I couldn’t afford a RT1 360 back then. My soda bottle return-for-deposit business, at 2 cents per bottle, was deep in the red just purchasing the doctor’s recommended daily allowance of chewing gum. Several years later, I traded a flathead six-cylinder Dodge pickup for a 125 Enduro. It wasn’t the same though—no off-the-bottom, torque monster response, no pipe-induced 6500-rpm brick wall, no broken leg, no fun. Besides, the 125 had electric start. A man’s got to draw the line somewhere. After the AT1, I completely lost my mind and wasted many years consorting with reliable, conservative, yet ultimately soul-killing four-strokes.