What the Hell is 5-Ball Racing?
By Bandit |
It all started when my mother ran over my metal- flaked Honda 55 Super Cub with a single shotgun pipe. She stormed into our tiny stucco house in Long Beach and announced, “Get that damn thing out from under my car.” Her car was a massive ’59 Ford station wagon. It was 1964 and I was 15.5 years of age. That Honda was my first motorcycle. Mom and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on a couple of issues. The day after I graduated from high school, I joined the Navy and was shipped to a heavy cruiser off the coast of Vietnam for three tours. I fell in love, and got married, to my mother’s chagrin (my loves have always played a ...
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