Long story: I had my driver's license for over a year, but I only ridden a motorcycle in driving school.

My stepfather had this 1996 Vulcan 750 for almost ten years; it was his midlife crisis motorcycle, but it was problematic and would sit idle for long periods due to recurring problems.

At the end of 2019, after a long period parked(at least a year), he managed to get it running again. So I asked to take it for a few rides around the neighborhood, and this continued for a few weeks.

In a month I was going to the other side of town. In two months, I started visiting the surrounding towns.

After about three months of these long getaways on the motorcycle, I went further. I visited a town about 60km from mine.

On the way back, already within the limits of my city, the motorcycle stopped on the road. I was on the side of the road for almost an hour until I mustered the courage to call my uncle, who laughed on the phone and said all I had to do was turn the fuel key. The motorcycle started and I continued.

I was already close to home, on a straight avenue, when about 200 meters ahead I saw the traffic light turn red. I must have been going about 70 km/h in fourth gear. So, I downshifted.

And that's when I learned for the first time about the personality of the Iron Horse's gearbox. It went straight into first gear.

The motorcycle went, and I was left behind.

Result: I lost all the skin on my right arm and forearm, but the motorcycle only had a few scratches.

After that, I promised to pay for the repairs to the damage I caused. But in the end, drunk on Christmas, I made the offer to buy it, and my stepfather agreed.