It was 1956. There wasn’t anything on Signal Hill in Southern California but oil wells, rabbit hutches, dirt and a short span of paved road.

 But that was enough.

 It was time for a kid to take his first ride on a big bike.

 I was that kid, and my uncle was a legendary biker pioneer. He had been to Laconia when it was still just a dusty hill-climb. He had torn up the east coast in the 30s and 40s with his stable of Indians and Harleys.

 

 Now he had brought his brand of highway wildness to the West Coast.

 And I was to be a part of it.

 He lifted me up onto the back of that old police Pan and kicked it over…we headed up that hill and the world changed. A six-year-old suddenly felt a premature metamorphosis from “innocence to experience”…an orgasmic deflowering at the erotic hands of a V-twin fire-breather.

 And it was perfect.

 I can’t say for sure, but my guess is that “biker blood” and the freedom that is tethered to it is also what made me begin to dig deep into so many other crevices of life. There is a lot of “stuff” to do “out there,” amigos…there is never a dull moment if you take of the blinders and just let ’er roll…

 Back in ’65, California was still part of the rugged old west…the safety police of mothering legislators had not yet seized control of our lives…you could get a driver’s permit at the ripe age of 15-and-a-half…and that allowed you to ride a motorcycle!

 Again, it was perfect.

  I got a hold of two wheels and never slowed down. The surging of that freebird “biker blood” helped me to survive the 60s…I learned to play the guitar, the bass, and pedal steel…I worked my way through college by playing in every sleazy country-western dive in Southern California…joints like Evelyn’s Panama Lounge, The Cowboy Party House, and the ever-popular Hi-Stakes in the garden community of Cudahy.

 In 1974 I developed an interest in the martial arts. I spent nearly five years in the Japanese system of Shotokan karate. In the late 70s I switched to the Chinese karate style of Kenpo, founded by the legendary Ed Parker, where I continue to train and learn.

 The Kenpo system and Ed Parker were embraced by Elvis and many other personalities who were taught that the martial arts were a lot more than just Hollywood stunts.

 One of Elvis’ bodyguards was a Kenpoist named Dave Hebler. One of my most prized possessions is one of my rank certificates signed by Mr. Hebler. Dave Hebler is one of the most seriously “bad” men I have ever encountered. The guy could kill a locomotive and not even blink.

 Kenpo is a nice little tradition to be a part of.
 And now it’s now…

 I tend to adhere to the old adage about “writing about what you know”…so I deal primarily with the three M’s…motorcycles, music, and martial arts. But, again that “biker blood” kicks in and I have never truly limited myself…I have also written about such diverse subjects as Alzheimer’s Disease and some of the stranger aspects of the Gothic sub-culture.
 At six years-of-age, with the help of some Milwaukee steel, I learned that life was limitless, and I have never looked back…