A lesson in the value of real assets ... and in feeling young again

Anyone who has been reading the column knows I have an issue with things that move and move specifically on wheels. On-road, off-road, big and slow or fast and nimble, I've long been obsessed with wheels. Very few, however, know how this obsession began.

The year was 1983. I was 13 years old, growing up in Hobart. Back then, before screens, kids played outside every day, all the time. This particular day I have never forgotten. One of the neighborhood kids had received a Yamaha three-wheeler for his birthday, and we were all huddled around it on a trail in the big woods behind my house.

I'd never seen anything like it -- the sound of the motor, the big knobby tires, the ruggedness, like a yellow tank with handlebars. The new owner was not in the mood to share, so the group of boys was just standing around watching him try to figure out how to control the thing, which wasn't going all that smooth. Finally, being one of the "older" boys on site, after applying enough older boy peer pressure he decided to let me try riding it up the trail.

Without any understanding of the thing, I jumped on and hit the throttle. The three-wheeler immediately stood straight up on its back wheels, throwing me off before the front wheel came down and it proceeded to go down the trail riderless for about 30 feet. Fortunately, both me and the Yamaha were undamaged by the incident, but at that moment something unlocked in my brain. The power, the sound, the adrenaline -- in five feet of trail I was hooked. The obsession began.

I had to have one, but such expensive toys were not even a remote possibility in my family. The solution was obvious: go to work, save every penny and buy one myself. After 18 months of two paper routes, washing dishes in a bar on Friday nights, waking up at four in the morning to detassel corn and shoveling snow for every older couple on our block, I saved enough to buy a used Honda three-wheeler. Goal achieved. I treasured my 1983 Honda for years until high school sports, cars and girls took up my attention. I sold the three-wheeler for car money, but the lessons of working relentlessly and saving for a goal were seared into my identity, and so was the love for motors and wheels. The experience was one of the most formative of my life.

Now, I know as soon as any mom who experienced the '80s saw the words "three-wheeler" in print, they immediately viscerally reacted. It is true, three-wheelers caused a lot of trouble in the '80s, resulting in an eventual consent decree by manufacturers to stop making them in 1987. While not technically illegal, most people believe they are, and no new three-wheelers have been made in almost 40 years. But that doesn't mean they went away. Miraculously many survived, a few survived very well.

Which is why I was pulling my truck behind a Walmart Supercenter in Springfield, Illinois earlier this week. A white Dodge Ram sat parked, facing forward. The occupant flashed his headlights, letting me know he was the guy. In the bed of his truck was a completely gorgeous 1985 Honda three-wheeler. In my glove box was an envelope of cash. I was here for a deal.

The owner, about 10 years older than me, smiled hello. "I was kind of hoping you wouldn't show," he laughed through his downed window. "I told my wife I'm not sure I'm ready to part with her," he said as he got out of the truck. We both knew, however, the Honda was going home with me. After communicating over the phone with the seller for two months, finally seeing it in person, I was amazed. Stored in a climate-controlled garage under a cover for decades, the red, white and blue 1985 Honda ATC was almost showroom quality. It started easily with a kick, and I test rode it around the loading docks. I was 15 years old again.

I handed him a Centier bank envelope containing three times the amount of cash required to buy the machine brand new from the dealer back in 1985. Not being produced for 40 years and becoming exceedingly rare in good condition is apparently a quite profitable formula for storing and even gaining value.

There are definitely economic lessons here about scarcity, inflation and storing value in real assets as opposed to simply financial ones, but candidly I just wanted to share this story with you. I turn 55 this week and while I wouldn't want to be 15 again, the opportunity to feel 15 again is spectacular. I hope everyone gets a chance to experience this sensation at least once in life. My chance was this week.

The opinions voiced in this material are for general information only and are not intended to provide specific advice or recommendations for any individual. Stock investing includes risks, including fluctuating prices and loss of principal. No investment strategy can guarantee a profit or preserve against loss. Past performance is not a guarantee of future results. Marc Ruiz is a wealth advisor and partner with Oak Partners and registered representative of LPL Financial. Contact Marc at marc.ruiz@oakpartners.com. Securities offered through LPL Financial, member FINRA/SIPC.