Rick Delmonico en Fractals Forever, Writers, English Distillery Operator (control room) • Gruppo Campari (Wild Turkey) 8/10/2016 · 5 min de lectura · +600

Being Somewhere...

Being Somewhere...

My earliest memory is of my sister and myself sneaking out through the

front window of the house and riding our tricycles around the driveway.

This was, as it turned out, to be the pattern for my life.

My first love was music, more specifically Beatles music. I can remember

standing on a street corner in Bombholder Germany in 1964 singing a

Beatles song when an American couple stopped and gave a coin. I don't

think they knew I was American also. It is the only time I ever sang

professionally. At the time I was seven and my love for the Beatles was all

consuming.

The first time I rode a motorcycle was in the California desert while

camping with some friends. At the time I was about thirteen and the bike

was a Honda trail 70 or 80. I did fall over but only once or twice and more

importantly, no-one saw me. Around the time I entered high school my

step father's brother gave us a Vespa 150. It was a good little bike, and

never gave us any trouble unless you tried to do a wheelie. The back

fender would hit the ground, and the shock would knock the rider off the

bike, then it would continue down the street without the rider.

At the time, I lived in Fountain Valley. Some of my friends lived miles

away but this didn't present a problem. I would simply use the tract streets

and run with my headlights off. If I saw a cop, I would jump off, kill the

engine and start walking the bike. This worked well for a couple of years.

That was all the poor Vespa lasted, but it was not the bikes fault, it was

me. When I was sixteen, I got a Honda 160 scrambler for $250. I had my

driving permit and life was sweet. No more walking or taking the bus.

Unfortunately, I received two tickets and had my privilege to drive

revoked. We moved to Anaheim, and I turned the little Honda into a

custom bobber, but no-one else shared my enthusiasm for bobbed Honda

160's.

Around this time, I had started working with a man named Ray cleaning

Sambo's restaurants at night. This was a difficult time for me because I

was always tired working 5 or 6 hours a night and going to high school in

the day time. The one shining moment in all of this was the night I saw

my first old Indian motorcycle.

We pulled into the Sambo's off the 5 freeway in Santa Fe Springs and

there it was, sitting in the parking lot with it's gorgeous rainbow painted

valanced fenders. It was love at first sight.

These fenders were designed by some old geezer around 1940, and as it

turns out, he just happened to make them perfect. You cannot make these

fenders any prettier. The only direction you can go would be uglier l