Wing Ding 30 Official Program - Wing World Magazine Archives

Dave Thalls • GWRRA #162780 • Hagerstown,IndianaIn the summer of 1962, in Hagerstown, Indiana, I discovered something thatwould change my life forever. My friends and I always rode our bicycles everywhere—agreat way to get around, two wheels and pedal power. But that summerwas to be different because that summer my friend Jay, who was a little older thanthe rest of us, got a motorcycle.Jay got a shiny red Bridgestone 125cc, and herode that bike everywhere. He even gaveme my first-ever motorcycle rides. Jay’smachine was very quiet, and it purred as itwent down the street. He was a proud ownerand a very safe and cautious rider—exactlywhat I wanted to become. My first introductionto motorcycling was because of Jay, and Iwanted to ride as he did. I wanted to own myown bike and become a good and safe rider.Looking back, I know I must have beggedmy father mercilessly for a motorcycle.And I believe my Dad reallywanted to getme a bike,but my Mother stood in the way. Even thoughit was 1962, the image of someone on amotorcycle had no doubt been given such badpress that all she must have thought of wasmotorcycle gangs, motion pictures, and loudpipes. Her son was certainly not going to get amotorcycle!My First HondaSo I will never know for certain, as both ofmy parents have passed on now, how one summerday my Dad managed to pull intoour driveway with a newHonda 50cc motorcyclein theLeft: Me and my Honda 150cc. I believe thisto be the summer of 1964—polishing even then!Right: My wife Tammy took this photo of me and our 2003Candy Apple Red Gold Wing at Deals Gap in Tennessee.trunk of the car. And to me, it didn’t matterthat this bike was small enough to even fit inthe trunk of the car because that day Ireceived a gift that changed my life. I’m sure Ilikely felt It’s all I’ll ever need.My biggest desire back then—besides riding,of course—was to show my parents that Iwas worthy of their confidence in me. Mywhite Honda 50 and I spent hour after hourexploring the roadways in and around ourcommunity. And mile after happy mile I rode,trying as a youth to be as safe and careful as Iknew how to be.Now, I don’t believe my Mother ever trulylost her worry.And I know Dad must have hiddenhis concern as I continued to ride and toallow this machine to dominate almost all myfree time that summer. But alas, fall came andit was time to surrender my little Honda tothe cold weather of the approaching Indianawinter. So my Dad and I carried that littlewhite Honda down the outside basementstairs and stored my freedom for the winter.But early in the spring, no sooner had theweather turned warm than the need to ridehit me and the open road called. Kids can beimpatient, you know. And with no one aroundto help me, I managed to carry that littleHonda up the basement steps all bymyself. And, in fact, I guessthat action alonesums up how Idefine this hobby,this sport, thisdesire, this obsessionI still call myown.That spring andsummer, on I rode. AndI gained confidence in myabilities and confidence ina machine that alwaysstarted and was absolutelyflawless in its performance.Soon a few other friendsstarted to get bikes of theirown. Super 90’s seemed to betheir bikes of choice. We rodetogether often, but even when theyJuly 2008 49