In the spring of 1966 this 1953 Thunderbird became my first Triumph motorcycle. Four-hundred dollars cash. It was mostly original which made it identical in appearance with Marlon Brando's bike in The Wild One.
In retrospect that was pretty cool, but as a teen-ager I removed the nacelle as quickly as possible, replacing it with chromed fork tube covers and a "custom" headlight.
A rigid frame, sprung-hub suspension, non-unit construction, cast iron head, and magneto ignition - aided and abetted by an exquisite tail light, a graceful saddle, bad-boy megs, bobs, and bars - gave it that classic kick-ass appearance. And with a four-gallon gas tank it had an extended cruising range.
Wouldn't I like to have that one back!
It did have one rather serious drawback: once hot and shut down, it would only re-start by pushing - a lot of pushing!
Bob Meyers, owner of Free State Cycle thought perhaps the intake manifold was upside down, but flipping it over changed nothing. Many years later I was given to understand that it was a classic magneto problem.
I got finally tired of pushing, and traded it in on a brand-new 1966 Triumph Bonneville T120R.
In September of 1965, Bob Myers, owner of Free State Cycle, Bladensburg, Maryland, gave me $200 for the Thunderbird as trade-in on a brand-new 1966 650 Triumph Bonneville T120R. Sticker price: $1,165.
That winter I stripped off everything I could figure out how to un-bolt and took it all to a marina in Georgetown for chrome plating. Marine chrome plating is just the best!
I also replaced the big comfortable twinseat with a (ouch!) Bates seat that was hard as rock. That and the peanut tank with its 60 mile cruising range were just what I needed for all the highway cruising I did that summer.
I called it "Wild Thing". You know, The Trogs. "Wild Thing, I think I love you..."
With all that chrome I should have called it "Hot Thing". The chromed oil tank wasn't a great choice for the searing summer heat around the Washington DC area.
At the end of August '66 I took one last trip on Wild Thing - a thousand-mile round-trip to the Thousand Islands NY that taught me a lot about humility and gratitude.
It was a last adventure before entering active duty as a USAF recruit and surrendering my self.
As remote to each other as those two activities might seem, they turned out to be intertwined by epically coincidental connections. You can read the story here: Summer of '66.
Saying goodbye to Mom, Greg, and Wild Thing on the morning I reported for induction into active duty in the US Air Force.
I had sold "Wild Thing" for the same price I paid for it new, and, having volunteered for Viet Nam, gave away or disposed of most of my belongings. My electronics stuff, which included test equipment, parts, and a burgeoning library of Sams Photo Facts, all went to an aspiring electronics whiz-kid in the neighborhood.
Note that in 1966 Greg was still my little brother. Well. Let me tell you, by 1970 Greg had became my big brother. Playing BB and wrestling with him has never been the same since!
Two years later, ensconced at the 773rd Radar Squadron, Montauk Point, Long Island NY, I realized my chances of going to Viet Nam were just about nil. Furthermore, in addition to my military duties, I had a part-time civilian job bringing in steady cash.
Didn't take long to save enough to acquire another Triumph, and I soon found a completely stock 1966 T120R Bonneville with one thousand miles on it. Older fellow. Said it was more power than he was comfortable with. I paid his $1,000 asking price with no quibbling.
Here it is, outside the barracks, sporting Margaret Nicholson's psychedelic hand-painted flower-power paint-job.
This is the motorcycle I rode to Woodstock, weaving in and out of miles of stand-still traffic to arrive on the grounds.
I slept sitting backwards on the seat with my back on the padded gas tank. It was cozy and dry (for a while) beneath a woolen Air Force blanket hung over the high-riser handlebars.
In the early, pre-dawn hours of the first night I woke up to the sound of a perfect crystal clear voice singing from what sounded like heaven. Joan Baez. She and Richie Havens are my outstanding Woodstock musical memories.
During spring in 1971, after spending the winter riding back and forth between Albany NY and New Haven CT with warm-ups at Alice's Restaurant in Stockbridge MA, it was time to say goodbye to Flower Power.
Flower Power was given a face lift to maximize resale value and its sale financed the purchase and renovation of a decrepit Ford Econoline for a quest to the west during the Summer of Love.
From New Haven to Mendicino, Mill Valley, San Raefel, and San Francisco - "No Left Turn Unstoned" read the back of the truck.
Thirty-two years would go by before I once more found myself looking at life across the handlebars of another Triumph motorcycle.
