When I was 11, my 14 year old brother got his first motorcycle -- a Honda 50. wow....  I knew I had to get one, but dad said when I was 14... no sooner. So, I worked and worked at a Wiegel's convenience store in E. Tennessee. Back then, 1970, the wages of the day was $.75 per hour. Finally, on my 14th birthday, all I had was $50 saved. Dad said if I could find one for $50 bucks, I could have it. He didn't think I could. Well, guess what. I found a 1966 BS 90. I didn't know what it was, but it had oil injection... and bent bars. It ran good though. The first rules dad laid down were 1st, helmet, and 2nd, stay within the perimeter of the neighborhood. Now my neighborhood, according to me, was pretty big.

One day, out of school, parents at work, I was going "outside" the perimeter to the lake (7 miles away)... ooooooooh, baaaad kid, here.  I'd never get caught, or so I thought. Well, after I crossed the boundary, I thought I had it. Going thru a small curve, then BAM, woogle, woogle, woogle, the back tire had blown.  I landed in the pasture by the road. Crap. What do I do now? Surely not call 'Dad'!  Nope, nope, nope. What were my options with no phone around? This is in the country.  I start pushing the ol' BS back home.  I was hoping I would get it back before mom and dad got home from work, which I made with 10 minutes to spare. I was safe -- nobody knew.  Well, when mom and dad drove up, first thing he asks, 'when did you get home?'  ah... been home for a while.  'How was you trip?'.  uh oh,  'Got a call; said you were pushing your bike... Down by the lake'.   BUSTED.  The ol' 90 sat for two weeks. It never fails; when you try to bend the rules, the rules come back to bite you.  Never did trust the 90 to go beyond the boundaries after that... but I will always remember it, though.  It always ran, and ran good....  Would love to find another, some day....