Hitting the highway to happiness

A recent crash brought fifth-generation motorcyclist Lee Gibson’s trail to an end, but his memories of hitting the highway to happiness are extraordinary.

The Gibsons have been a family of motorheads since 1909, starting with Lee’s great-great-grandfather.

Gilbert L. Gibson Sr., Lee’s father, spent countless hours on the road, he said. Senior’s travels ended in 1970 after selling his Honda 250 Scrambler.

“I just liked to ride my bike,” he said. “I rode from northern Washington to Sonoma, California quite a few times.”

Senior’s wife, Lorna, was a drag racer in the late 1950s known as “Lady Lorna.”

“The first time she ever saw my dad was when he rolled up on his 1959 Harley in Sonoma,” Lee Gibson recounted. “She said she fell in love immediately.”

In 1961, the future Gibsons rode on the same Harley to Carson City, Nev., to elope.

John T. Gibson, Lee’s 49-year-old brother, started riding motorcycles at the age of 12. He described himself as a “late bloomer” to the activity.

“I love the ability to go off-road and see what’s out there,” John said. “The ability to go wherever I want — within the confines of the law, of course.”

Their cousin, Jason Gibson, was an American Motorcyclist Association world champion dirt bike racer in the 1980s.

Lee Gibson said he’s loved motorcycles since he was 2. He took his first ride at the age of 3. He remembers sitting in front of his dad on that 1959 Harley, holding the handlebars and looking through the windshield.

“I got the bug right away,” Lee said.

All he cared about as a child was motorcycles. Every year, Lee asked his parents for a minibike on Christmas and birthdays.

When Lee was 10, his father told him that if he wanted a minibike, he was “gonna have to buy it or build it himself.” With $60 in his pocket, Gibson bicycled down to a shop in Sonoma and explained his situation to the owner.

“He didn’t have anything brand new that he could sell me for $60,” Lee said. “But he said, ‘I think we can piece one together for you.”

By the time Senior got home, little Lee was riding his new minibike around the neighborhood.

Five years later, Gibson bought his first motorcycle, a Yamaha RD350. Gibson said the worst wreck he ever had on that bike happened on July 16, 1981. It was the day he met his future wife, who watched Gibson’s crash while eating ice cream on a street corner.

They later had three children, two still living, and both rode motorcycles growing up. Gibson’s grandchildren also ride minibikes, which he bought and taught them to use.

“My granddaughter Evelyn is 6 years old, and she races competitions against boys,” he said. “She’s got two first-place trophies.”

The Gibsons moved from California to Rathdrum in 1993.

“I just wanted a better life for my kids. I didn’t like the way California was looking and thought I would bring them to God’s country,” he said.

Gibson has owned more than 40 motorcycles since 1981. He’s ridden them all over the western U.S.

“There’s no freedom I’ve ever experienced like riding a motorcycle,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what you’re going through or how bad you’ve been hurt. You go for a motorcycle ride and find a little bit of peace.”

While he prioritizes safety, Gibson has had his share of fun moments, including the time he beat Evel Knievel’s wheelie record. Gibson attended Knievel’s roadshow at the Coeur d’Alene Casino over a decade ago, where Knievel boasted about performing a wheelie for a quarter-mile. Gibson’s record was two and a half miles, he said.

Looking back, Gibson said his favorite ride was in 1987 with his little brother Mike, a rookie at the time. While on leave from the Navy, Gibson went home to celebrate his 21st birthday accordingly — by buying his first legal drink and visiting his future wife in Marina, Calif.

“I was heading to the saloon, and Mike said, ‘Hey man, I’ll come with you,” Gibson said. “I was like, Dude, you’re 18 years old. He goes, ‘Follow my lead, brother.”

As Mike, a fully bearded man with long hair, threw open the bar’s saloon doors, he yelled out:

“May I have your attention please. My kid brother just turned 21 today, and I’m about to buy him his first legal beer.”

It worked not once but twice, Gibson said. On that ride, Gibson shared with Mike what Senior had taught him years before:

“When you get on a motorcycle, you’re a superhero, and your superpower is invisibility. Nobody can see you.”

What Senior meant was that drivers “don’t look for motorcycles when they glance left and right,” Gibson said. Senior’s advice was a valuable safety lesson for Gibson that emphasizes caution while riding.

“You have to expect every car coming at you to turn into your lane or cause trouble at any moment,” he said. “You can still have a carefree ride as long as you’re careful.”

That caution had kept Gibson on the road until about two and a half months ago. While driving on a gravel path near Meyer Road, Gibson lost control when the trail suddenly went from two inches deep to about six inches.

“I didn’t expect it. I was doing about 50 miles an hour when I hit that six-inch gravel,” Gibson said. “I washed out and went down bad.”

Despite experiencing shooting spinal pain nonstop, the idea of never climbing up on a motorcycle again hurts Lee Gibson worse.

“Riding motorcycles has been my whole life,” he said through tears. “It breaks my heart that I can’t ride anymore.”