Ever since I have been able to swing my leg over a seat/saddle, every single time I have gone for a ride on 2 wheels, be it to the corner store, a friends house, around the block, into town be it a chore/errand or a commute to work or even a test ride after a repair, adjustment or tweak - it has been an event!
Even though so many have been forgotten I can remember always coming back home with some story or other of something notably memorable of each ride - a bolt that fell out of place because in my anxiety and impatience to ride I failed to tighten it down properly, a chain that "busted", how well the engine ran, how the brakes "gave out", how the headlights suddenly stopped working on the darkest stretch of the road, how flawlessly the machine performed, how I almost went down on a slick patch of road due to oil, water, sand, gravel, how I had near-misses with a dog or goat or chickens or something or other that had no business being in front of me - how dare they? Or how well the machine ran and what an enjoyable ride I had ……………
Don't they know the road is mine?
I really felt like I owned the world!
Boy, I had a lot to learn!
How someone opened a car door to get out of a taxi on the inside lane as I was in the "middle-lane", how a car pulled out right in front of me failing to yield at a junction or stop sign, how I got caught in a tropical downpour/rainstorm or ran out of petrol (gas), or how the engine died and I had to push home - my experiences go on and on and on. They all made for some very frustrating times!
But in retrospect, these experiences have all had a hand in shaping my motorcycling and technical consciousness.

MY AFFINITY FOR 2 WHEELS.

The year is 1964. It is my first year of primary school.
I remember vividly how impatient I was that morning as Mum dressed me up and readied me for my first day at school.
I would not, I could not stand still as she loaded my hair with vaseline, put my socks and shoes on and checked my fingernails and teeth. Yes, needless to mention I was very fidgety.
Dad had quite a time too as he tried to take my picture. I can still hear his voice telling me to look straight into the camera and to keep still. I could not keep my eyes off the motorcycle which was just off to my left about 1 meter (3 ft.) down the rise upon which I stood. I was anxious to get on it and go. After several minutes, the photo I show here to the right, is what he captured.
After what seemed like an eternity we were finally ready and it was time to set out.
I remember also very distinctively how my Mum kept insisting that he not take me on the bike, but instead have a taxi called for my ride to school! He insisted and reassured her that I would be fine. (It was several years later I got to find out that the family car at that time, a 1958 Mercedes 180D was in the workshop for an engine rebuild, so the motorcycle for him was necessary transportation.
Dad put me to stand on center tunnel of the body moulding of the Honda 50 cc. and off we rode to drop me at school.
So it would go each morning.
I was the “best kid” in my class! None of them had ever ridden a motorcycle before.
The wind in my face, through my hair …….oh man! Nothing compares to that. With a “death-grip” on the steering, I remained still – as he instructed! I loved this!
Resultantly, on days we rode in the car – a 1958 Mercedes 180D, needless to mention, I missed riding on the bike and was sorely disappointed.
That’s my earliest recollection of my love for motorcycle riding. I was 6 years old, going on 7.
From the very first time I was taken for a bicycle ride I was “hooked”! I knew this was something I would enjoy for as long as it lasted. The warm breeze in my face, the feeling of flying on the ground under “my own power”, the feeling of moving freely in space as I had never felt before, all in the cradle of security brought about by the masterful handling of that Raleigh bicycle owned by my brother Pinnock.
With a firm grip on the handlebars and strict instructions on where to place my feet, we took off and headed to the Old Polo Grounds in Accra, Ghana, next-door to where we lived.

A VERY TINY PIECE OF HISTORY.

The Old Polo Grounds (as it is currently known) is of great historical importance in the history of Ghana. It was the setting for the declaration of independence speech by Kwame Nkrumah, the first president of the republic, on March 6th 1957, accompanied on the dais by his immediate circle of “Ministers” – my paternal grandfather included – who became part of the governing body. This was the day Ghana became a republic. The first sub-Saharan country in Africa to gain independence, no longer governed by British Rule.
Although my family history is closely intertwined with some very important political history of Ghana (The Then Gold Coast), there is nothing much I can write here that has not already been written in the years past by many other more prolific writers and historians. If you are interested, a web-search on the independence of Ghana will “paint a more vivid picture”.
Today, the Old Polo Grounds is the final resting place of Kwame Nkrumah who died in exile in Guinea, W. Africa, after a military uprising in February of 1966. A mausoleum stands here where his remains are kept.
It is the very spot on which I had my very first experience of being on a bicycle.

All too soon, or so it seemed, we had completed a rounding of the “grounds” and I begged for another ride and yet another. We rode till he was physically tired that day.
With each passing day, I learned how to pedal, I learned about front brakes, I learned about back brakes (rear brakes), I learned about traction and the need to be careful when turning on gravel and stones, I learned that I truly loved to ride.
I forget how many days and trips we made like this, but on this day, he made me pedal and steer from my perch astride the cross-bar whilst he sat on the seat with his feet resting on the rear spindle. As always, he would constantly talk me through the “checklist” of do’s and don’ts, which to this day have molded me into the cautious, and responsible rider I like to think I have developed into.
On this day the bike felt different like it never had before. It felt light and I asked what was wrong – no answer! Perhaps he had not heard me because of the strong breeze I felt in my face. At the speed the bike was traveling, you could not convince me that we were not at warp speed! (It surely felt so anyway.) I repeated the question. Hmmm. Why was he ignoring me? At that point, having reached the end of the grounds, ready to turn as we always did – under his careful guidance and coaxing, the turn around began. The turn was gentle and the return leg of the trip began. I looked ahead and there at the end of the grounds stood my brother. From the distance, I could just about make out a grin on his face. He had covertly leapt off the bike and that resulted in my having made a full length ride of the grounds, turned and was returning by myself! I was ecstatic. So was he. This was such a big boost in confidence for me. We shared the same feeling. From that day forwards, he felt comfortable letting me ride his Raleigh (This same situation was to repeat itself in the coming years – motorbikes, cars and trucks).
School days had now become too long for my liking! I got through each school day with great impatience because - you know the rest of the story.
Then came the “Superla” bicycle. It was new, it was shiny and oh my gosh it was tall! The whopping twenty-six inch diameter wheels were two inches larger than the Raleigh’s’. This was my brother Sydney’s new toy/gift that our parents gave him for having done well in his “Common Entrance” test. “No you cannot ride it, it’s too big for you, you can’t handle it. It’s too fast for you!”
“I’ve got news for you bro, you don’t know it, but I can handle the Raleigh alone” – I said to him in my thoughts.
So out for a ride he went. Having been gone for what seemed like an eternity – literally the whole afternoon, we all began to worry. When he finally returned, it was with a punctured front tire, bent wheel and twisted frame. To this day, I have never heard the real story of the events that led to that! Well, I still had a Raleigh I could ride. He was not injured and so we were not overly concerned for him, but I did not care for the Superla. Case of “Sour Grapes”? Hmmm. Call it what you like.
In the following days, weeks and months I spent all my “bicycle-time” with Pinnock. We would clean the Raleigh, adjust and oil the chain, adjust the brakes, repair flat tires, etc. My fascination with bicycles and technical stuff had begun. Little did I know but the groundwork for learning the importance of maintenance and safety, initially having been handed down by Dad, through my brothers, was being established.

An Additional Perspective:

I recently reached out to my brother Pinnock for his perspectives and recollections of those days. It was important to me and would be nice to incorporate them into this journal, somehow.
I was stimulated by how vividly I could remember those days and was excited to be able to hear/read about his, after all these years.
This was something we had never discussed. We just lived and shared the experiences.
A great part of my formative riding years were with him and I felt that my journal would be severely lacking if I did not include his perspectives and recollections of times and events from that era of our lives.
You can imagine my joy and excitement when I received his write-up and was able to finally get to share his recollections after all these years.
Gosh, it’s been close to or right around 50 years!
Read my addition of his memories to the journal in "Pee's Perspective".

Early 1970’s.
“Mosquito” Agrati Garelli. 1972.

It did not take long to grow in capacity and skill level. Riding around an isolated area was losing it’s appeal. Coupled with the fact that Dad had now been requested to work for National Television as their Cultural Liaison Officer. With that new job posting came a move of residence into another government provided house.
We began now, to ride through a residential neighborhood, reaching further away to link up with friends and share riding times together.
Dad surprised us with “The Garellies” (Plural form, I guess). Two of them, that is. This Italian single cylinder motor, was designed to fit on a bicycle and provided motorized, assisted transportation. This was accomplished by a splined, cylindrical gear that made contact with and turned the rear tire. Its fuel tank was mounted behind the seat. It held close to 1 imperial gallon of fuel (A little more than 1 US gallon). I cannot tell you how many miles per gallon it returned. Those days and times it was not about how far for how much, it was only about being able to ride!
This was the true meaning of: Motorcycle. Actually, it transformed the bicycles (two of which we had) into – yes - a motor bicycle.
Dad taught us all about two-stroke engines – first hand. De-compression, fuel/oil ratios, combustion, etc.
I’ll spare you the boring details. Although, they wore out the back tires (rear tires) of the bicycles very quickly. I remember we went through quite a few of those in a relatively short period of time.
We could now ride around the yard much much faster. Relative to pedaling bicycles, these things had A LOT OF POWER! Heck, we became the envy of our friends. During vacation time from boarding school, which they and my elder brothers all attended, friends in our circles would gather at our house everyday, drooling over the machines and hoping for a chance to ride. Our home had become the center of activity and meeting place where there was fun to be had and machines to experience.
Mum was constantly cooking and keeping us all fed. Although expensive I’m sure, they (our parents) did their best to keep up. Benefits of which I guess, were the fact that by all of us taking rides in the yard all day long, all our parents knew where we were, that we were being supervised and that we were being well taken care of.
We began to go to far places - our next door neighborhood and down the street on which we lived - , a couple of times a day at least, each time trying to go out further and further. then we began pushing the limits of our fuel tank capacity and even began to carry extra fuel with us as a way of increasing our riding range.
It was so exciting to find out how easy it was on the Garrelli, to ride up “The Hill” that we had all so struggled with before our “motorized” days!
“The Hill” as it became to be known in our circles, was a measurement of the strength of our individual riding prowess. Not a single one of us, that I know of, had or could pedal from the base to the top without stopping to push uphill. In my estimation it was no more than about 40 meters (130 yards long, oh but that was a monumental distance to cover!
Gosh, just thinking of it and remembering all those attempts as I edit this, even makes me tired! I can still vividly remember and feel the fatigue!
Furthermore, going in the opposite direction, downhill, was also a test and measurement of much control we had under “warp speed” situations! Primarily because the base of the hill was a major junction of a thoroughfare. So you HAD TO STOP.
So one had to gauge at what point to really let go of the brakes to be able to enjoy the speed.
Release too early and you ran the risk of reaching the bottom at too high a speed.
Release late and you denied yourself the thrill of speed.
So that thrill of downhill runs was totally dependent on the integrity of your brakes ……… and yes, I had 1 memorable experience of my brakes “giving out”. (If you want to hear that story, read on!)
So anyway, on that fateful , and lucky day, “I let loose” right at the top of the hill and started what was to become my first experience and lesson of “going too hot and getting in over my head”.
About halfway down the rubber insert (the brake shoe itself) came out of its body rendering the front - and only brake on the bicycle - ineffective.
All of a sudden my whole life went into slow motion.
I began to pick up speed and the end of the run, the bottom of the hill, the stop junction was approaching rapidly. (That is a serious understatement!)
My only thought of action was to use my foot to slow the front wheel down. In effect using my foot as a brake.
Well it didn’t take long for the friction to go right through the rubber sole of my shoes and contact the underside of my foot. - So much for that.
Before I knew it I was at the bottom of the hill and as luck would have it, a quick glance left and right showed no cars approaching from either direction.
So I gritted my teeth, blasted my way into the junction and hung a hard left turn onto the major thoroughfare.
When I opened my eyes I was coming to a manageable halt.
I was still upright.
I had made it.
I don’t know how, but I did. That must have been some turn I made!
It was a learning experience.
I had renewed fear of the hill ……. and respect.
It was therefore imperative that you had a good feel for your braking capacity and exercised good mechanical judgement in order to maximize the thrill of “The Hill”!
If you wanted to go, you’d better be able to stop!
Lesson learned!
After a couple of summers, not only did we wear the motorized bicycles out, but the now “desire for more power” could not hold our interest any more.
Our home had become the gathering point for bicycles, mopeds and motorcycles as some of our friends began acquiring some of their own. Friends and family (cousins) would gather and that is how we spent our vacations – repairing, spiffing up, riding, sharing meals together, playing guitars etc. Those were the glory days of our childhood – our growing up days. Our days full of pure fun and joy, brought about by the mere simplicity of our lives in that era. (I think of the inner city kids that age of today and of what experiences I know a lot of them have missed out on). More specifically, we stayed out of trouble. We were and even after all these years, still consider ourselves to be “good kids”.

Yamaha 80cc.

So to cut some very memorable and interesting long stories short, the next few months saw the introduction of my brother Leo’s first bike – a Yamaha 80cc. It was red with silver mudguards (fenders) and again, it - our home, and us, continued to be the center of attraction for motorcycling nirvana in the neighborhood.
I remember days when Leo took me to an empty football field at the neighborhood playground (Soccer, to those of you who really don’t put true meaning to the word “football”) and began to teach me how to use the clutch, throttle and brakes. With a nervous and good feel, he prepared me and had me ride the length of the field, which if my memory serves me correctly, was about 30 or so odd yards in length. Coming to a stop, I put it into neutral, got off, walked the bike around and tried to head back to the starting point. And to this day, often times when I squeeze the clutch on my bike, I am always transported to those days when I first learned what the purpose of the clutch is and how to use it properly.
His patience was immeasurable. He let me repeat this over and over again, each time getting it better and better and raising my confidence level.
And so, I began to learn how to ride!

A similar brand new blue-colored model followed it shortly afterward.
The aftermarket “leg-guards” he installed on that one, now in retrospect, seem to be another pre-cursor to today’s body fairings. (See the picture below.)
It was a great feeling of being able to ride a motorcycle and feel the protection offered by the leg guards from the wind. They were stylish and curvy. Very streamlined indeed and truly commanded a smile-invoking feeling. Somehow, locally, it set him apart from all other motorcyclists at the time because no one else boasted them. He was in a class of his own! He was king. He was instantly recognizable and unmistakable! Take note of the custom designed and fitted locally made saddlebags/panniers. I don’t know why we called them saddlebags, but today I look back fondly to them as the great forerunners of today’s modern day motorcycle integrated luggage systems that I am so accustomed to and appreciate.
On the flip side of that coin, for all of us, it continually forced us to be always well behaved wherever we went on that bike. For guaranteed, if were we not, our parents would know about our behavior/actions well before we arrived home. Oh, indeed! Those were the good ‘ol days!
The days when every grown up knew all the kids and their parents in the neighborhood. They (the grown ups) looked out for each others’ kids and well being.

BMW 250cc. R27.

I think back to all the bikes we have owned collectively to date in my family and realize that this is the only one upon which we affectionately bestowed a male gender!
The family motorcycling addition from an 80cc to 250cc was a massive jump for us in capacity and horsepower. To reflect this motorcycling upgrade, Pinnock’s choice of name for him was almost a no-brainer.
Welcome Mister “BIGSTUFF”!
It was a machine that would live up to its name by virtue of its physical and mechanical condition. It demanded our respect. We believed in that karma. It was a big bike, and it ruled us! It decided on which day it would start up effortlessly. It decided for itself how well and for how long it would run on any given day. We were scared of it. We subdued ourselves into thinking and believing that. Until finally when we destroyed that karma (by patiently learning and understanding it’s problems and getting them fixed) it showed us it’s good nature and became a very reliable machine.
This is the one machine that by virtue of it’s design characteristics, has greatly influenced my attraction and love for the type/style of machine that I have gravitated towards over the years, culminating in the machine that I ride today.
Decent power to weight ratio (for that era of technology), heavy – but making it well planted and stable at speed, comfortable over long distances, sound quality engineering, smooth, no messy chains and sprockets to continually fuss with, fuel efficient and practical – for all intents and purposes. Not the quickest or fastest machine on the block, but with good and unsurpassed performance over the broad range of motorcycling criteria.
My formative motorcycling beginnings were on both these machines. I remember them very fondly! I miss them and think often of trying to locate and buy one of each to restore. Hmm, to have a stable of motorbikes that we ever owned in our family? How nostalgic! What a stable of wonderful memories that would be…….
Maybe one of these days.

The learning continued. We repaired, we rebuilt, we repainted, we innovated, down to our own home made saddlebags (panniers) out of necessity just so we could carry our textbooks and notebooks back and forth to school. To also carry enough tools around in case there was a breakdown of some sort or other.
But one thing we quickly found out was that because of the good care we began to take of the machines, breakdowns became almost non-existent. When they did, it was age-related, and living in that part of the world in those times, there were no dealerships or parts houses through which we could easily order OEM replacement parts.
So we learned to use our knowledge, skills and locally available services to make what we needed and adapted parts we could find locally on the automotive parts market to solve the problems and suit our purposes, all the while, maintaining and in some cases improving safety levels for ourselves. It is with great appreciation and fondness that I recollect and cherish these times.
It honed our engineering skills and broadened our understanding of technical/mechanical possibilities and limitations in so many spheres.
It is a greater sense of appreciation that I have developed for the advancements in means, methods and systems of today that allow us to indulge in our motorcycling hobby/passion and go about our various lives with relative ease, simplicity and a much higher degree of safety that has been afforded us through all the technological advancements of the last 40+ years and counting.
Several months had been spent on “Bigstuff” trying to restore him to reliable condition. Unbeknownst to us, he had arrived with defective stator windings (which we found out the hard way), resulting in a run down battery every couple of days or so. In those days we did not know all the intricacies of charging systems, but after several visits to an electric motor rewinding shop and electrical education from the shop owner – Mr. Halagbi, Pinnock found success and greater understanding of what he was up against. Relatively simple though, in retrospect.
Mr. Halagbi passed away relatively soon after we had first met him, but not before he would serve as a great inspiration to Pinnock and by stimiulating his curiosity in electrical and electronic fields of engineering. To the extent that today, Pinnock is an Electrical Power Engineer by profession.
But not before getting stranded one weekend during what in those days for us was a long ride (18 miles), and having to push the bike the remaining 7 miles to get home. Disappointment and frustration made him look towards getting another. But not being a quitter, he persevered. It was this perseverance and frustration that finally made us cross paths with Mr. Halagbi, through Dad.
A second, 1 year newer model joined the stable of bikes soon afterward. It was in better physical condition at time of purchase and the charging system was intact and worked! On the proverbial hunt for parts one day, Pinnock came across this machine which had belonged to a missionary who no longer wanted the machine and had given it to this friend who was parts manager at this parts house to help find a buyer for him. He no longer had need of it. So Dad put Pinnock to work to earn some money that would afford him the opportunity to pay back for the purchase, indirectly learning and gaining the life skill of accomplishment, and pride of ownership. That alone was a source of great excitement.
So with a full strip-down and perfect transmission rebuild – that it required, it underwent a full aesthetic metamorphosis! Custom built panniers and all! – As can be seen in the accompanying picture.
He named her “Santa” short for Santa Maria, after one of the ships in Christopher Columbus’s fleet that brought pilgrims to “The New World” of America. She was to take us into “our new world” of motorcycling.