This is a few of the posts I made in a forum regarding my history as a motorcycle courier. If you would like to see the full thread go to: http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=375701
I started as a Motorcycle courier in the San Francisco Bay Area in 1992.
I grew up riding bikes and being a courier seemed like a great way to make a buck or two while doing something I enjoyed. Of course the romance of being a motorcycle courier was a big part of it, I mean there are stories throughout history of 2 wheeled couriers trekking great distances with the single mind set of delivering the package at all costs.
I had just moved to SF and had a friend who lived in an apartment where a big pile of rusting motorcycles sat in the courtyard untouched for at least a year. One rainy day I began sifting through the pile and buried at the bottom was a black 1974 BMW R75/6 that someone had rammed into something head on. I went through the DMV process and eventually got a title. After a few used parts the front end was complete and I was riding around.
I got a job at Quicksilver Messenger Service and my first delivery I got hopelessly lost trying to find a very hidden address. Time went by and things smoothed out and I was mixing it up 10hrs a day in the highways and byways of the Bay Area. I had a Belstaff Jacket and pants, some old school motocross boots and a beat up helmet, topped off with my over the shoulder courier bag. I would ride sometimes +300 miles in a day, San Francisco, Sacramento, San Rafael, San Jose, it would not be unusual to pass over all five bridges in the bay on a good day.
One of the most memorable jobs I had at Quicksilver was delivering news film for the FIFA World Cup held in Palo Alto. I had full press credentials that afforded me full access and parking permits to park right at the front of the stadium. I would show up at the start of the matches and roam around awhile. I spent time in the press boxes surrounded by a hundred tv announcers screaming GOOOOOOAAAAALLLL in a hundred languages.
At halftime I would run down to the field, collect film from a bunch of photographers and then blaze off to the News Agency about 15 or so miles away and try to return for the final pickup before the game would let out to avoid traffic.
One occasion I returned a little late due to the heavy traffic, Brazil had won and the crowd had flooded the streets in celebration. I rode down the street trying to get to the stadium and the crowd became thicker and thicker until finally, I left my bike in the middle of the street surrounded by celebrating fans and made my way to the pick up. I was actually surprised to find my bike later and it was still in one piece on the stand.
On another trip I got jumped by some Secret Service type guys as they thought I was there to kill the Colombian president.
More to come.......