I Woke the Bike Up, and It Woke Me the Fuck Up
I didn’t just get my bike back, I got myself back. With the right pipes, proper airflow, a ThunderMax ECM, and a real dyno tune, my Breakout 117 finally woke up. And somewhere between the torque surge and the sound echoing off cold Santa Fe pavement, my spirit woke up with it.
Recovery Rendition
When they sunk that final screw into my left wrist, something else unlocked with it. My fingers worked again — stiff, screaming, but usable — and suddenly the words poured out. In the aftermath of a crash that nearly killed me, writing became the one thing I could still control, the one place where the broken pieces rearranged themselves into something sharp, necessary, and aliv
It Goes Where I Go, Part II: The Soundtrack of a Lived Life
Music has always been the pulse of my life — from my dad’s old record cabinet to the roar of Judas Priest echoing through an arena. Somewhere along the way, my father’s house fell silent, but I can’t let that happen to me. I sing at the top of my lungs when I ride, because every note is a reminder that I’m still here — still breathing, still living, still loud.