better late
(To AHRMA)
than never By: Jenn Smith (3R) Photos: Lorena Walker
Ashcraft Farm - 2019
Coyote Run
Hello AHRMA MAG readers, racers and vintage motorcycle enthusiasts! It is with a little encouragement from Dave Light (975) that I am submitting an article on how my riding adventures began. This is what Dave said to me in a private message on Facebook after asking me to do a quick interview with him: “Jenn, I had a second or two to read this article you wrote. Let me tell you something. I got some things from this and am truly appreciative of you taking the time to do so. Do me a favor. This is such a good read. You should submit this to be edited for the AHRMA MAG. In my opinion, these kinds of articles are the best, over a race with names and numbers. These jog memories and make us remember the good stuff. Thank you so much!” Dave Light Background info: I am from a small town in Western Pennsylvania where coal mines have always been a major part of the rural community as well as farm land, and deep woods full of rolling hills with corn fields, rugged mountains with hardwoods from saplings to 300-year-old trees. Little valleys full of streams and creeks, marshy bogs and cat tails that litter the ditches along back roads with little towns every 15 miles or so away in any direction. I have been riding since I was eight or nine years old. (mid 1970s). My Dad taught me how to (virtually) work the clutch, brakes and throttle on a couch over the course of a winter. 62
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When spring arrived, he took me to an old strip mine road, and put me up front on his brand-new Kawasaki '75 F11 - 250. I started off well; (Dad sat on the back, worked the shifter, and rear brake) I had control of the clutch, throttle and front brake. When I took first off, I used the ole Whiskey throttle! Dad panicked and tried to twist my wrist forward (we were in first gear with it revving high). He could not twist my wrist forward, so he hit the kill switch. (How strong was I?) It was the most exciting moment ever! I asked him why he shut the bike off. He just laughed. Haha. Needless to say, that was my very first live experience with any motorized engine. It was worth every rev. I was riding my first bike around our small yard that same spring. By summer, my Dad decided I was ready to ride on trails with friends. My first bike was a Candy Green ‘72 Honda CT70. I was with some friends, and there was this nice-sized long hill. We all stopped at the bottom to talk about where we were going next. All the kids rode up the hill (most had minibikes). I kept stalling, because I had not learned how to start on a hill (clutch) and none of the kids knew how to even work the clutch, let alone shift, so I was on my own. Needless to say, after many stalls, I got frustrated and gave that little Honda a whiskey throttle, popped the clutch and rode a little wheelie for a few yards! (It felt like miles!) All the kids cheered me on as the front end dropped, and I completed climbing up the hill. When I got to the top, I was nervous and laughing. All the kids said that I had done it on purpose (um, no) and thought I was the coolest chick ever! Little did I know, I became a hero that day, all due to a mistake. We finished out the day riding, Dad never taught how to check the oil. On a hot summer day, I blew the little thing up, and I had to push the bike home. I was a mile from my house. When you are eight
AMERICAN HISTORIC RACING MOTORCYCLE ASSOCIATION
DECEMBER 2020
