My grandparents gave me a very generous graduation present when I finished high school in 1998. Being the typical 17-year-old, I immediately decided I absolutely had to spend this money on some new toy. For some reason — I still don't remember exactly why — I wanted a motorcycle. Of course, my parents put the kibosh on that as soon as I even mentioned the idea out loud. In fact, I think their exact words were, "If you buy a motorcycle, we'll disown you."

So I didn't buy the motorcycle.

Fast-forward about four years to spring of senior year of college. I had some money saved up and I had the hankering again. This time, my parents weren't as opposed to it, as long as I didn't store the bike at their place.

OK, that's something that can be dealt with.

I had been watching the classifieds in the local paper for about two months when I found a 1976 Kawasaki KZ400 with about 8200 miles on it for $750. The guy selling it had bought it from the original owner, who had had it sitting in a shed for about five years. Less than a week and one test ride (my first time ever riding a motorcycle!) later, the bike was mine for $700. The seller said the carbs "probably needed some cleaning," and I figured that was no big deal to tackle myself.

And so the saga began...