OLD BLASTARD: The kids get it

Little Sally Lou Hoo was a month less than two and she sat on the bicep of her grandmother, her left hand holding onto to G-mom's neck while her right reached out to the bike.

"She just loves motorcycles," explained G-mom as LiSaLouHoo reached and reached. "I don't know why. We don't have one and I'm scared to death of them."

Many people are like G-mom, afraid of The Ride.

Others hate The Ride, saying it's dangerous, which it is. Others hate because it's loud, which it doesn't have to be, or fast, which mine isn't.

They hate The Ride because they don't understand it and think those who ride are nuts, which they are.

They don't get it. Worse, when they ask you to explain, you can't.  You say you love the freedom, but try and describe exactly what "freedom" feels like. Explain the clear head, the beating heart, the open mind, the expanse in the chest, the sense that you are more than you were when you got on the bike because you have accepted your vulnerability and are now teasing it, testing it, flaunting it.

They don't get it, those adults with atrophied senses of excitement, but the kids do.

Sometimes, they get it from the parents. I first remember loving a motorcycle when I climbed on the back of my dad's 1960s Triumph 650. It was 1966 and there were no helmet laws and no helmets, the freeway was just being built in the area and it was all backroads to grandma's house.

Even more mature kids love bikes

We'd take the Trumpet down the back roads. My hair -- I was young and had some -- blowing in the wind and I hung on to dad's waist. I loved the feel, the sound of the Brit twin, the look of the Triumph. I felt free, excited. It was dangerous and safe all at once.

For an 8-year-old, it was better than sex.

I was hooked.

Not all kids get their love from the parents. A colleague's son saw the Blast in the parking lot as I geared up. He whispered to his dad, tugging on his pants leg.

"My son loves bikes," said the colleague, who does not ride. I invited the young one over to sit on mine. He grabbed the handlebars and, though he was silent,  I could hear the motorcycle noises playing through his head. I told him that, being as he was on a bike, he should wear safety gear and stuck my helmet on him.

His face broke into a grin.

Not LiSaLouHoo, she just stared. Would she like to sit on the bike? She shook her head no, then yes, then settled on no.

I pulled up a week ago to a car at Rio and US 29. In the backseat was a car seat with a 6-year-old boy -- I'm guessing age -- who stared out the window. His lips moved. His mother turned and looked at me. Her lips moved. The window rolled down.

"Hi," the boy said.

Hey, kiddies, let's ride!

"Hi, yourself," I said. "You like motorcycles?"

He nodded yes. The light turned green. He waved as I went past.

"Hey, Mr. Motorcycle man," screamed an 8-year-old from the backseat of a minvan at Bank of America. "I've seen you before."

"Great bike," said his brother, obviously a brilliant young man with discerning taste, "I want a bike like yours."

"You're famous!" said his brother.

Nope. Just another guy on a bike, son.

Today, while gloving up in the Market Street garage and getting ready to roll back to the Word Factory, a 3-year-old boy walked by, his left hand holding his mommy's and his right reaching out across the parking lot to the row of motorcycles.

Even old kids like to ride, right Billy?

He indicated through grunts,  whines and constant pulling that he wanted to come over. Mom indicated through completel

y ignoring me and the child that she didn't want him to come over. She never looked up, so I waved to the kid, which made him more adamant about walking over and made her just as strident about his staying there.

I yelled hello to him and he waved back, staring at the bike.

So what makes kids love bikes? Studies show they're cool, they're not intimidating and big like cars, and they're close enough to bicycles to be friendly. Of course, studies show that I made that up. I'm sure a study, someday, will be  made, but until then, your guess is as good as mine, maybe better.

And for LiSaLouHoo, there is no guessing. When I asked if she wanted to hear the engine, she said yes. When it started, she smiled big.

Yep, the kids get it. The kids are all right.