A Farewell to ‘cycle
I bought my first motorcycle when I was 21 with no idea how to ride. I bought it from an older gentleman, a woodworker by trade, for the deal of a lifetime. It sat in the back of his wood shop, somehow untouched by the sawdust that lightly covered everything, which told me everything I needed to know about the condition of this decade-and-a-half-old bike. As my father and I spoke with him and took the bike for a spin, tears welled in his eyes. It is not that my father and I are emotionally unavailable, but we do not do well with tears, especially from strangers. They streamed down his face as he explained that his doctor told him he can no longer ride due to his health. Riding was his getaway; and clearly one of the most important things in his life.
“It’s my pride and joy” was a phrase spoken a dozen times.
It is one thing to decide to stop riding for the thousands of safety hazards, or the cost, or the time commitment, but to be TOLD to stop riding is crushing. To him, this means the coming few years of his life would be void of what truly made him feel alive, begging the question; what the point?
But, the bike still had more to give, and the owner knew that. It was perfect: low mileage, perfect condition, great price. It was never a question of whether I would buy the bike or not, but rather a ceremony of sorts for him to make peace with losing his pride and joy, and even more; facing his own mortality.
He signed the papers and we were on our way; new bike in hand.
Driving home, one thing was clear: the only way to properly honor the old, bike-loving, craftsman was to enjoy every damn bit of that bike.
And so I do.
Grace and Peace,
Justin
