “on” position with a screw driver. As far as he was concerned, the bike was ready to go, so he started kicking.

He kicked once, then twice and on the third kick the old bike fired and struggled into a smoky uneven idle, It was amazing to behold. The old bike actually sat there and ran, sputtering at first, belching smoke as Kenny worked the throttle open and closed, but it still ran. After a minute of revving, Kenny pulled in the clutch, kicked it into gear and rolled the old bike forward across the carport, down the driveway and into the street. After a moment of amazement, I followed on my Kawasaki.

We spent about 30 minutes out on the road with the old bike, me following slowly behind as the old beast chugged its way down one of the back roads that ran around one of the local lakes. The loop completed, Kenny brought the old bike back home, revved it one last time and slid it back into its usual spot under the eaves. As far as I know, it never moved again.

Looking back now, I know how dangerous that ride was. Any of 100 things could have gone wrong, hell, we didn’t even know if the brakes worked until we hit the first stop sign – fortunately they did. The ancient tires could have burst, the engine could have blown up or frozen at some critical moment and spilled Kenny onto the street, but none of that happened.

After a decade of maltreatment and non use, the old bike had shown us that it was more than the sum of its parts. It had real spirit. It really was one of those magical motorcycle moments.

[LaurenOE]

Cool! Great little story to start the day with!

[TejasRider]

Thanks for reminding me of the wonders of youth.

[UberGoober]

Thanks for the great comments. I'm getting set to move next week and am wrapping up stuff here at the house and at work. I'll spend about 3 weeks at my mom's house near Seattle and then head ot to Buffalo, NY to start my new job.

Unless I can find some time in the middle of my vacation (and it is possible, I suppose) this will be the last article for a while. I will still check in on the board, I'm just not sure I will have the time to sit down and write anything long.

Thanks again for the nice comments - its encouraging.

[Discotrash]

Nice story, I enjoyed reading it.

My dad had a Honda 305 Superhawk with the same scheme as this one, I've seen his in a picture and in a video of him and his buddies way back riding around, beautiful bikes, as is the Dream.

So, did anybody ever save the Dream?

[UberGoober]

I suppose Wayne's bike could have been a 305, I'm not sure, I was pretty little at the time and we kids always called it "The 300." When I got on line looking for pictures the one I posted is pretty much a dead on match - except for the hokey JC Whitney saddle bags and the windshield. The photo's caption identified it as a 300 Dream so that's what I wrote.

Wayne passed away about 10 or 15 years ago and I know that the bike is one of the things Kenny took to his own home after his father's death. I know it sat there for a long time but I don't think Kenny ever did get it together.

I know Kenny divorced and has moved around at least a couple of times. I'm not sure if the bike made all the moves with him or if it got left somewhere. I'm sure it holds a special place in Kenny's heart so there may be a chance he still has it. If he does, it'll get restored one day, I'm sure.

Wayne Storwick was was a special guy - I never once saw him get angry or even raise his voice - so I know Kenny would honor him any way he can. I still think of Wayne and his wife Claudine, who passed away three or four years ago now, often. They were outstanding people who took the time to help raise a whole neighborhood of kids in addition to Kenny and his sister Karen.

Next to my own parents, they are probably the two people who had the most influence on my life. I'm glad I had the opportunity to tell you all about them, they deserve to be remembered.

[scarredpelt]

I wish I could have memorized or immortalized some of my childhood antics. Everytime I read something from you UberGoober you pull some strange memory strand from my own experiences. Trippin' the light fantastic, Dude!

Thank you.

[acalliste]

I can't believe that bike actually started and he was able to ride it! I wish he had done something with it, I would have loved to hear more of that story.

[UberGoober]

Thing is, that actually happened - no way I could make that up even as a fantasy. A few years ago, I saw some show where they took a Honda 90, replaced the oil with used vegitable oil from a deep fat fryer and then rode it. Later, to prove how durable it was, they dumped all the oil and rode it with none at all. Eventually, they pushed it off a building and it still started. They built those old Hondas to take a LOT of abuse.

I imagine that with some WD40 in the right places, an oil change and some general maintenance, like lubing the cables, and a change of tires and that bike really could have gone back out on the street. Sure, they would have had to go through the brakes and stuff, but it really would have.

My guess is that after his own experience on the bike, Wayne wanted Kenny to stay on four wheels. It was probably a good call.