[AL]

Since our marriage in 1968 we have moved numerous times. No we paid our bills and mortgarges. The jobs just came and went so we went with them.

Motorcycles. Bought a 1974 Superglide Harley when no license was required. Then the Feds decided that everyone riding motorcycles must take the test or be “grandfathered” if they had been riding for more than two years. NC did not put out specifics, just come on down and pay up. Went down to pay up at lunch one winter day in Rocky Mount. Lots of people in the line ahead of me. I waited patiently finally getting to the Examiner only to find out I had to get a form notorized in order to get a “grandfathered” M endorsement. Remember the M, it will come up in the second motorcycle license story in Indiana.

So I take the form, telling the Examiner when I return I have no intention of going to the end of the line. Went to a car dealer, it was much closer than any motorcycle dealer, and simply said I had to have this for notorarized. No question asked, they just sealed it and I was off to the DMV Office. I got there and did exactly what I said I would, walked right up to the desk and waited for him to finish with the current victim. I then handed him the paper and he typed up a new license and asked me to sign it. Told him no way because he had misspelled my name. OK, second try he botched the address. Not signing. Finally on the third try he hit all the correct keys. I signed, he took my picture, made the new license and gave it to me. He also gave me back my old license which in those days was supposed to be retained by the DMV.

OK, so its off to Indiana. I rode the Harley to Evansville from Wilson, NC stopping only for fuel and “relief.” That’s 965 miles in case anyone is wondering. Got to Indiana and went to get my Indiana Driver’s license. Examiner there said they did not have any “M” endorsement and they never would. OK, so how about making a typo and include an M on the license. No way that was going to happen. In one year Indiana succumbed to the Feds threat of withholding highway funding until they had a requirement for licensing motorcyclists.

Back I go to their DMV. I take the written test, which by the way was obviously also written by some desk jockey beureacrat that had never straddled a moving motorcycle. Sure I would be passing the written test, I went and stood in line behind this very mature lady. She had not answered any of the sign recognition questions. The Examiner “coached” her through every one by stating a sentence which had the name of the sign in it. For example, this round sign with the black X and two R’s would be found where you see trains. Duh? On it went until she got a pass. Up I step, the Examiner grades the written test and fails me. Not being happy I asked her to give me the same treatment she had just afforded the old lady in front of me. No way. So I looked at the answers they wanted, went back and gave them those answers. After getting the license, I told the Examiner not to expect me to ride the way their manual said to since I really wanted to live.

OK, so job in Indiana is over and off we got to New York City, well actually Long Island. Springtime comes and I decide it is time to go get the big “M” again. Now, New York actually requires a road test as they did not recognize any other state’s license. So should I ride the Harley to the DMV test site or should I get someone to ride it over for me. That was a big decision since I never let others operate the Harley. I had a NYCPD officer down the street that rode motorcycles and was a friendly type. He rode it and I drove a “cage” to the DMV. Now there were a dozen others that had arrived before us. All had the smallest rice burner they could find to take the riding test. They even laughed at me and told me I’d never pass the riding test on that thing! The Examiner, a female came out and explained the riding test. There would be several laps through a cone chicane clockwise, then she would signal me to go counterclockwise, and finally to come to the curb after which there would be a riding test on the road in actual traffic. Well I had so much fun doing the chicane I forgot to watch for her signal and turned several laps more than she wanted. I did the same going the opposite direction. When I got over to the curb she told me, “You don’t need to be here!” My response, so pass me and we can all get on to more important things. Oh yeah, the 250 cc crowd that remained was simply flabbergasted that I had actually done the laps without dragging the exhaust pipe or pegs. Did the road part without problems and got my NYC “M” endorsement.

Now for the Prevost. I wanted to get a Class A CDL. Not possible in NC unless you can seat more than 16 people. The highest license above a Class C was what they call a Classified B. I could have gotten a CDL if I was going to pulling a trailer with a gross vehicle weight in excess of 10,000 pounds. Nope, was not going to be doing that. So on to the written test without cracking a manual. It consisted of 50 questions, mostly all related to tractor trailers. The requirement was to answer 40 out of the 50 correctly before going on to the road test part of the exam. So I sit down and am on a roll. The machine kept dinging and say right answer. I was focused on how the DMV writes their questions in a counter intuitive manner. Curiosty got the best of me and I looked to see how many correct answers, and questions asked/answered. Turned out I was 30 for 30. I let my guard down and only got 10 more correct answers, but that was all I needed. I scheduled the road test for the next day. I got a lady examiner, much nicer than the one in Indiana or New York, that had never given a road test in one of these things. I asked her where she wanted me to drive and was told Myrtle Beach, SC. I said OK, I’ve got a full load of fuel so here we go. I hit the door lock and she thought I was really going to take her to Myrtle Beach – no way! I passed the road test also. This was much easier than getting any of my “M” endorsements.

One other story. We moved from Virginia to Winston-Salem in 1971. I did some mechanic work at a friend’s house and was, well, greasy. Carole drove me home. Well on the way home there was a license checkpoint near where we lived. I had gotten my NC license but Carole had put off getting her’s. The State Trooper looked at her license and the registration, which had my info on it and he asked her if her address was correct? I leaned over and told the Trooper this was my sister from Virginia that was visiting the area for a week. Oh, OK off we go. Carole went to the DMV the next morning!

That’s All Folks! Bet you are glad to hear that.

[Archived]

Will,

Having owned an early 70’s Superglide, black of course, I can’t imagine what it would be like today trying to ride that bike from NC to IN! Carole would have to ride behind you in the bus because every 100 miles you would have to take a nap.:)