Hooked on the Wind

Most who took up motorcycle riding as kids typically got their introduction on pull-start Sears & Roebuck minibikes, Honda Trail 70 or 90 bikes, or maybe something like a Yamaha YZ80. I got my start on a scooter. I was 14 years old, Christmas of 1962, and to my surprise, I was gifted a brand new Vespa 150 motor scooter by my parents. From that day forward, my whole life changed. I was free. I could go where I wanted, when I wanted (or so I thought), a very dangerous prospect for a young rascal like myself.

I was part of “The Club” now, among the cool kids with the motor scooters of all sorts. We all wanted to be like the older guys on their big Harleys and Indians. I remember visiting a school friend one day and his older sister’s boyfriend had a Harley Duo Glide. I talked him into giving me a ride. I sat up on the buddy seat that would bounce up and down as we went down the road. That motorcycle had a deep, throaty rumble that was intoxicating. I don’t think we rode very fast, but to me, I felt like I had gone to the moon.

My 1962 Vespa 150 looked a lot like this.

These were the days when I also discovered “the fairer sex”, and my scooter gave me the opportunity to visit girls much farther away from home. All the girls loved riding on the scooter with me. I remember this one older girl, she might’ve been 16, and we would ride all over the county together, and stop to split a 2-pack Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. She was very pretty and I was so proud to be seen with her, especially riding on that Vespa 150 with me.

I remember a drive-in restaurant not too far from our house, where all the cool kids with their cool cars and cool motorcycles would hang out, smoke cigars and cigarettes, and just show off. In Florida in those days you could ride a scooter on a restricted license between 14-16 years of age. Part of the restriction was you couldn’t ride after dark. So I would sneak out of the house after my parents went to bed and I’d ride the back roads over to that drive-in, to hang out with the cool kids who were much older than me. I must’ve been quite a sight, riding my little Vespa with a pack of Marlboros or Pall Malls tucked up in the left sleeve of my white t-shirt.

Little “Scooter Punk” in the making. Already sporting the attitude.

I remember meeting this one girl who lived in Pompano, 20 miles south of Delray where I was living. I was totally infatuated with her, so I would ride down there to visit her regularly. I would ride that little scooter on US Hwy 1 as fast as I could go. I could get in directly behind the daily Greyhound bus and draft it to go a little bit faster.

On one of my rides to Pompano while visiting my girlfriend, her parents asked me if I would like to join them on an airplane flight across the state of Florida to look at a new development on the West Coast. I had never flown in a small airplane before and this was a big adventure. The flight was from Pompano over to Naples where we flew around with the adults, looking at potential properties. I don’t know if they were really serious or just wanted to go flying, but they took us out to lunch and showed us around and for this young buck, it was a grand time.

Little did I know that would be the catalyst to launch me into a career in aviation that would last 16,000 hours, eventually landing me in Vietnam.

A drawing my sister once made of me, chasing the Greyhound on my way to Pompano.

These were the days when I was developing a serious case of wanderlust. I just wanted to travel. I didn’t care where I would ride that scooter, all the way down to Miami to sit, sip coffee and smoke Hava-Tampa cigars like crazy. Reflecting back, I was totally out of control at that point. I remember I had an argument with my mother and decided to take off on the scooter with a friend. We made it all the way to Gainesville, Florida before we got hungry and pulled into a restaurant. We ate a big meal but couldn’t fully pay for it, so I had to call my father to come bail me out and get the scooter back home.

A little older, not necessarily wiser, but still scooting on that Vespa 150.

By this time, I had been thrown out of Catholic high school after the first half year and went to Father Zimmerman’s Day School in Delray Beach, an Episcopal day school for problem children. I fit right in. There was a 19-year-old trying to finish high school and he showed up in a Chevy SS 409 Impala. Another kid had moved from North Carolina and was driving a hot rod Ford. I think his family were moonshiners. There was a pregnant girl, and me. Father Zimmerman would sit in front of the class and chain smoke cigarettes. The only thing I can really remember him teaching us was “cigarettes won’t hurt you, unless you re-light them.” Go figure.

All I ever really wanted to do was go riding.

I remember a few times I would get in an argument with my mother, and she would restrict me from riding the scooter. They would take my bike key, but genius little kid that I was, I figured out that on the old Vespas all you had to do was unscrew the front fork lock and you could ride the scooter because there was no lock on the ignition.

The motorcycle bug had bitten me very hard as a youngster. It’s all I really wanted to do. Over the many years since, I have owned a lot of motorbikes in my life, and still have a nice collection. I think it can be said that if I’m rollin’ on two wheels, I’m happy.

Let the good times roll!

Mike Boyd