The People Who Earn It
Lately I've written a lot about people and institutions that have disappointed me. Cities. Leadership. Bureaucracy. Systems that somehow make simple things harder than they need to be.
Then my motorcycle broke down.
What should have been another frustrating experience became a reminder that there are still people out there who quietly earn your trust one honest conversation, one repaired machine, and one kept promise at a time.
Fair-Weather Riders
I used to think every motorcyclist felt the same pull I do: the need to ride every chance they get. Then I realized that not everyone finds the same thing in two wheels. For some it's a hobby. For me, it's home.
Done Waiting
Eight months is long enough. Long enough to wait. Long enough to trust the process. Long enough to hope someone else would ask the hard questions. Tonight, I decided I'm done waiting. If nobody else is willing to fight for motorcycle safety and accountability, then I'll do it myself.
Independence
Some weekends change your life in quiet ways. This one is filled with firsts: our first real road trip together, my first morning writing while she sleeps peacefully nearby, and most importantly, the day she claims her own freedom by buying her first motorcycle. There couldn't be a more fitting day than Independence Day.
Choosing Each Other
The day began with a broken water line and the sinking feeling that comes from being hundreds of miles away when someone you love needs you. But by the end of the weekend, none of that would matter. Because some people don't just choose to spend time with you. They choose to build a life beside you.
We Are the Same
Some people think becoming a rider starts the day you buy your first motorcycle. I don't. I think the motorcycle is just paperwork. The rider was already there. This weekend, the woman I love gets her first bike, and I already know exactly what's about to happen.
We Are Not the Same
Apparently someone got jealous after seeing my girlfriend on the back of my Harley. But they missed the point entirely. Motorcycles aren't about impressing people or collecting passengers. They're about freedom. And the best part isn't that she's riding behind me today... it's that she'll soon be riding beside me on her own bike.
The Price of Going Home
The ride home was brutal. Triple-digit heat. Relentless crosswinds. Bugs. A lost wallet somewhere in southern Colorado. And yet, not once during those long miles did I wish I hadn't gone. Some journeys are worth every inconvenience because of who's waiting at the other end.
Fifty-Four
A freezing ride through rain, hail, and wind should have been the story of my birthday weekend. Instead, somewhere between New Mexico and Colorado, I realized something far more important: after a lifetime of surviving, I've finally given myself permission to be happy.
Aggressive Isn't Reckless
People hear that I ride aggressively and assume I'm reckless. Those aren't the same thing. Since my accident, I ride with one overriding goal: I refuse to let myself get trapped in a pack of cars. My life literally depends on creating space.
The Best Laid Plans
The plan was simple: breakfast at Pantry Dos, point Nyx north, and ride to Colorado to see my girlfriend. Then the throttle died, the starter spun, and my beautifully orchestrated weekend turned into trailers, logistics, and a different Harley. But the destination never changed.
Letting Off the Throttle
I found myself letting off the throttle this weekend. Not because I was tired. Not because the bike wasn't running right. Because for the first time in a very long time, I wasn't trying to get somewhere. I was exactly where I wanted to be: surrounded by veterans, raising money for kids, riding with good people, and sharing the road with a woman who makes my soul feel whole.
I Wasn't Riding to Escape
For most of my life, I was trying to escape. Escape pain. Escape disappointment. Escape myself. But somewhere between dying, surviving, rebuilding, and falling in love, something changed. For the first time in my life, I wasn't riding to outrun anything. I was simply riding.
The World Quiets Down
Last weekend, I rode to Colorado to see a woman who told me she loved me. What followed was a weekend of uncertainty, vulnerability, reconnection, and a realization that some people don't bring excitement into your life; they bring peace.
A Favor
Most motorcycle riders have seen it: a loose piece of plastic, metal, or undercarriage hanging beneath the car in front of them, bouncing closer and closer to the pavement with every mile. Most drivers never even notice. The problem is that when that part finally falls off, it doesn't just become their problem. It becomes everyone else's problem too, especially for the rider sharing the road behind them.
Heavenly Pursuits
I always assumed all bikers loved horsepower. Loved torque. Loved the feeling of a machine trying to rip their arms from their sockets and launch them toward the horizon. Turns out that's not true. Some ride for peace. Some ride for scenery. Some ride for community. And some of us are engaged in an ongoing theological dispute with the laws of physics.
“Outlaw” Bikers
A trip to the Harley dealership turns into an unexpected lesson about modern biker culture. Expecting to find an ally in the fight against government overreach, one rider instead discovers that not everyone wearing leather believes in freedom the same way. A rant about loud pipes, regulations, Baby Boomers, and the growing gap between the image of rebellion and the reality of compliance.
The Weave
Every motorcycle rider knows the feeling: getting trapped behind a painfully slow driver while traffic stacks up behind both of you. What starts as mild annoyance quickly evolves into a full psychological investigation of the driver's intelligence, ancestry, and questionable life choices. A profanity-laced exploration of why riders weave, why drivers misunderstand it, and why some people should never be entrusted with the accelerator.