Wasn't riding in the 1950s began in the 1960s.
"Trail" riding had progressed where the "Triumph 250 Cub" and a Harley 250cc were the kings. Then a man named Senor Bulto began building a superb 2 stroke bike called a Bultaco (as you can imagine the jokes).
http://www.britcycle.com/Bikes/Bultaco.htm
Well I got a 250cc Matador and began riding "Enduros." These were timed trail riding. While I was not that good, I had the enthusiasm and the desire.
Coupled with the cutting edge technology of the Bultaco Matador, I won. Very light, high ground clearance, carb intake was under the seat so as long as the water was not over the seat, you could traverse rivers with ease. Huge knobby tires, compared to the other bikes.
The Southeastern Sports Comittee set up the Enduro runs. These could span as much as 75 miles of mostly trails. There were short stretches of road, then another trail.
I also had a Vincent Black Shadow 1000cc road bike. Bought it in pieces from a guy who bought it that way and could not put it together. With the help of a few Brits, I got it running. Totally black. Except the exhaust pipes, wheel spokes (chrome) and the carbs (brass).
http://scalemodel.net/Vincent.aspx
One day I was at Al Rodi's Motorcycle Store on the Vincent. It was sometimes a biotch to start. The guys loved to count the number of kicks I had to give it. It usually started easily if i was alone, but the more people watching, the more kicks it took.
The dammned thing just would not start. I had to take a break. The laughter had died down and sympathy among my buddies kicked in.
Someone asked me about my "standing" in the Sports Committee? I did not know and at the time did not care. I only wanted to ride enduros. I entered ALL of them. Sometimes I won class or overall, sometimes not so good, but I did not keep track of accumulated points. I just loved riding.
The laughter died down and someone told me that I was in second place in the Southeast! My competitive spirit kicked in and I immedaitely said, "Who is in First Place? Who do I HAVE to beat?"
Warren Taylor! Hell I was 25 and that old fart was 36! And he rode a Triumph Cub! Well, up until then he was a friend. No longer. I had to beat him. We were evenly matched. He was very good. My bike was better, but he was a better rider.
So for the next several "races" I was an all-out competitor. He would win one, I would win the next one.
We did not even speak to each other anymore.
There were two runs left for the year. Warren was slightly ahead of me in points, I HAD to win this run. There was no longer any joy in riding, just all out blood and guts.
I rmember it clearly. It was a beautiful day in Greenville SC. I was climbing a steep hill, baseball sized rocks everywhere --- but my bike was misfiring. An all-out rage enveloped me. You know the feeling? I HAD TO WIN!
I found myself thinking, "I hope that Warren falls and hurts himself so bad that he cannot finish the run. That is the ONLY way I will WIN!"
Then a Zen like calm hit me. "THIS IS NO LONGER FUN! Warren was a close friend ONCE. WTF am I doing here?"
I shepherded the barking Bultaco to a dirt road and found my way back to the trailer and car. I loaded the bike and sold it with the trailer.
I found my friendship for Warren returning. I went to the next run as a spectator. It felt good cheering people on.
Many people wanted to know why I quit. I just told them that it wasn't fun anymore.
In the last race, Warren fell, hard and knocked his kneecap off. He was never able to ride competitively again. I felt very badly for him, but not as badly as I would have felt if I had been still competing and wishing that would happen.
So Warren won first place in the Southeast for 1967. I had so many points that I still won second place. And folks, that was good enough for me.
Yup...I love my bikes...