Wild Man Boos

My old man is an interesting guy. He's now 80 years old, and it's amazing to listen to the stories he can tell. He ran away from home during WWII and joined the Merchant Marines (at age 15), and lived an incredible, adventurous life ever after. One part I find fascinating, along with the crashing of aircraft, the parachute jumping, and the world-wide wanderings, was his motorcycle racing phase. He raced Harleys, Motogucci's and even a Ducati at one point, blasting around Belmont and the San Jose Mile as "flying 95." They called also him Wild Man Boos.

I remember buying some motorcycle gloves with some friends in a little shop in San Mateo, and the old clerk asked me about my name. He said "are you related to Art Boos?" I told him I was, and he jumped into a story about how he was a fan of my dad, and how he grew up watching those races. Wow. That made me more than a little proud.

I just found some old pics of my dad on one of his bikes, and also, one of me on one of mine. By the way, I lost my brother to a motorcycle accident when I was eight (he was 18). So it was a strange thing to take up riding, but I took special care, despite a few wheelies here and there. I couldn't break my parent's hearts again. When I would come roaring up on my bike, I know it must have caused my dad some mixed emotions. Part of him was happy - I saw a nostalgic glint in his eye when he looked at my bike - and part of him was definitely sad. Here are those pics I found.