Ride Like the Wind

By Jeffrey Markowitz / Huntington Woods, Mich.

The author on his motorcycle in Oak Park (1970)

One of my favorite movies in high school was Easy Rider. It came out in 1969, and I saw it three times. Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson inspired me and my friends to buy motorcycles. We were in awe of the power and speed of those bikes.

Our minds kept whirling with images of looking cool while riding through the streets of Oak Park, Mich. But we were only 17 and needed finances to carry out our plans. Our teenage minds weren’t focused on academics and school was a secondary proposition.

At Oak Park High School, Wood Shop was an elective, and I enjoyed the various projects we completed. But the best part of the class had nothing to do with woodworking. The classroom had high-top tables and stools for instruction. We had to learn safety procedures before we were able to use any of the equipment. I sat next to a good friend, Billy Cannon, and our table had a bird’s eye view of Coolidge Highway and Oak Park Boulevard.

From our elevated positions, Billy and I would gaze out the window and watch motorcycles drive by. Acting like fools, we pretended that we were seated on one of those spectacular bikes with sparkling chrome gas tanks. We even imitated the sweet sounds of revving an engine. With our arms outstretched in midair and our hands moving downward on the invisible handlebars, we felt like we were on the road. We certainly looked ridiculous but didn’t care.

Another highlight of our hour spent in Wood Shop was seeing Eddie Cohen drive by on his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle. He was one of the coolest guys we knew and Billy and I were in awe of his bike. Motorcycle fever crept into my blood. I desperately wanted one of those beautiful bikes. I probably thought I would look cool too.

I decided to approach my dad about the prospect of buying a new motorcycle. I was chomping at the bit to cruise down the street with a sparkling, new bike. But when I broached the subject with my dad, he immediately said, “no way.” I decided to keep working on him.

After hassling my dad for two weeks we came to a mutual agreement. He told me I could buy a used motorcycle, and I would have to pay for part of it. Since I had been working at the State Fair in Detroit during summer vacations, I had saved a few bucks. I took him up on the deal.

I scoured the classified ads in the Detroit News but came up empty. As it turned out I bought my first bike from a friend who lived next door to Billy. It was a Triumph Daytona 500 — a bike made for scrambling. I was excited.

After riding the bike for two years I wanted an upgrade — a street bike. After all, I was now 19 and needed to keep pace with riding buddies who were buying new bikes. I told my dad that if Billy Cannon drove up to our house on a new motorcycle, then I was going to find a way to get one too.

My younger brother, Gene, got into the act as well. He was already riding a Fox 500 minibike and decided he too wanted something bigger and better. Then, just one week later, my dad and I were sitting on our front porch when the inevitable happened: Billy Cannon came riding down Gardner on his bright, shiny, new Triumph Bonneville. It had a two-tone gas tank — purple and white. I was beside myself with envy. I needed to have one of those splendid machines.

Much to my surprise, the following Saturday morning on my dad’s day off, the three of us ventured over to Shores Motorcycles in St. Clair Shores. This was the go-to place for anyone who wanted to buy a Triumph.

As I walked down the aisles, gazing at those spectacular bikes, one immediately caught my eye. I was hopefully looking at my future bike being built right on the spot. In the meantime, my brother and dad were wondering where I wondered off to in the store. I asked if Gene found a bike and my dad responded that they were ready to cash out.

My dad then asked me what I was thinking about. I turned around and pointed to the motorcycle that was being built and told him, “That’s it.” It was a Triumph Bonneville with a cherry red tank that had a white strip on top. The negotiations began, and my dad offered a deal. He told Gene and me that the only way we were walking out of the store with two new motorcycles was if he could ride one of our bikes every Sunday morning. Otherwise, there would be no transaction. Gene and I readily agreed.

Ultimately, Gene gave his bike to my dad more than I did. My dad was like a little kid who was waiting for his new toy. Each Sunday was a magic moment for him. Before he got on his bike, he would light up a cigar and take to the streets. He thoroughly enjoyed the ride and appreciated the time spent cruising to various locations.

Soon, more of my friends began to purchase bikes and we would ride all over town. Soon our bikes headed to the Hazel Park Raceway, where we embarked on a few crazy antics. Not being old enough to go in the track by ourselves, we would ask strangers in the parking lot to be our parent for admission. It worked every time.

My best friend, Harold Oleinick, and I loved the races. We rode our bikes to all the local tracks, including Windsor Raceway in Canada. Harold suggested riding to the track to Windsor to watch a great horse named Albatross race. Since we knew the Ambassador Bridge and The Tunnel would be crowded, we decided to only take one motorcycle – I rode on the back of Harold’s bike.

Customs was a breeze, but the bridge would not be. It was so crowded that we stood in place for what seemed like hours. Harold made a unilateral decision and told me to hold on. He proceeded to drive the motorcycle right down the middle of the bridge. It was an insane move, but it worked. We made it just in time to place our bets at the ticket window.

The author's coveted Triumph Bonneville

Another adventure, suggested by Billy Cannon, was to ride our bikes to Woodstock. It was a happening scene, and we wanted to listen to great music groups. As it turned out, we had bitten off more than we could chew. We weren’t prepared for the onslaught of insects that hit our faces like bullets at 70 miles per hour. Without face shields on our helmets, we were forced to turn back.

Little did we know that Woodstock would be inscribed in the annals of rock music history. Billy and I were awestruck when we heard about the legendary bands that played and the continued news coverage of the event. We missed a big one. But the upside is that we can still listen to those iconic tunes today and identify with their stories.

When reflecting on those glory days, a motorcycle ride wouldn’t have been complete without a girl hanging on to you while cruising down a main thoroughfare. For me, that girl was Judi Foster. She was my good friend in high school, and I was lucky enough to marry her years later.

We would ride to all the local trails. The most popular route was cruising along Hines Drive. There were many spots along the trail filled with all types of motorcycles. On a nice day, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

After taking so many rides with Judi, I decided that she might want to learn how to drive my bike by herself. Without hesitation, she agreed. We pulled into the back of Birmingham Seaholm High School, where she began her lesson.

The outfield grass of the school was thick, and I knew if there was a fall she would be safe. Judi took off like a champ–it was amazing, and I was in shock. After some time, I waved for her to come back, and she stopped on the money. Judi then asked when she could ride my bike again. I responded, “I’ll get back to you.”

As these motorcycle memories come flooding back, I have nothing but appreciation for all the things I was able to do while growing up in the small, flourishing city of Oak Park. Those days were the best. And when my friends and I reminisce about our crazy antics, we are grateful that we came out on the other side in one piece.

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After a 30-year career in construction management, building commercial and residential jobs, Jeffrey has turned to his passion–cooking. He is the master of the grill and has been nicknamed Chef Jeff by his family. Jeffrey also started a small catering business. Nothing makes him happier than satisfying his customers He enjoys sports and has spent 65-plus years playing golf, competing with friends, playing the course and trying to keep his head in the game for all 18 holes. He is the husband of Judi Markowitz. They have four adult children and nine grandchildren who keep them on their toes. Oh yeah, let’s not forget George, their Bernese Mountain granddog.