The Motorcycle

My husband loves to motorcycle.  His first motorcyle and I collided in time and arrived at about the same moment in his life.  The marriage and the children and the house and the degrees and the jobs all came later.  The motorcycles and I have been pretty constant.  Luckily, although there have been several of them, there has been only one of me.

The neighbours tease him sometimes because he spends more time shining up that beast than he does shining up the Jeep and the car.  It just makes me smile.

It's good to have a man with a passion or two.  It makes life interesting.  Here's what he wrote about riding with our daughter.

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The first time I saw a friend’s Honda 50 mini-bike back home on Cape Breton Island, I was hooked. I rode it on occasion, but Mom did not approve. How could I blame her? She worked in a hospital and dealt firsthand with many tragedies. Some particularly gruesome ones, unfortunately, involved motorcycles.

Later, I moved to Toronto and a friend told me about the Humber College weekend training course that resulted in a motorcycle license test at the end. That was all I needed to know. I signed up for the course and immediately went to McBride Cycle to buy my first motorcycle, a 1984 Suzuki GS 400, even before I had taken the course. I was doubly motivated because it meant I could drive to Montreal on weekends to visit the woman who was to become my wife. Over the years, I have enjoyed many solo rides, an experience best described as motorcycle Zen – a way of clearing one’s mind, enjoying the moment, and just being.

But I think motorcycling is best a shared experience.  I was fortunate to meet my friend and long-time riding companion, John, early on.  I saw him riding to work one day, struck up a conversation and discovered that we shared a passion for riding. By a strange coincidence, we had nearly identical license plate numbers indicating we had registered our first motorcycles within minutes of each other!

I remember one particularly beautiful ride through the Blue Ridge Parkway from Virginia and through the Carolinas. When I described this memorable ride to my mother, she said something that surprised me.  Despite her experiences at the hospital, time had given her fresh perspective. To live life fully, she said, one needs to take some risks and she was happy that I enjoyed life through my riding. I think this is something all motorcyclists understand intuitively.

Life moved on. I got married and had children. Fortunately motorcycles remained an important part of my life. When my daughter turned 14 or 15, I knew this was something I wanted to share with her. I had taken my son for rides and she wondered when it would be her turn. I bought a Ducati Multistrada 1100 with her in mind. 

We started by driving around the block. She got used to wearing the motorcycle clothing (although she never stopped complaining about being seen wearing it). Later we rectified this with a trip to GP Bikes for things better suited to her feminine tastes. We became more comfortable with the equipment, the bike and each other. We were ready for the next step, a full day adventure.

The perfect day finally arrived.  We woke up to a beautiful, crisp, clear spring morning, a sense of adventure and no destination in mind. It was our first long ride together and we were both a bit nervous. My wife cautioned me to be careful. She could veto the outing, but this would be a special time for my daughter and I, and she is thoughtful about things like this. I promised to take all of the back roads and avoid as many busy streets as possible.

We first cruised around Halton Hills west of Toronto and later around Hockley Valley. My daughter wrapped her arms around my waist and held on as I picked up speed. I knew she would be excited because whenever we rode roller-coasters, she loved the sensation. We leaned into the corners, the wind rushed by and she held on closer. We rode as one and life seemed so perfect. 

We stopped for a quiet breakfast. I watched her eat a mound of pancakes, and I patiently waited for her to tell me what’s on her mind.  She talked about her brother, her mother, about friends and school projects.  She talked about herself. As a parent, these are special moments indeed.

On that ride, we posed for a picture on the Multistrada. To get ready for it, she shed her riding gear as it conflicted with her fashion sense.  At 15, this is important.

My daughter has a talent: she draws beautifully.  In fact, her efforts were good enough to get her into a visual arts program.  I longed for her to give a rendering of us on the motorcycle.  I pestered her for a drawing. “Dad,” she said, “why such a big deal? Why don’t we just frame the picture?” I was persistent. I explained that her drawing would be a treasure, reminding me of her at this age and of our time together. What better way to capture it all than with her drawing of a time in our lives when my passion for motorcycles intersected so perfectly with time spent in companionship with her?

It took her the greater part of a year to complete.  The Multistrada with its trellis frame and exposed engine is challenging to draw, color and shade. I was ecstatic with her attention to detail and how she captured the raw, mechanical presence of the bike. My daughter gave it to me at Christmas 2010, and signed it, “I love you, Dad.”  It is framed and has pride of place in our home.

Since then, my daughter and I have stolen more rides together. I know there will be a time when our rides come to an end.  I'm just happy that time is not now.