We used to have to scratch pictures in dirt with a stick when I had my first bike.
That's a Ducati Falcon 50. This story has been told here before.
My Dad picked up a lot of three boogered up bikes from a police auction for about ten bucks. This would have been in the late sixties. There were two barely there Sears/Puch mopeds and the Ducati, minus its' rear wheel. Dad told me and my brother to clean the pile of junk out of the truck and if we, meaning me, could make one work, we could keep it and ride all over the vacant lot next door.
I took the rear wheel off one of the mopeds and shoved into the Ducati frame. I Rube Goldberged the rear brake, cleaned the carb, the plug, and the petcock on the tank. Dad came home from work the next day and saw me riding it around the vacant lot. If I recall, Mom shot daggers at him and Dad said that he didn't think that I could do it. Bwahahahaha!
If I'd had another season with it, I could have figured out how to defunk the goofy 3 speed twist shifter/clutch control but I think Dad got rid of it for that reason. He was probably figuring that the Ducati was a gateway to bigger, better bikes and wanted to nip that in the bud quickly.
Then Mom & Dad discovered snowmobiles. And they thought motorcycles would make me nuts.
