By VJMC member Bill Melvin

When you're sixteen, good judgment is as hard to find as a Hell's Angel riding a Vespa. In the summer of 1964, three bright young bikers attempted to find adventure and pretty girls by making a road trip. They started at Caseville, Michigan (a resort town on Lake Huron, with more than it's share of bathing beauties.) Then they traveled to Bad Axe (a small town in Michigan's farm heartland), home to the annual Pigeon County Fair.

Bill, Ed, and Tommy were bored with the beach life, and in an irrational moment, decided to ride their motorcycles to the fair. It would be the gang's first trip; Bill on his Honda 150 Benly Touring, Ed on his 150 Pointer, and Tommy on his brother's Peugeot Moped. By mid-morning, all the plans had been made, and the three bikers were brimming with excitement. This would be a trip to be remembered; young men ready to take on the elements and whatever the world had to offer.

The group decided to meet at Ed's place at 11:00 a.m., then split up to retrieve their motorcycles and money. Bill pulled up to Ed's on his Honda 150, followed shortly by Tommy on foot. Tommy related that his older brother wouldn't let him ride the Peugeot to Bad Axe, and that his mom said there was a thunder storm coming and she wouldn't allow him to make the trip.

Tommy jumped on the back of Ed's Pointer, and they were on their way. A half mile down the road, Ed's chain broke and popped a hole in the engine case. A rope was located, and Bill towed the Pointer back to Ed's, with Tommy sitting backwards on the Benly, holding the tow rope. The Pointer was beyond repair.

Now what? Easy! Without a second thought, and with laughs all around, the three loaded onto the Honda - Bill at the handle bar controls (sitting on the gas tank), Ed sitting on the front of the seat (operating the rear brake and shift lever) and Tommy in the pillion position. While Tommy was committed to the trip, he exhibited a certain hesitancy about Bill and Ed's ability to control the motorcycle. He suggested the three practice the basic riding and control functions on a sandy side road before venturing down the highway.

Proceeding down an adjacent fire road, the bike began to fishtail in the loose sand. Bill's legs were flailing since he had nowhere to rest his feet. Desperately, he jerked the bars from side to side and twisted the throttle while Ed simultaneously stomped on the brake and shift lever. Tommy in the meantime, was throwing his body violently from side to side, trying to counteract the wild gyrations of the motorcycle as the bike high sided, sending all three sprawling in the sand. Tommy twisted his ankle, Ed burned his leg on the muffler and after another fifty feet and two more falls, they headed for the safety of the paved highway. Tommy was beginning to voice some serious reservations about continuing on the trip, but Ed and Bill assured him that the sand was the culprit. Once on the highway, everything would be fine.

Practice makes perfect. Accordingly, Bill found a spot for his feet on the front axle. Ed developed almost perfect coordination in shifting, as Bill operated the clutch and throttle. Within a few miles, the two were acting as one, and the Honda Benly Touring was buzzing along at a furious rate, negotiating turn after turn on the way to Bad Axe. At this point, the only small impediment to their progress was that Tommy had developed a nasty twitch. Every time the bike was leaned into a corner, Tommy, anticipating another crash, would abruptly throw his body in the opposite direction.

Other than a short downpour, the trip progressed without further incident with the three arriving in Bad Axe a little wet and overly confident of their accomplishment. Wearing T-shirts and shorts, they dried quickly in the sunshine as they walked the fair. The fair wasn't quite as busy as the gang had anticipated. It was mid-week, so the crowd was small. After checking out the arcade and farm exhibits, they headed for the midway. So far, the few girls around were difficult to distinguish from the livestock exhibits and in all fairness, the girls probably had the same opinion of the guys. Tommy was walking with a limp and swollen ankle, Ed's leg burn oozed an ugly white fluid, and Bill's T-shirt was torn and dirty from the numerous falls on the fire trail.

In the distance, there was a sudden popping sound, back firing, and then the steady drone of a large V-twin engine revving on straight open pipes. It got louder and faster, and the boys' adrenaline began to rise. Not far away was something that looked like a wooden barrel (the size of a house), and on its side, the sign proclaimed "Motorcycle Dare Devils", "Wall of Death." The guys raced to the Wall of Death, purchased their tickets, and then clamored up the steps to the top of the barrel. Inside, two Indian motorcycles were racing at high speed on a vertical wooden wall. The daredevil riders performed all manner of dangerous stunts. They rode no handed, blind-folded, criss crossed dangerously close to each other, and thrilled the crowd.

When the show was over, the motorized trio couldn't wait to get back on the Honda and put on their own version of the dare devil show. They cruised around town showing off, with Ed standing on the pegs in an Iron cross fashion, and Tommy hanging precariously off the back by one hand and waving at the locals with the other.

Now with their egos fully inflated and caution thrown to the wind, they began the trip back to Caseville. The excitement of the moment faded as they left Bad Axe and it began to rain. A steady drizzle at first, then a downpour that stung their exposed skin and filled their tennis shoes. It turned dark, all three were getting cold, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, and they drove faster as they hurried back to Caseville. The downpour changed to a vicious storm, with thunder and lightning, and all three squirmed and became more vocal. The course of the motorcycle had become erratic. With two people operating the controls, wind, rain, poor visibility, and too much speed, the gang lost it's composure and began to find fault with each other.

They pulled to the side of the road and argued over who was at fault and whose idea it was to take this stupid trip. It was decided that Ed would now steer, Bill would man the brakes and shifting. A unanimous decision was made to continue the journey, although all were filled with trepidation.

Rumbling down the road again, a tight curve appeared out of the darkness. Ed steered, Bill braked, and Tommy swore, as the motorcycle began to slide on the wet asphalt, then fish-tailed out of control and went down. In the center of the S-curve was an old railroad crossing, where the approach and crossing were paved with railroad ties, spiked in place. Three bodies and one motorcycle slid through the crossing, onto the cinder shoulder, and came to rest in the ditch on the far side.

The victims took inventory - one whimpering, one cussing, and one quiet and sullen. Everyone had lost a fair amount of skin on the road. Ed and Bill had acquired numerous splinters from the rail road ties: Ed had one almost four inches long imbedded in his leg, and everyone was bleeding. To add to the discomfort, the last portion of the slide left a fine glaze of cinders on everyone's wounds and Tommy acquired a sizable gouge from a protruding rail spike. Everyone was hurt and mad, blaming each other for the spill. On the positive side, they were all still alive, and none of the injuries were life threatening, although Tommy's twitch became more pronounced, and many have credited his premature baldness to this event.

Necessity, always the great motivator, helped to calm the group and unify them. Wounded or not, it was 15 miles to Caseville, and no one wanted to walk. The Honda's handle bars and foot pegs were bent, but it started easily. It was agreed that Bill would steer the rest of the way. Ed was not to operate brakes in the corner, and Tommy would try to hold still.

The trio, now solemn and miserable, continued the trip at a very slow pace. Once back, they limped off to lick their wounds. During the next few days, they didn't talk about the trip much, although their parents did!

It was over a week before anyone mentioned riding the motorcycles again. The gang had gained a little common sense, and learned a lot about riding the hard way.

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