Scanning Around With Gene: Riding Mini-Bikes and Getting Stuff Welded
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Being the boy in the family, it was my job to accompany Dad on the “manly” excursions such as those to the muffler shop or hardware store. One of my favorite trips in this category was to the local welder.
In those days people didn’t throw things way when they broke—you made at least a valiant effort to facilitate a repair. And that meant an occasional trip to get something welded. These trips increased dramatically when, for my 12th or 13th birthday I got a mini-bike, a small, motorized cycle made out of bent tubing welded together into a frame. Click on any image for a larger version.
Mini-bikes were a mini-fad in the mid- to late 1960s, the publication date for these ads. I was glad to discover they’re still sold today, though I haven’t seen one on the streets in many years. I suspect law enforcement has discouraged such vehicles, or maybe it’s safety-minded parents. Even back then we had to keep one eye out for the local police, who would send us home when they caught us riding on the street.
Part of the regular maintenance of something made of welded-together tubing is frequent trips to the welding shop for repairs. This was particularly true if your mini-bike model had no suspension and hit each bump and pothole with bone-crushing force.
So every few months my dad and I would load up the car on a Saturday and head to the “industrial” part of town. There, amid auto junkyards, machine shops, and trade businesses, was a small shop next to a large lot full of dilapidated and broken things.
My father probably could have welded things himself, but he lacked the proper equipment.
Simple welds were usually while you waited, so I got to watch the process. I was always told to look away from the light, but that was it as far as customer safety precautions. I loved the smell and the sparks.
These trips weren’t all positive. Occasionally a trip to the welder came at the end of a day-long and exasperating effort to fix whatever it was by some other means. This made my father cranky.
The mini-bike provided other bonding experiences, as well. There was learning about oil changes, how clutches work, and how it felt to get zapped by a spark plug wire.
Eventually I graduated from the mini-bike to a car, and that led to more independence and less time spent with my dad. I sold the mini-bike to a neighbor; when it left our driveway, so did the trips to the welding shop.
A few years ago I had to have a part welded for a printing press I had in my garage, and I thought of my father. Thanks to him it was no big deal. Only this time I didn’t get to watch or soak in the smell.
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Gene Gable, you’re my hero. Thanks for ALL the great posts and diggin’ in the vintage files. I was just at the welder with my son the other day getting my bike seat fixed. We got to talkin’ about the art of sword making and anvils…. good times. cheers
Growing up outside Detroit in the 50’s ‘n 60’s, I wanted a mini-bike desperately — but though my dad was in favor, my mom nixed the idea due to her fears for my safety (and that of my three younger brothers, who wanted to immitate everything I did).
I never lost my fascination with two-wheeled motorized transportation though, which resulted in my purchasing a classic 1966 Honda CB160 when I turned 18 in 1971, much to mom’s consternation.
I was a well trained rider, cautious, and far from being a risk-taker; I never had an accident that was remotely serious in all my years of riding motorcycles. I did have a few minor mishaps, invariably caused by inattention, that resulted in the occasional scratch or bruise, but my favorite motorcycle “accident” happened to someone else.
I was in my mid-twenties, recently discharged from the USAF, and found myself sitting on my current ride (a Suzuki of some sort that had no cachet; it was completely lacking any “cool” factor) in a 7-11 parking lot one hot summer day. I was admiring the small gaggle of cute, minimally dressed co-eds gathered near the ice machine in front of the store when a young man riding a Harley -a bike with enough coolness to chill even the hottest day- rolled into the lot.
He, too, noticed the coterie of cuteness, and played to it: With one hand stylishly in his lap, the other gripping the throttle, he rolled up to the curb a few feet from the girls and stopped, his left hand reaching up to lip up his face shield, all accomplished with style and flair.
Only one problem: He was concentrating so hard on his “entrance” he neglected to put a foot down… and a moment later, almost in slow motion, he toppled gracefully over and found himself lying on the pavement, enveloped in the sudden burst of giggling laughter that burst forth from the targets of his attention.
As for me, seeing this sudden and complete loss of machismo played out in front of me, I laughed so hard I almost fell off my poor Suzuki — even though it was firmly planted on its stand.
Thanks for the post on minibikes. Did my share of this and go karts in the 60’s and as you noted, the local cops and even the highway patrol would just send us home with a warning. Those days of tolerance are as gone as the smoke from the welder.
Not the one pictured in the advertisement, but the 75cc one. It made 8H.P. which was a bit much for something with such a short wheelbase and touchy suspension…
My dad purchased a Broncco franchise that we ran out of our garage. We didn’t sell many of them, but we had plenty of them to ride around the neighborhood woods.
Well, thank you. Not being a boy I had missed out on the mini-bike craze. Completely. But, now I have a context for what “Uncle Bronty” was about with the putt-putt that he built from an old lawn mower engine and the wheels that he canibalized from it.
The story is online here:
https://www.redhen-publications.com/Relative.html
It’s the anecdote entitled ‘Uncle Bronty and the Machine Age’. I suspect that you might also find ‘Uncle Fred’s Scrapbooks’ entertaining.
Great memories!
Where did you grow up Gene? We called them doodle bugs in Palo Alto. Making one was a goal that was forever elusive to me. My Dad was a woodworker, so welding resources were not at hand. And buying a ready-made one was out of the question.
I still think about them when I see a castoff Briggs & Stratton.
Thanks, Gene. Who knew that Heathkit sold these things? That’s as nutty as a computer company selling telephones!
The photos bring back memories. Studied these closely as I plotted to get a Honda Minitrail 50. That bike was so much fun. Thanks for the article.
Thanks Gene,
That brought back many memories with my Dad, who has since passed. I’d spend hours riding something we built in the garage, between hours spent in our basement print shop/design studio …
Great stuff!
Paul Olsen