Tuesday, April 2, 2013


I started riding when I was 18.
 My first bike was a Ninja 250 that I bought from a guy out in Wheeling.
I remember my first bike like one would remember their first kiss.
 When I bought that first bike, I had no clue how to ride and I drove it all the way home in first gear.
I refused to ask anyone how to operate it, and figured it out on my own.
 That stubbornness set the pace for my mind set for the rest of my life.
It was a overwhelming sense of accomplishment. In my head, I conquered the machine.
 Since that first bike, there have been many other bikes that have carried me everywhere and yet no where in particular, and with each new bike, came a new learning experience.
 I remember talking to my brother on the phone and telling him how I was thinking about selling my bike because I felt like my luck was running out. 18 years of riding and never dropped a bike.
 About a week after that phone conversation, I was hit from behind at over 50mph.
I remember being in the air and seeing my bike rolling down the street without me on it.
 When I came to after the impact, there was a cop and a Chinese guy standing above me.
"I'm not dead?" It's almost creepy to write that line because I remember exactly how those words came out of my mouth.
 I sprung to my feet, and I must have looked like I was doing "the robot" in the middle of the street the way I was checking to make sure all my limbs were in working order.
 Since that accident I stopped riding.
Although I cheated death, something in me died.
 In the spirit of Easter...it's time for resurrection.
I will ride again.
 Definitely not like I used to ride. I have a family now, and they mean more to me then bugs in my teeth.
 I'm going to be patient, get the bike I've always wanted, make it my own, use it as therapy so you people aren't subjected to my babbling, and one day hand it over to my son, who one day, will hand it over to his.

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