One of my first memories is of my Dad's '82 or '83 CR500 with some sort of giant aftermarket exhaust attached. I remember the sound more than the bike itself, it was absolutely wicked and mean, I loved it and so did my dad. It's a good thing mom never knew of some of the rides he took me on! I remember yelling at him " No! Stop!" He would speed towards "Hills", that looked liked walls we were about to crash head on into. Somehow we always made it up, and made it home.