I guess you could say it's all my dad's fault. He used to strap me to the back of his Yamaha and charge like hell up Mt. Baldy Road to his girlfriend's house.

I was so small, I had to hang on for dear life to his back belt loops, as I couldn't get my arms around his waist. I still remember the feeling of elation when we pulled through the corners and when the wind would hit me in the face.

Then, when I was about 7 or so, he took me to see "On Any Sunday" at the drive-in in Bullhead City, Arizona. I remember thinking what fun it would be to ride my own bike, and wondered if I could ever be as good, and have as much fun, as Malcom Smith did.

A little while after that, my step-dad and mom got me a Chaparral 100 dirt bike, and I rode that thing all over the mountains outside of Denver where I grew up.

My step-dad's family all rode dirtbikes, so weekends were spent either scooting around on mountain dirt roads and trails trying to outrun the Jefferson County sheriff's jeep patrols, or "down in the flats" north of Denver riding on the Ertle family's home-made moto-cross track.

Me, four foot nothing in my yellow Yamaha racing jersey that went down to my knees and my hand-me-down blue and red moto-cross boots that were at least two sizes too big. I was all enthusiasm and no technique, and both my bike and I had the scars to prove it.

Flash forward to my early twenties. I get a used beater of a '78 Honda CB400 Hawk, but manage to ride it all over the San Gabriel and San Bernardino mountains until it almost literally fell apart underneath me. I pretty much had no business trying to get up and down all those mountain roads on that little thing, but I sure had a good time. Being fairly poor for years, and girlfriends and a wife who frowned on riding motorcycles kept me away from my beloved two-wheeled beasts for too long, until....

Flash forward again- Scott Feemster, early 40's, divorced, in dire need of a mid-life crisis, starts spying these REALLY cool stripped down bikes that remind him of all of his old bikes.

Start doing a little research, find that the old bikes I really loved where based on British bikes from the 60's and 70's, start thinking about getting an old bike, then find out that Triumph is making the old models as modern bikes with modern brakes and suspension and bigger engines!

I tore off down to the dealer, spittle drooling out of the corner of my lips, and spied my beloved 2011 Bonneville T-100.

I asked the salesman, "Does it tear up the hills?"

"Yep."

"Does it do ok on the freeway?"

"Yeah."

"If I need to pass a truck on the freeway, does it have some balls?"

"Just wait 'till you ride it!"

Bought the bike the next day, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up as soon as I climbed on the bike and gunned the motor. And you know what? They still do every time I get on that bike. I soon found out more and more about the bike and the Triumph marquee and the history of the Rockers and Ton-Up Boys, and decided that I wanted to be a part of taking these great bikes and the cool Rocker traditions into the future. I met up with the Brit Iron Rebels, and found a bunch of great, fun, warm-hearted yahoos that share some of the same passion that I have for riding our wonderful British machines.

I am proud to be a Triumph rider, a Rocker, and a Brit Iron Rebel. Dig it.