It was 1973. We were living in Denton, Texas and I was riding my bicycle to school every day. I had turned 15 in March so I was eligible to get my motorcycle license. I studied like crazy and borrowed my neighbor’s bike to take the riding test. I passed and bugged my Dad every day to get a bike. I had mowed yards all summer to get enough money for a down payment but my Dad kept telling me no. I was resigned to watching all my friends get their bikes (and cars) and getting all the chicks.

Fast forward to Christmas 1973. We opened all of our presents Christmas morning with me getting the usual assortment of clothes and other practical gifts. My Dad looked at me and said there was one more present for me to open. He went out to his El Camino (loved that car) and brought in a box. I opened it and inside was a red metal flake helmet. I looked at him in disbelief and he told me to get my coat and boots on, we were going to pick up my bike!

Dad had made special arrangements for Carter Yamaha in Carrollton to open up Christmas day for us to pick up my bike. I could hardly contain my excitement all the way there. We arrived and there in the parking lot was a brand new 1973 Yamaha 100 Enduro in metal flake green (yes it was the 70’s). I rode it home with Dad following me in the El Camino. That bike was my only transportation for the next year until I found out we were moving to Hawaii.

We couldn’t afford the shipping so I had to leave the bike with one of my friends in a storage unit. I left him the key and instructed him to ride it occasionally to keep it lubed up. I wrote him a few times asking about the bike but I never received a return letter. There was no email, cell phones, or internet back then so yes we had to rely on the good old post office snail mail. A year later we moved back to Denton from Hawaii. When we got back I was so excited to be reunited with my bike! I rushed to the storage unit, threw open the doors, and there was my bike. I was devastated. It was a mangled pile of twisted metal.

I went to my friend’s house and found he had moved. I found out later my “friend” rode the crap out of my bike while I was gone and as a final favor ran it into a brick wall before he moved away. Chicks became more important than bikes so I bought a Chevelle for dating in and didn’t get back into bikes until years later.

Dennis Tackett