My dad passed away this morning after battling a particularly devastating form of dementia called frontotemporal dementia, or FTD. Fortunately, I was able to be with him, holding his hand when he took his last breath.
I'm posting this because some of you have met my dad at the Saturday morning breakfasts when they used to be at the Snooty Pig near Alliance Airport. I'm also posting this because my dad is the reason I ride motorcycles.
In the picture above, my dad was 17 years old. On a bet, he rode that bike from West Palm Beach, FL to Canada and back. While in Canada, he stumbled upon the Ontario National Field Day and entered himself in numerous motorcycle events. He won several of them and is posing with his trophy in this picture.
Growing up, my dad had a couple of different bikes and would take me riding often. Here's one I remember riding with him.
When I was around 12 years old, I got the itch for a mini-bike. Dad indulged me and we spent a couple of weeks going out and looking at various mini-bikes for sale. He always found a way to talk me out of "the one". Then one day, he asked me to go out to the van and get something for him that he'd left in the back. I went out, opened the door and there were two Honda XL 125 enduro bikes (see above pic) in the back. In this picture, we were at the Aztalan motocross track in Aztalan, WI (almost midway between Milwaukee and Madison, right along I-94). Not sure if that track is still there. You can see that ATGATT, even the dirt bike kind, wasn't high on Dad's list in those days. Later this day, I tried to compete in a trials event...with that bike...and those clothes. Here's an action photo of that effort.
You may notice that by this time in the day, I'm wearing legitimate motorcycle boots. That's because a little earlier, I drove the bike straight up a tree, driving a small stubby branch straight into my shin. Ouch. For the record, enduro bikes don't really do that well in trials settings.
I learned to ride on the XL-125, both on the dirt and on the road. At age 13, Dad took me to Bike week in Daytona, where we rode on the sand as well as on the roads around Daytona. Legal? Not. Fun? Hell yeah.
When I turned 16, Dad went out and found these bikes.
1978 Honda CB550K's with Siloutte fairings. Usually together, we rode these bikes all over southeastern Wisconsin. I'm certain there isn't a road in Waukesha County that we didn't hit with these bikes. I vividly remember two things from this time with my dad. First, the time we rode down Main Street in Waukesha one night...standing on the seats. It was Dad's idea. Second, with Bibles strapped to the luggage racks, we rode to church one Sunday morning, side-by-side down Sunset Blvd in Waukesha, at just over 100 mph. Again...Dad's idea. Probably important to note at this point that one of the hallmark symptoms of FTD is a lack of ability to assess risk or understand consequences. Little did we know back then.
In 1981, I loaded up the 550K and went off to Texas to go to college. Dad ended up selling his 550K and buying this speedy beast.
A Suzuki GS1100E (circa 1983). He ultimately farkled this up with an integrated, custom painted fairing and did a tour around Europe with it. After a bicycle injury that would keep him from riding for quite awhile, I flew up from Texas and rode this bike back to Dallas where I kept it for a year or so. At that time, too much bike for a city rider. It did however, make for a quick ride from Dallas to Waco on occasion!
After I was gone from home, Dad's passions shifted from motorcycles to hunting. His last bike was this nice Yamaha.
Sadly, my dad's disease caused him to lose much of his mobility and especially his balance. I was able to take him for a ride on my Honda 919 just once back in 2004 and he actually slide off the bike as we rode around the outside of Texas Motor Speedway. Fortunately, it was when I'd come to a stop and he wasn't hurt. That was one of the things that made us seek expert opinions about what was wrong with him and we learned about the FTD. I never was able to take him out on the ST1300 and most disappointing to me is the fact that he'll never see me on my V-Rod. I really think I could have made him at least a little bit of a Harley guy when he saw (and heard) that bike
Not entirely sure why I needed to put this post up here, but I guess there's a reason. Don't really know of anywhere else where people will appreciate how a man's passion for motorcycling can be passed along to his son and how much that shared passion can create a lifelong (and beyond) bond. Thanks, Dad. You taught me the rules of the road, how to ride safe--even when riding stupid--and most of all, how to live life to the fullest. I am going to miss you. RIP.
