Hodaka, Montessa, Ossa, Maico, Greeves, Bultaco, Penton, CZ, and a few others that have faided away being memories from my childhood. I have not lived in southern California for over 17 years and one thing is for certain I miss the days of being out in the desert. The smell of the desrt after if rains, the sounds of bikes being started before a race to get them warmed up. Glass of hot chocolate in your hand as you look outside hoping for the wind to stop blowing. The smoldering fire pit early Sunday morining as the smoke slowly drifts through the camp and you have to wipe the dew off you seat. The blueness of the sky and the stars that come out at night as you stare up into the night time. People standing around the fire pit talking about the days ride or talking about someone or something from long ago. The laughter and the friendship that is gathered in this spot, in the California desert. A little breeze sends sparks from the campfire into the air and you watch as they disappear. As with age somethings do seem to fade away while other memories are very vibrant. I can close my eyes and for a brief moment I breath in the desert air and around me I here converstions of old. And I smile! The glass is almost empty of the famous punch that is served every year on the Saturday evening before the race. Sound test being wrapped up for the evening as we settle down with our grilled steaks as the dogs watch wondering when they will get the bone. Someone puls up that you haven't seen for years and time flies as fast as the setting sun.
It's good to be out in the California desert.
Read, Vintage Dirt Bikes
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