History does repeat itself.

We moved to this place on Memorial Day, 1975. I remember the year only because it was the year before our country's bi-centennial, and all the hoop-la that went with it. And I know it was Memorial Day weekend because we waited until school was out to move. I believe it must have been 1976 (maybe '77) when our son had a motorcycle wreck on the Honda 70 minibike. I wasn't keeping any journal or diary back then, so I can't be sure. But he would have been 9 or 10 years old.

Evel Knievel was constantly in the news, jumping over buses with his motorcycle, flying over canyons, and breaking bones often.


I remember the day quite well; I was tending the garden, and the neighborhood children were at the bottom of our driveway playing. Some of them fashioned a ramp and were jumping their bikes from it, Kneivel-style. Then my son decided to jump his Honda from the ramp (I didn't see it happen; I looked up when I heard the Honda make a different sort of noise, and Jimmy was lying on the ground beside the mini-bike). Summer vacation had just started: Jim ended up in traction in the hospital for a month, and then he had to stay off the broken leg for another month after coming home. He was finally allowed use of the leg a week or two before school started up again. It was pretty much a lost summer for him. I recall he was still limping badly when he got on the bus the first day of school.

As a side note, I don't have a single picture of my son in traction, or any shots of him that whole summer that I know of. Hard to believe, since I'm so hooked on picture-taking at this point in my life. For instance, recently when I heard my grandson, Arick, had his truck buried in the mire, my first thought was to send a camera with Cliff. And when a horse threw Arick a while back, my first thought as he was picking himself up off the ground was, "Dang, I didn't take a picture!"

A year ago last November, Cliff got motorcycle fever, and we bought our used Gold Wing. We caught that fever from his sister and her husband, who kept coming over on their Harley, faces wreathed in smiles. We were sidelined for a few months while Cliff recovered from CABG surgery, but returned to our road trips with a passion when he had his strength back. Motorcycle fever travels over telephone lines and the Internet, and our son caught the dreaded disease. He borrowed a motorcycle for awhile, got his license, and finally bought his own.
Thursday night Cliff got a phone call at work; our son had ridden his motorcycle to get cigarettes and wrecked in a parking lot, breaking his leg. By the next morning, we knew for sure that no other major damage was done. It's the same time of year he broke his leg before. There are three breaks, but the damage starts right below the left knee, exactly where his old injury happened. And he'll be pretty much laid up this whole summer. He's in Georgia, so all we can do is get reports by phone. I'm thankful it was "just a knee", but it isn't some simple little break, so recovery could be complicated. Yes, we are still riding our Gold Wing. I've always been a little nervous on the silly thing, but I enjoy it. As long as my husband derives such immense pleasure from cruising on our motorcycle, I'll be going along for the ride.