The kid who fell asleep at a Hodaka Shop

Earth Day 2025 Story by David Owen

Klim Seaver and the Wombat Through Time

Klim Seaver was born on April 22, 1957, in the small but proud town of Batesville, Indiana, in the very heart of Ripley County. His first cries echoed through the sterile walls of Margaret Mary Hospital, his mother holding him close while his father beamed with the same quiet strength that Klim would one day inherit. He grew up in a modest home on the edge of town, where rolling fields met the woods and every road felt like the beginning of an adventure. Klim had always loved machines. Not just any machines—motorcycles. By the time he was 10, he could name every make and model that ever rolled through Ripley County. He could fix a lawnmower blindfolded, and by 13 he had a used Rupp mini bike. But that wasn’t enough. Klim dreamed of something more. Something real. That dream had a name: the 1973 Hodaka Wombat 125.

It had chrome fenders, a chrome tank, and a spirit that called to every dirt path and gravel road in southeastern Indiana. Klim had seen one in the flesh—VIN: 001976—glimmering like a toaster in the window of Thornton’s Hodaka Shop in Versailles, Indiana. Every weekend for who knows how many months, he had copped a 30 minute car ride and had been folding napkins and bussing tables at Clifty Inn down in Madison, saving every penny. And this past Friday, April 20th, the check he cashed at the Ripley County Bank finally completed the pile.

Now it was Sunday, April 22, 1973, his sixteenth birthday—and Earth Day, as the papers reminded everyone. The day was clear, the trees freshly leafed out in young green, and the dogwoods were in full bloom along State Road 129. He had taken the Rupp, still with scuffed tires and worn chain, and rode illegally the 14 miles from Batesville to Versailles. Just to be near the Wombat……but Thornton’s was closed. A paper sign taped on the door read: Closed Sunday – Family Day. Open Monday at 10am. Klim had known they’d be closed—he’d called Friday afternoon from the payphone near the Dairy Queen and said he had the cash and was interested in the Wombat—but something told him to come anyway. To see it. To let the moment settle on him like a pungent bean oil fragrance.

He pressed his face to the cool showroom glass, cupping his hands around his eyes. There it was. VIN: 001976. A machine built for the world. Dual-purpose. Street-legal. Off-road capable. The kind of thing you could ride to school on Monday and race in a local Enduro on Saturday. Klim’s heart beat in sync with the little Wombat’s potential rumble.
The street was empty, the town still. Klim took a long breath and walked around to the back of the shop. The building was small, cinder block buiilding, with a gravel lot behind it. The Thornton family home stood just beside it, dark and silent—John Thornton and his family were Seventh-day Adventists, so their Sabbath was Saturday. Sunday was errand and chore day, probably spent in town or out visiting friends.
Klim leaned back against the wall, feeling the cool shade cut through the warmth of early spring. His legs tingling from the ride. He smiled, eyes closed, imagining the sound of the Wombat’s two-stroke engine singing beneath him. Just ten minutes of rest, he thought. Then he’d head back to Batesville. Tomorrow, he’d walk into Thornton’s with his envelope of cash and leave with history.

Somewhere far above…

From the upper reaches of the galaxy, a rare and undetected burst of galactic cosmic rays (GCRs) ripped silently through the heliosphere. It was a laser-focused wave, almost like it had purpose—an interstellar anomaly that bent spacetime just slightly enough to cause… a wrinkle. The earth spun beneath it, oblivious. It landed on a sleepy corner of Versailles, Indiana. Right on Klim Seaver.

And then… it was 2025.

Klim awoke with a jolt.

He was still leaned against the same wall, same gravel under him—but everything was different. The birdsong sounded sharper, the sunlight a little warmer. He rubbed his eyes and looked up.

Where once stood a small motorcycle shop was now a gleaming 24,000-square-foot complex, buzzing with fluorescent lights and people walking in and out. The Hodaka sign was long gone, replaced with bold lettering: Thornton’s Motorcycle Sales. Dozens of shiny motorcycles, four-wheelers, side-by-sides, and UTVs sat in rows outside. Klim stood, heart thudding. His hands shook. Something wasn’t right.

“Hey kid,” a man in his fifties called from the lot. “You lost or something?”

Klim opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked down at himself—blue jeans, scuffed boots, his favorite flannel shirt from Sears. Nothing had changed. Nothing… except everything. “What year is it?” he croaked.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Uh… 2025. You OK?”

Klim stumbled backward. The man chuckled and walked inside, muttering something about “TikTok stunts.”

Inside to the future…..even folks in 2025 thought that

Klim wandered through the new Thornton’s Motorcycle Sales with the same reverence he’d shown peeking through the showroom window 52 years earlier. Except, to him, it had only been ten minutes.

LED lights bathed the showroom. Sleek adventure bikes from Honda, Kawasaki, and Suzuki lined one wall. There were even brand new Elsinore-like Kove Rally bikes….. man they were cheap, and futuristic even for 2025….but straight out of Communist China. Klim’s jaw dropped at the existence of a masterpiece like the Kove…..”from Communist China?” he mumbled. ATVs with Bluetooth speakers, utility racks, and camo paint jobs filled another section. Some were as expensive as a Ferrari 308 GTB was in 1973. There were digital kiosks, touchscreen catalogs, even a coffee bar inside the store.

Yet in the far corner, Klim saw something that stopped him cold.

On display, under a glass case, was a restored looking 1973 Hodaka Wombat 125. VIN: 001976.

His breath caught. It was his bike.

A small placard read:

“This Hodaka Wombat 125 was originally on hold to be sold by Thornton’s in 1973 to a local teen, Klim Seaver, who vanished the day before. The bike was kept unsold waiting for the return of Klim. It remains one of the few surviving originals. VIN: 001976.”

Klim staggered backward. His name. His bike. His vanished story.

Earth Day 2025

Klim had always distained Earth Day. It had the forbidding smell of closings of trails. Outside, the Earth Day celebration was in full swing. Klim was aghast that they were even celebrating it. Music played from a nearby booth. Kids ran around with electric scooters. A display from the Indiana Department of Environmental Management showed how electric motorcycles were shaping the future of sustainable riding.

Klim stood among it all like a ghost in his own life.

The world had changed. Gasoline was still around, but electric power was pushing its way in. The roads were full of quiet Teslas and hybrid pickups. The internet—whatever that fully meant—was everywhere. People talked to their watches. Some wore glasses that displayed images inside them. Klim had seen a man pay for coffee with his phone.

Yet… motorcycles still roared. People still raced. Adventure still lived.

Klim smiled faintly. Maybe he wasn’t out of place after all. He walked into the shop and stared again at the very familiar Wombat, which didn’t seem out of place at all, in fact, it looked like the best motorcycle in the shop. It still had his “On Hold” tag hanging by strung from the handlebars.

A new beginning awaited. Klim asked a young clerk if John Thornton was around. “You know him? I can go next door and get him but I won’t disturb him if you don’t know him.” “Oh I know him”, Klim replied. “I just talked to him on the phone two days ago and he said he was excited to get me into my 1973 Hodaka Wombat 125, VIN 001976.