Let's see...(screen starts that "swirly-flashback effect") It was back in 1985, an older friend of mine had a Honda CM450 (later renamed the Nighthawk). Electric Blue. Sighhhhhh, it was the coolest looking thing I'd ever seen. What, with its semi-gleaming 450cc twin motor, stylish 19 inch wheels (LMFAO!!!!!:cool and awesome single disk (5"in diameter)front brake and iron-grip rear drum brake it was just the cats pajamas. He took me for a ride around the block. No helmet, short pants on. Why, we must've went 45 miles per hour! Astonishing! I bought it about a month later. He wanted to buy one of those brand new "Ninja" sportbike things I rode that bad boy with my open face 1/4" thick helmet for a good month before some lady in a 4 door Chevette painted 5 differnet colors of primer decided to make a left in front of me. I was a new rider. No license (I had a valid permit though!) And just froze. Didn't even hit the brakes (I don't think I did anyway, too long ago to remember). The bike was totaled. I sprained my wrist and some bumps and bruises. About a year later, I bought a 3rd or 4th hand Suzuki GS750. Rode that puppy for a good year or so. Wrecked it. Fixed it. Wrecked it. Fixed it. Wrecked it. Sold it for $300 and some beer. Didn't ride again until last year when I bought the Kat. Will never be w/o a bike again. Made sure the girlfriend knew that. Just in case we "do the deed". 
I kept bikes as my sole source of transportation until I was 19, except for a short stint with a VW Golf when my first bike was stolen. I sold that car a short 5 months later, as I could not afford both. I lost many a girl to the "me or the bike" gig. I always said "the bike". You can't change a man who was born to ride, not even with a short streak of wrecks (the last year). The wife started to suggest I quit after my weekend in the hospital, but I shot it down before it finished leaving her mouth. I think that is why she started riding. She always said she wanted to, but never acted on it. After she walked in the hospital room and saw me sitting there with my wrist shattered, covered in road rash with glass shards sticking out, and all I had to say was "my dream bike is now a hunk of scrap metal". Then I laid it down on my way to work, and I took the bike to the shop before I would go to the doctor (boy was my boss mad). After those two incidents she had to have one. I asked what was up with that, and she said she had to see why I would go through all that for a bike. Now she knows. I guess everything happens for a reason. 
