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I was only knee-high to a grasshopper when I first felt the wail of a two stroke engine underneath me. The noise that bike made was like a mother’s soft voice to a crying baby. I would usually just be sitting inside my grandparent’s house playing video games when I would here the loud purr of the motorcycle’s engine. I would light up with total excitement and usually run to the door to see if my Dad was going to take me for a ride. Most of the time I would end up in sheer joy, but occasionally, I would just get a feeling of disappointment. It’s the good times that I remember the best. I would put my worst clothes on because I knew I was going to get dirty. Then I would run outside to see my Dad putting his helmet on and revving the lime green bike up, while light blue smoke seeped from the exhaust pipe, which ran underneath the black engine.
After I was done putting on the shiny new helmet and goggles that my Dad had bought me, he would pick me up and place me right in front of him, between him and the gas tank, so I could hold on to the crossbar on the handlebars. Then as he let the aluminum clutch lever out easy and gradually twisted the throttle, we would speed off around the gate and down the dirt road behind the house.
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"Childhood Memories of Dad." 123HelpMe.com. 27 Feb 2020
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Then one summer, my cousin, Roger, had come to stay at my grandparents for summer break with me. So everyday we would go out riding around the area. He would take our ATV, and I would ride the awesome racer. It was a normal day of riding when I decided to try to jump off this one dirt mound with the bike. Everything was fine, until the jumping part came into effect. The bike flipped end over end hitting me in the face and landing on top of me. I was knocked out for a minute or two when my cousin came over to check on me. I was stunned and hurt. My lip was cut open. I was quite bruised and had a lot of brush burns on most of my left forearm. He helped me up, and I tried to start the bike; I was too weak. It wouldn’t start, because it was flooded! My cousin took me on the four-wheeler, and we went to the house and got my Dad. While my grandfather cleaned my wounds with peroxide my Dad went and got his bike. It wasn’t in that bad of shape, but the exhaust pipe that went underneath the bike and pointed out the back, now pointed straight up in the air. Dad wasn’t too happy with me at this point, so I wasn’t allowed to ride it for a while. As soon as I was allowed to ride it again, I was back riding though. My Dad knew I loved his bike, so he told me something I could have never even imagined. His brother, my uncle, Gery, had bought the same exact bike the same time my Dad did. He had wrecked it years ago and didn’t have the money to fix it. So my Dad bought it for spare parts. He said it was in an old shanty behind the house and we could restore it and it would be mine. We pulled out all the old rusted parts and began to sort through them all.
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