I've already got a few posts to my name and right now I'm bored so perhaps I will tell the netrider community how I first got into bikes . Its a lil bt of an epic. As a 10 year old, my best mate who shares the same name as I moved to the country. Promptly his father purchased him a little bike. A Honda XR75, classic Honda red, twin shocks and HEAVY, well it felt like it to a 10 year old. My mates dad got me on the front of it and showed me how to make this thing move, then, he jumps off and I'm cruising around the paddock having a total blast. Now it was time to stop! I roll up and just as I'm about to stop I decided to leave both feet on the pegs, and in slow motion the red devil and I fall to the dirt. Despite the stack, I found I had the biker gene in me, I was totally hooked, the smell, the vibration of the engine, and the freedom . My mother, bless her soul offered to buy a share in the bike. The bike stays up in the farm but I get to essentially share it with my mate. The thought counts always, but basically the idea sucked. A year or more has passed and the bike gets dropped of ahem dumped at my place in the city. It's painted black, its got no fuel line and no one has any idea if it even runs. My first bike is a black shadow of its former glorious red self . Enter my older brother, a man who has a burns scar on his neck from a chlorine bomb gone wrong, the kinda guy you dont want messing with your things because its destined to get broken or completely destroyed. Despite its terrible state, I did love the bike, and it was true love. I accepted its flaws and only wished it would blossom into something beautiful. The brother wants to get it running and in his own true style decides a clear plastic tubing would make a good fuel line, he throws it on, no clamps no nothing and decides with or without me he is taking it to this empty block of land to ride it. FAST FORWARD--------------------------------------------------------> there he is riding along when the fuel line comes off and petrol starts spewing over the hot engine, he grabs the fuel line, jams it back on and keeps going. 10 seconds later, a fireball shoots out the side of the engine and the stupid brother drops the bike and runs. The flames get as high as 12 feet, the tall grass of the paddock ignites and next thing you know the locals have their hoses over their fence in the fear that their backyards will be toast. Cue the fire brigade........ They come flying in at about 60kms/h and do not compensate for the gravel and the palletes of tiles surrounding the back of the shed and slam straight into these tiles, seriously messing up the truck and sending tiles everywhere. After the flames subsided and a 10 year old boys tears evaporated on the bmx ride home, all that was left was the carburretor and a nice deep seated hate for my older brother. The hate and the carby have gone, but what remains are memories of flicking through as many bike magazines as a 10 year old possibly could and a single photo of me on the XR75 'red devil' banked over in a turn with a totally 'free' expression. 12 years on I now have my L's, some gloves and a helmet. Next up, the bike, and the realisation of a childhood dream and a passion that will hopefully never leave me.