Bultaco 350, Kawasaki 900, Motorcycles 3 and 4

Bultaco 350

Jimmy and Nancy Cole had a barn behind their house.  I never had a good reason to be in there until they offered their barn to my parents to put our horse in.  Sugar, a beautiful, white, spunky quarter horse, was about a year old.  She ran through a fence or something and cut her front shoulder and had to be put up and cared for.  In that dusty old barn, leaning against the wall, was an old Bultaco Matador 350 two stroke.  

It looked a lot like this one.  Jimmy bought it before they flooded the Duck river bottom land that would become Normandy Lake.  From our house to the lake is about a mile.  He rode it all through that area, mapping out structures, wells, springs, and anything that might attract and hold bass.  When I first saw the Bultaco, it had been sitting in Jimmy's barn for about 6 years.  The dam was completed in 1976.  At this point, a year or so had passed since the Honda XL350 burned, and this old Bultaco had my attention.  It always belonged to James, but he said if we could get it running, I could ride it. Even though I didn't "own" it, I spent time with it, made some memories with it, and count it in my list.  After a new sparkplug, some fresh gas-oil mix, some cleaning, and a lot of kicking, she started.  Odd thing about a Bultaco, the controls are all opposite from most motorcycles.  The rear brake, usually operated by your right foot, was on the left.  The shifter, usually operated by your left foot, was on the right.  The kick starter was also on left. Once I figured out how to ride it, I rode it all over Mt. Vernon.  Then I started riding it to town, and to Tullahoma Lake to go fishing.  Looking back, it was silly to trust it that far from home.  

One day I was doubling Lee on it in their side yard.  I would have been about 17, and Lee would have been about 7.  At that point, I didn't have a lot of experience with a two stroke. It ran out of gas and the engine revved up to 8000 or so RPMs and stayed there.  I thought something was stuck or broken.  The air/fuel mixture was way off because of the lack of fuel.  I held the clutch, as the engine ran wide open.  With me and Lee both riding, all I was thinking about was killing the motor, and not getting us hurt.  I shifted into second gear, held the brake and popped the clutch.  The old Bultaco jumped forward, but the brake held, and the motor stopped running.  We got off, and I pushed it back to the barn, and leaned it against the wall.  I told James what had happened.  I was sure it was tore up, and it was my fault.  It would stay there for several years.  

By now, Sugar was all healed up, and back in our pasture.  She was always an independent, beautiful soul of a horse.  

  

Kawasaki 900 

Jr. Thornberry, and his cousin Bruce had big Kawasaki street bikes.  Jr.'s was a 1973 900 Z1, and Bruce's was a 1974 900 Z1.  

This is my old Kawasaki 900, at the fraternity house in Martin.  

Bruce and Jr. kept them clean and shiny, and parked outside at Jr.'s Amoco station, on Wilson Avenue.  At this point, I was a student at Motlow.  Keeping the old truck running and gassed up took most of my spare money.  But, I was working, and saving, and sure enough, one day Bruce put a for sale sign on his motorcycle.  I bought it, registered it, and put a legal tag on it, but I still didn't get a operator's license.  I rode it to Motlow for classes, and all around middle Tennessee.  Not having a drivers license is great motivation for behaving, and trying to be a very good driver. 

Melanie and I doubled to Cookeville one time to see Aunt Susan and Uncle Jerry Flatt.  It was a beautiful day and a great ride. 

I did have a few lapses in judgement.  The '73, 900 Z1 was at that time, the fastest production motorcycle.  It had a claimed top speed of 134 mph.   When the Honda V65 came out in 1986, it became the fastest.  My 1974 was pretty quick, and I decided to take it through the quarter mile, and see what it would do.  On the back road to Motlow, plainly marked by paint lines on the road, was a quarter mile stretch where cars raced.  It was almost dark when I pulled up to the start line.  I revved it up and dumped the clutch, running it to near the red line and going through the gears.  As I accelerated, I noticed something leaving the bike.  When I slowed down to turn around, I discovered that both luggage carrier lids, located right behind my legs, came unlatched, and blew off.  I did several U-turns, going back and forth, hoping to see them in the road.  They skidded off each side of the road, out of sight.  I couldn't see them because it was getting dark, and they were brown and black. So I had to go back the next day and walk the ditches till I found them.  

I took the Kawasaki to Martin, Tennessee when I went to UTM.  I rode it all over west Tennessee and parts of Arkansas, and Missouri.  A couple of my friends at UTM had street bikes.  

Terri and I had our first "date" on it.  We were both working at Safety and Security, and we went for a ride after she got off work at 8AM on a Saturday morning.  That was also the day I met Terri's mom.  Brenda saw Terri's truck at home, but no Terri.  She asked Tommy and Steve, Terri's younger brothers, where their sister was.  They told her, "We don't know.  She left with some guy on a motorcycle."