Split-The Early Years

By Martin J. Cvitkovich

Motorcycle adventure: First true love 'on the road' :LSD trips:Born in 1951,I have the priviledged title of 'Baby Boomer. I came from a large family that lived in the 'burbs. It was in this setting that I became uneasy around people. I found inner peace by being alone. I discovered during a classroom 'bomb drill' or watching films of the atomic bomb or maybe while the older kids were being drafted, that everyone has a dream but very few live to see that dream come true. As a troubled teenager, I decided to live my dream while I was still able. In the spring of 1970, I saddled up a 650 Thunderbolt motorcycle and with four other riders, we split the scene. Staged in the psychedelic era, "Split- The Early Years" chronicles the events of a careless life on the road.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 19, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467822909

Martin J. Cvitkovich

Martin J. Cvitkovich was born in Dayton, Ohio in 1951. He became involved with motorcycles by the age of 14. He has written short articles for various motorcycle  and amatuer radio magazines. His book "Split- The Early Years" is an auto- bio of his rebellious teenage years. His writing will take any baby boomer back into the years of draft dodgers,hippies, LSD trips and motorcycle adventures.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Typical Kid

Chapter 2

Early Child Hood

Chapter 3

Larry and Allen

Chapter 4

My Little Honda

Chapter 5

Honda Trips

Chapter 6

Garth

Chapter 7

BSA Thunderbolt

Chapter 8

Pete’s Bike Plan

Chapter 9

Preparing To Split

Chapter 10

Split

Chapter 11

On The Road

Chapter 12

The Road 2

Chapter 13

Road and Rain Night 2

Chapter 14

Rain And Road

Chapter 15

Toledo Rain

Chapter 16

Christy and Jill

Chapter 17

Mosquito Nightmare

Chapter 18

Chris’s Bike Runs 1

Chapter 19

Chris’s Bike Runs 2

Chapter 20

Toledo Cruise

Chapter 21

Leaving Toledo

Chapter 22

Almost Detroit

Chapter 23

Windsor Tunnel

Chapter 24

Tunnel Breakdown

Chapter 25

Ontario

Chapter 26

401 Flat

Chapter 27

A New Tube

Chapter 28

Lake St. Clair

Chapter 29

Grand Bend

Chapter 30

Lake Huron

Chapter 31

Cool Thunderbolt

Chapter 32

Split Up

Chapter 33

Get Together

Chapter 34

Queens Park

Chapter 35

Camp Out Of Sight

Chapter 36

New Mornings

Chapter 37

Meeting Liz

Chapter 38

Pete & Barb, Martin & Liz

Chapter 39

Lot Of Crap

Chapter 40

Baseball

Chapter 41

Barb Splits, Liz Rides

Chapter 42

Broken Cable Trip

Chapter 43

War! Good God Y’all

Chapter 44

Cable Fix

Chapter 45

Move On Up

Chapter 46

Hangin out

Chapter 47

Rock Festival

Chapter 48

Cataract Ruins

Chapter 49

Roshdale

Chapter 50

Splittin Up

Chapter 51

Caged At Home

Chapter 52

On The Road Again

Chapter 53

Back At Headquarters

Chapter 54

Damage Report

Chapter 55

Magic Carpet Crash

Chapter 56

Space

Chapter 57

Guests

Chapter 58

Rumblings

Chapter 59

Campfire Heaven to Hell

Chapter 60

Last Days At Camp

Chapter 61

Cabin Fever

Chapter 62

Farm Out

Chapter 63

The Long Ride

Chapter 64

Long Night Ride

Chapter 65

Ma, I’m Home!

Chapter 66

Busted

Chapter 67

All Things Must Pass

Chapter 68

The Warm Gun

Chapter 69

Spring 1971 Storm

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Typical Kid

My wife gave me a blank book about a year ago. When she gave it to me, she said, Here, I want you to write something down every day. Being the hard headed person I am, I asked, what for? She just walked away. May- be she sees something in me that I do not. It must be, or she would not have married me back in 1980.

When we met, I was a scumbag, motorcycle freak. The kind you would see in an old 60s biker flick. Diagnosed now with Hepatitis C, I can plainly see the wages of sin, truly is death. I always told bits and pieces of the stories of my life to close friends and my wife, but never, have told the whole story or as they say ‘connected the dots’. Some bikers say they go to the bars or wherever, and tell big lies to each other for amusement. In my case, there is no reason to lie or make up such stories.

My early child hood memories are not very clear, they have never been clear. Even in my early teens I had trouble remembering my childhood. I know there was abuse in my family. At family gatherings, there was always a lot of drinking and arguments after. It was not easy for my parents, they had nine children and we lived in a two bedroom house with an unfinished attic. I was the 8th of 9 kids and my dad gave me his name. I was told that he favored me. Maybe so.

Two of my sisters and one brother had moved out on their own by the time I was just starting school. I was extremely skinny, and was the butt of a lot of jokes. Whenever on the topic of skeletons, like at Halloween or cartoons of walking bones, my older brothers would joke,Hey there goes Martin. I did not care too much and laughed with them but later, when I was in my teens, my thin frame bothered me. I had Crohn’s disease, before it had a name. Eisenhower’s disease was the first reference to it. I weighed 110 pounds at 5’10. I was often picked on at school. By the 4th grade I had to wear glasses. I had confrontations even with close friends.

One day my best friend and neighbor Larry, who sat behind me in the 4th grade class was whispering four eyes. Back then glasses were just that, glasses. There were no fashion glasses then. As our teacher was talking to her students, Larry kept it up, knowing he was aggravating me. Four eyes, he whispered every chance he got when the teacher could not notice. Then I just freaked. I pushed my table over and shoved my chair. I swung around and jumped on Larry swinging at him. The whole classroom now had our attention, and had no idea why we were fighting in class. The teacher was yelling at us. Stop fighting. What are you fighting for? Martin, what is wrong with you? I did not care what she was saying. The commotion in the room was now a rush. Larry was bigger and stronger than me; he would eventually win, but I did not care. I kept screaming at him as we were fighting, you dumb ass, why are you screwin with me? Larry was surprised that I would attack him in the classroom, but he also was enjoying the entire scene, aside from a few good punches I got in. I got the worst of it, but at least I didn’t keep taking his crap. Even after all the trouble we got into, we always had a good time telling the story.

Another time, there was one guy that thought he was tough and would always make fun of my weight and whatever he could come up with to impress his buddies. I kept telling him to knock it off or we would end up in trouble if he pushed me too far. One day he did. We were in the washroom at school. I was taking a leak at the urinal and he started his crap. I did not waste time to zip up. I turned around and grabbed him by the neck and swung him around into the wall. His head hit the concrete wall as I said, That’s the last time you are going to joke about me, be glad I don’t strangle you right here you punk! He never bothered me again.

My dad died when I was in the 4th grade. I could not handle that at all. I remember the time I was trying to impress him. I went inside his car when he watched me take a cigarette out of his pack of Camels. Then I shoved in the cigarette lighter and when it popped out, I lit the cigarette. He was pissed and gave me a good chewin! I could not understand why he was not proud of me, after all, I knew how to work the lighter. Another time he had a broken arm from an accident, or hitting the car’s window because he was p/oed. While he was asleep on the couch, I started drinking his beer. I did not know he was sleeping. I thought he knew I was drinking it. He woke up and saw me taking another swig and just blew up! What did I know? I was just doing what he did.

Sometimes he would come home drunk and fight with my mom. I learned a lot of words then, only to find out later I wasn’t suppose to talk like that! During one fight things got real heavy. He had my mom down and was threatening her with a knife. I thought it was funny, but my older brother told me it was serious and I should not laugh. He had a good side too, but I never got to know that side of him. Not long after that my grandmother died. The scent of funeral homes would haunt me for years.

Chapter 2

Early Child Hood

Hey Bones. Come here, one of my older brothers said. Two of my brothers were working on a lawnmower. I walked over and asked them what they wanted. Hold the end of this wire and put your other hand on the engine. One of them yanked the starter cord. I felt a deep, heavy electrical shock throughout my body, mostly in the arms and shoulders. I fell back literally in shock. Well, it looks like the magneto works! one replied to the other.

If your brothers kick you in the head and you pass out seeing stars, or slam you against steel bed frame cutting your head open, you’ll know where I’m coming from. One day, they held me down with my arms at my sides and wrapped me up in a bed sheet, like a mummy, then threw me out in the snow. I can still see them looking out the window and laughing at me as I was trying to free myself. There wasn’t always fighting and exaggerated practical jokes, but I never knew when or where a burst of anger would target me. I was just as bad, passing the abuse to my younger brother.

We rarely had toys, so we used our imagination to make up games. One of my original games was playing in traffic. We lived on a residential street, away from the big city. Most people then drove within the speed limit. I would walk in the direction of traffic, but on the opposite side of the road. I could not see the vehicle and the driver could only see my back. I would judge the speed and distance of the cars. When I thought I would have just enough time, I would dart out in front of them, crossing the entire road. I would often hear them brake, so I knew they were close. Each time I would let a car get closer.

One day I darted across the path of a car. The driver panicked. I heard brakes and tires squealing. The female driver nearly knocked her head into the steering wheel. She was p/oed, got out of the car and demanded to talk with my parents. My dad was already dead, so my mother got to hear about her child’s ill behavior. It turned out that the driver was a school teacher and I would be in her class when school started in the Fall. After her and mom were convinced I would straighten up and no longer play in traffic, she left assured I’d be a good boy.

Other things like breaking windows out of new houses was a challenge. The houses were built back away from the street. The rule was to hit the window from the street. A lot of the neighbor kids had good throwing arms and mine wasn’t that bad. I had better aim.

During the construction of Beavercreek, the kids and I would damage the bull dozers and ditch witches. We would take the warning flashers and would have about six at a time flashing in our tents. One night we took all the oil out of the crankcases. We had about five gallons. We dumped some into a parked car and soaked someone’s porch.

Another game was to climb up someone’s TV tower about 3AM. We would do two people to a tower and they both had to make it on the roof. Then, stomp the roof as hard as we could for a few seconds and scramble down the tower and run off into the darkness.

We would blow off "carbide cannons’ at night and watch the lights come on all around the block. The cannons were made out of an empty paint can, with a little hole drilled on the bottom. A little water and carbide mixed in the can would create a good explosion when the hole was ignited.

Most people did not bother to lock their doors and we would sneak in and grab a beer. Sometimes we would throw firecrackers into the houses. It was all just part of being a kid in the burbs. One night, while we were camped far from the house, near a property line, another group of punks started pelting us with rocks. We returned fire! One of us hit a kid on the head with a rock. He was screaming bloody murder, waking up his parents. There was a lot of screaming and commotion. His mother took him to get his head stitched. In the end it was ‘our fault’ of course.

B.B. gun fights were fun too. We always staged the fights in the basements or fields so no one would see us. The B.B’s would hurt like hell sometimes, but that would only make us more aggressive, until someone would "give up’!

Once, one of the older guys, from another group approached me. I guess he was trying to size me up or see how far I’d go with vandalism. After he hung out for a while, he convinced me to help him vandalize an empty house. He did not like the owners last name and that was the only reasoning he had to screw the place up. We snuck in the back basement door at the bottom of a cement block stairway. There were buckets of paint all along the steps. We opened them and poured it all over the walls. I went into the restroom and threw some chemicals on the walls and, floors, tub and sink. I grabbed a broom and lit it with a match!

Throw something through the window! I demanded of him.

Put that fire out! he yelled to me.

You punking out? I asked. Holding the fire close to the walls I said to him, This was your idea! Man I’m helping you out!

He ran over to me and took the broom, snuffing the flame, You’re crazy! was all he could say. He ran out of the house and went home. I ripped the telephone from the wall and took it home.

One day, a week or so later while on the school bus, he came up to me, obviously nervous. The cops are going to see you tonight. He said.

Oh, you ratted? I said stunned.

If someone finds out what happened, I wasn’t going to wait around to get blamed. He squirmed.

You punked out! I can’t believe that! I said to him with disgust.

Later that evening the cops cam over and gave me the rundown. I confessed without denying a thing. The chemical I spilled in the restroom did a lot of damage. They took me to the house. The walls and tub looked badly burned from chemical reactions. Since I was underage, they let me cut a deal. I had to pay the bill for some of the cleanup and had to mow the grass on the property. It was a big yard. The grass hadn’t been mowed all summer. I sweated my ass off with that push mower. I would look across the street where the creep lived that got me in this mess. Rat!

Chapter 3

Larry and Allen

One day Larry told me he had a plan to sneak into the Wright Patterson Air Force Base gym. There was a big swimming pool in there and it was closed on Sundays. His dad was in the AF and had taken him there to swim, so Larry had checked the place out. He rigged a window lock so it looked locked but it would still open. That Sunday we climbed the fence that surrounded the base. It was a long way from the fence to the building and that made us a little paranoid. When we got to the buildings we walked close to the walls and made our way around to the gym. We pushed the window open and waited to hear if an alarm would go off. None did, so we climbed into the gym through the open window. We had the entire place to ourselves.

Isn’t this place supposed to be more secure than this? I asked Larry.

Hell, I don’t know, but if we get caught my dads going to kick my ass good! Larry was always getting into some trouble and his dad was always on his case. But for two hours we were diving off the boards and having a good time. We left the same way we got in. We scrambled home and as far as I remember, his dad never found out.

Larry was the first dude I knew that got into motorcycles. He bought a 250 Ducati from one of my older brothers. Not bad for a dude that wasn’t licensed to drive yet. His dad got pissed and wanted him to sell it. The only way he could ride it was to sneak out at night and roll it down the road before starting it. One night it stopped running on him and he had to push it home from East Dayton to his house in Beavercreek. It was about three miles up and down hilly roads. He got back after his dad got up and got a good ass kicking.

Larry gave me my first riding lessons. One was The most important part of the bike is this clutch lever. He showed me how the clutch engages and disengages the motor. If you’re out of control, pull that sucker in, especially if you leave the road! He showed me how to bump start it and what happens when you mess with the points. Man, I wish I never messed with these, he said one day after messing the timing up. He also gave me more advice. If you go down with it, try to stay under it. Your skin and bones will heal, but it costs a lot of money to replace wrecked parts!

Larry, Allen and Guy, all had small motorcycles when they reached 16. I wanted to get one every time I would watch em split. Larry rode the 250 Duke. Allen owned a Bridgestone and rode every bike he could steal, which turned out to be a lot. Guy had the original Honda 90. He rode it down the school halls and got kicked out of school. I got my hands on a Honda 65 and started hanging out with them.

Allen became a career thief. Between him and Larry, they stole forty motorcycles in one summer. Allen got caught and took the rap for all of the bikes, letting Larry off the hook. Allen spent most of the next few summers in the nut house or jail.

One summer when Allen was out, we came up with a plan to rip off the License bureau and the bowling alley in one sweep. We thought both places had safes full of money. It was my job to break the window out of the Bureau and leave. I was then to go the bowling alley and climb up in the drop ceiling on the wall that separated the girls restroom from the boys. I had fun up there waiting for the place to close. I lifted a little piece off the girls ceiling and watched while listening to their conversations.

It was Allen and Larry’s job to drive to the bureau and grab the safe at the same time I come down from the ceiling to get into the bowling alleys safe. We were supposed to have 2 way radios so we could contact each other if things went wrong. And things did not go as planned. When the bowling alley closed, I was suppose make my way above the safe. I was planning on entering that room from above and unlocking it, then run to the back door and let Larry and Allen in. Together, we figured we could get the safe out. But they could not tell me the people working there were out in the parking lot drinking. They tried to warn me by throwing big rocks against the side of the building.

I made it about half way to the safe and by accident fell through the drop ceiling. I landed on a pool table. About thirty square feet of ceiling followed me down. I panicked and ran to the back door.

Damn, I need their help, I thought as I tried to unbolt the back door.I got the door open and heard car tires squealing. They should be here. I yelled for them and heard nothing. Larry and Allen were driving around to the back because the dudes in the lot spotted me. I grabbed a couple cartons of cigarettes and split. The dudes started to chase me and I had to drop the cigs. Larry and Allen swung around the corner and I jumped in the car. We had no time to make plans. The cops would be on us soon.

They dropped me off a good distance from the scene and went to the country with the Bureaus safe. All they found in it were blank titles. I was p/oed when they told me they threw it all in the Little Miami River, thinking the titles were useless. It was probably for the better, if we tried to use the titles for something, we’d most likely get caught. It didn’t matter much to Allen because he would soon be back in the nut house.

Chapter 4

My Little Honda

I rode a little Honda 65. My first ride on it was without the owner’s permission. Jay’s parents were out of town for the weekend. A bunch of us teenagers were playing music and partying. Only one person was old enough to buy 3.2% beer. We got wasted Friday night and by Saturday the guitars and drums started to sound like crap. I got bored playing the same old songs, so I came up with an idea to quiet down the house.

In those days houses had fuses that unscrewed. If one blew, you would look inside the box for a black burned spot on the fuses’ glass. I figured if I pulled the fuse out and put it in my pocket, no one would figure out why there was no power to the living room.

I went to the fuse box and unscrewed one fuse at a time until I found the one that went to the living room. When I found it, I toyed with the guys by making the power go off and on. Then after everyone got so aggravated, I took the fuse out and put it in my pocket. I went outside while those nuts were trying to figure out the power outage. All of the fuses look good in the fuse box!

Jay came out side and I told him what I did with the fuse. He thought it was funny, so he didn’t tell anyone. Ever ride a bike? Jay asked while eyeballing Bob’s Honda.

Yeah, I rode a mo-ped a few times. I sure would like to take a ride on Bob’s Honda I said to Jay.

Well Bob told me if we wanted to ride it we could. Jay lied.

I guess that was all I needed to hear. The key was in it so I started it up. Jay jumped on the back. I did my first wheelie, although I was really trying to control the bike. About three blocks down the road, I got the hang of it. The front end came up when I shifted into second. I almost lost it. Jay was a little heavy causing the front end to feel light.

We rode for a while then rode it back to Jay’s. Bob was pissed and was threatening to kick my ass. I told him that I heard him say we could ride it. He was too drunk to think straight, and couldn’t remember much of what was going down. Jay told Bob if he messed with me, he would kick Bob’s ass, so Bob cooled it. I split and walked home.

A couple of hours later, I saw Bob rolling up the driveway on his Honda. He looked seriously pissed! He walked up to me with his blood shot eyes and madder than hell. What the hell did you do with the fuse you asshole?

What fuse? I answered.

You know what fuse, you punk! The fuse you took out of the fuse box to shut the amps off!

Oh you, you were so upset about me taking your bike, I forgot all about it. I lied.

Man, you like to screw with me or what? First you steal my bike then run off with the fuse to Jay’s living room! For a skinny ass, you act like you got big balls! I ought to kick your ass right now! He screamed.

Here, I said handing him the fuse, can’t you take a joke?

He shoved the fuse in his pocket. Somebody’s going to kick your ass good one of these days, if you keep screwing with people.

I didn’t say anything. I just watched him get back on the Honda.

The following week, at school, I walked up to Bob. Hey man, what’s happening? I asked him as if nothing went down.

Man, you came real close! Bob warned.

Hey, if you want to sell that Honda, I’ll consider to make an offer on it. I told him.

Yeah?

Yeah.

I bought my first bike.

Chapter 5

Honda Trips

After I got the little Honda, I was already experiencing LSD trips. I had some real heavy trips. When I decided to take some acid and ride my motorcycle, a whole new world was opened to me. Describing an acid trip is no easy task, like riding a motorcycle, some people just don’t get it.

I dropped acid one morning and took off on the Honda. I figured I’d probably crash the bike. When I started to ‘get off’ on the acid, I was already a few miles from home. I watched the world change around me. The landscape and sky just seemed flow in and out of each other. Houses would stretch and fields would bend and burst into colorful animation. My mind felt numb, yet was very active as my eyes fixed on the road. Time would stand still. I was still. The road was traveling under the tires. I would watch the horizon as it approached, wide at first, then surround me. Like a never ending dream. Everything would compress, like the center of an hour glass, then disappear into a widening colorful scene in the rear view mirror.

I told ‘Crow’ about the experience. He had dropped acid before, but never considered tripping on acid while on a bike. He was turned on by the idea. I told him tripping and riding was better in the daylight simply because you can see more in the daylight, whether it is real or imaginary.

We copped a couple hits on a Saturday night, crashed and got up at sunrise. We dropped the acid and rode out to John Bryan State Park in Yellow Springs. We were peaking about half the way there. Jim was laughing his ass off as we rode on the old country roads. We parked in Yellow Springs, and could not stop laughing. There were a lot of freaks out there, so we just blended in. Everybody there seemed to be in the same zone, making little sense in conversation.

Hey man, Crow laughed, let’s go to the glen.

Yeah, I said, that would be cool." The glen had a lot of foot trails. When we got there, Crow had other ideas. Trail Riding! Since our bikes were small we could get them on the foot trails with no problem. The acid was playing heavy on and off of reality. The trails were dangerous enough on foot, but riding them high on acid on motorcycles was a real freaking hoot. People tried to get the authorities to bust us, but we would be far gone, shutting the bikes off so no one could hear where we were.

We pushed the bikes off the trail and climbed a huge rock. We laid up there staring at the sky. Time and reality was distorted. We crept to the edge of the rock and looked down at the trail. I saw a dude dressed up like a Civil War soldier, walking the trail. I asked Jim if he could see him too. Jim just laughed. We could not understand each other. The soldier stopped by the rock, turned around and marched away.

Man. I got to get out of here, Crow! I told Jim. How do we get out?

We got to get down off the rock first! He cracked laughing.

Man, I’m starting to freak, let’s get back on the road! I insisted.

We had a hard time getting down off the rock. We heard voices in the woods and figured people were looking for us. After getting the bikes started, we rode the foot trails until we found our way out.

When we finally were oriented on the main roads, we were coming down off the ‘peak’. Man, this is heavy! Jim shouted as we tripped on back to Beavercreek. We split up in the evening. We were crashing hard. Coming down from acid is not a good experience. Our brains were drained, making it hard to sleep. The next day would just be spaced out.

Another trip I had on the Honda was not as fun. It was hot out. I got a flat tire on the rear wheel. I had to push it to a gas station to repair it. After sweating to get the wheel off the bike, I had to get the tube out of the tire.I blew the tube with air and submerged it in the sink. I watched for air bubbles that would indicate where the