When I was 6 years old my Dad put me on my first bike, a Honda 90, he never told me how to shift, turn, or stop. I just started going and didn't know how to turn around or stop so I kept going until about a mile later landed in a wash and fell over. It was too funny. After that he tought me how to do those things. Then he decided to let my brothers and I pick out dirt bikes and he said they couldn't be 2 strokes. My brothers picked out Honda's and I picked out a Harley 125. He said that I needed to pick out a cheaper bike so I got a Honda 125. He use to take us out to Chicken Hill to ride. I was really good. My Dad was on my bike and my little brother was on a QA50. We were going up a hill and he stopped on a level spot and I stopped behind him on a slope. He started to go and then I did. Well my bike didn't have enough power and I fell down the hill and landed on a barrel cactus. I heard my Dad say "the bike, get the bike" I was yelling "what about me?". I picked thorns out of my ass for an hour but got back on the bike and kept riding. I have been riding ever since.