1939 Whizzer Motorbike!

I'm an only child. As a result of this, when I was still young and cute anyways, I was admittedly a tad spoiled by my parents. In accordance with this, my father, who is far more fascinated with machines than I am, felt it fit to bestow upon me this delightful little replica of a 1939 Whizzer Motorbike when I was just thirteen. On a street full of pedal bicycles and perhaps the occasional sticker-clad Honda Super Cub or rusty beat-up Puch somebody found under a pile of camping equipment in their uncle's garage, my Whizzer may as well have been a Cadillac. While other kids were dealing with greasy, noisy, ripcord-started blue-smoking two cycle engines or pumping their legs like a sucker on their Walmart blue light special Huffys, I was riding in velvety-smooth four-cycle style. 123 aluminum air-cooled flathead CC's of it to be exact, and I loved every minute of it. I took care of it better than I've taken care of anything in my life, and spent about as much time cleaning it as I did riding it. That's why it broke my heart the day this little black beauty bent a valve with only 91 miles on its little odometer. It hadn't even burnt a full tank of gas yet (at 120 miles per gallon it is both economical and stylish for all you hybrid-driving queers out there). Since that fateful day a few years back, this little sweetheart has sat in my basement under a cover, waiting to once again spend countless carefree afternoons with its loving owner who may have grown up, but will always be a kid at heart.