It was over!
Thirty eight years I had waited. Always something else intruding. Many times, responsibility, pressure from parents initially, spouse later, the abstract anvil of life in general...
Hey, at least I had ridden the Wilds of Baja (and Los Angeles) the Cabot Trail (about a hundred times) the Arizona desert, the west coast, the Blue Ridge Parkway, rural Ontario and Quebec, every province in the Country, been coast to coast, the Forestry Trunk road, The Angeles Crest highway. I'd been to Kapuskasing, Tehachapi, and Valencia. Mistakenly thought I was being pulled over for speeding, by heavily armed
, armour clad Police in Oka! (30 police cars, Man I thought, they take this speeding thing seriously here!!)
I was married at 20 to a woman I knew wasn't right (not enough intestinal fortitude on my part) became a Father (still my greatest accomplishment and Joy) at 25, (and again at 28!
Well actually, I rode my YSR to Toronto, those heartless bastards left me on the road the third day without even a spare change of underwear, or a spark plug... When I arrived safely (nearly got sucked under the wheels of a semi on a short stretch of the 401 outside of Bowmanville, the ultra high gearing pushing the short end of the speedo needle to 40Kph!) I found them at the Landing Strip getting rip roaring drunk, paying naked women for lap dances and generally behaving like I wanted too! When Rob's Visa was denied, I picked up the $600+ tab for the days frivolities. You'd a thunk those two clowns would have at least treated me to a lap dance... I mean by one of the girls. Not Paul or Rob. 
My Old friend Hance Lor_ (name with held to protect his innocence) Who would wander into my shop looking at a new helmet/saddlebag/tool, and would exclaim in his fashion... "I'd sure like to have that new Shoei, hmmm... lemme see.... that will cost me..... 14 two fours!"
Yep... I had waited to ride Europe for thirty eight long years, and admittedly, some of that was from fear, My fear.
I as a young Machinist apprentice in the Oil Sands, worked with a guy that everyone called "Gunnie". He was a tail gunner on a WW2 bomber flying nightly over the European Continent to drop bombs on German targets. Gunnie didn't talk much but the odd time on night shift, when it was just Journeyman and young apprentice, he would relate some story of the war or his life. Gunnie was a sad man. After the war ended, he just could never find that adrenalin thrill ever again. It was as if his life stopped at age 22. My late night talks, where I mostly listened, taught me a very valuable lesson. If he were alive today I would Thank Harold 'Gunnie' the tail gunner. A lonelier place I could not imagine than being locked into a turret, in the rear of a Lancaster, with puny little bullets the diameter of your pinkie, to throw out towards a Focke Wolfe spitting 20mm high explosive shells at you in pitch blackness... 
And here I was... 20,000 kms, two sets of tires, twenty two countries and a thousand... no, a million memories and experiences to relate to you, to my kids, and to my inner soul, my lost inner child.
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Thirty eight years I had waited. Always something else intruding. Many times, responsibility, pressure from parents initially, spouse later, the abstract anvil of life in general...
Hey, at least I had ridden the Wilds of Baja (and Los Angeles) the Cabot Trail (about a hundred times) the Arizona desert, the west coast, the Blue Ridge Parkway, rural Ontario and Quebec, every province in the Country, been coast to coast, the Forestry Trunk road, The Angeles Crest highway. I'd been to Kapuskasing, Tehachapi, and Valencia. Mistakenly thought I was being pulled over for speeding, by heavily armed
, armour clad Police in Oka! (30 police cars, Man I thought, they take this speeding thing seriously here!!)
I was married at 20 to a woman I knew wasn't right (not enough intestinal fortitude on my part) became a Father (still my greatest accomplishment and Joy) at 25, (and again at 28!
Maybe will again at 55 :)
Against enormous odds, I'd fulfilled life long dreams of bringing the National Motorcycle Training Program to Fort McMurray, then a humble (?) unknown little town. Moved across our Great Country, facing long lines of Eastern traffic, then heading West to the "Promised Land" in '81.
Opened my own Motorcycle shop (Freedom Cycle) at age 26. Then a second... and a third. I've raced MotoX, suffered frost bite on the ice oval, rode trialers for y
ears, started the whole YSR racing craze in Canada, then rode my YSR to T.O. with Rob (see earlier Blog) and Paul MaCausland, then lead singer for the popular CDN band "Haywire"
ears, started the whole YSR racing craze in Canada, then rode my YSR to T.O. with Rob (see earlier Blog) and Paul MaCausland, then lead singer for the popular CDN band "Haywire" 
Well actually, I rode my YSR to Toronto, those heartless bastards left me on the road the third day without even a spare change of underwear, or a spark plug... When I arrived safely (nearly got sucked under the wheels of a semi on a short stretch of the 401 outside of Bowmanville, the ultra high gearing pushing the short end of the speedo needle to 40Kph!) I found them at the Landing Strip getting rip roaring drunk, paying naked women for lap dances and generally behaving like I wanted too! When Rob's Visa was denied, I picked up the $600+ tab for the days frivolities. You'd a thunk those two clowns would have at least treated me to a lap dance... I mean by one of the girls. Not Paul or Rob. 
Rob and I were great friends and fun competitors duking it out at Shubie or downtown Moncton (had several square blocks of the city closed off to race YSR's) or Burlington.
My Old friend Hance Lor_ (name with held to protect his innocence) Who would wander into my shop looking at a new helmet/saddlebag/tool, and would exclaim in his fashion... "I'd sure like to have that new Shoei, hmmm... lemme see.... that will cost me..... 14 two fours!"
Yep... I had waited to ride Europe for thirty eight long years, and admittedly, some of that was from fear, My fear.
If there is a Capitol T Truth I had learned in my life, it was this: Life is short, fear is only a perception, Dreams can and do come true, succeeding in life's Goals is a combination of good Karma, luck, the alignment of the stars... and guts. Never, and I do mean Never give up!
I as a young Machinist apprentice in the Oil Sands, worked with a guy that everyone called "Gunnie". He was a tail gunner on a WW2 bomber flying nightly over the European Continent to drop bombs on German targets. Gunnie didn't talk much but the odd time on night shift, when it was just Journeyman and young apprentice, he would relate some story of the war or his life. Gunnie was a sad man. After the war ended, he just could never find that adrenalin thrill ever again. It was as if his life stopped at age 22. My late night talks, where I mostly listened, taught me a very valuable lesson. If he were alive today I would Thank Harold 'Gunnie' the tail gunner. A lonelier place I could not imagine than being locked into a turret, in the rear of a Lancaster, with puny little bullets the diameter of your pinkie, to throw out towards a Focke Wolfe spitting 20mm high explosive shells at you in pitch blackness... 
I learned from Gunnie that he regretted his life. He wouldn't actually say so outright, but you could see it in his eyes, vacant as he spoke, looking into the distance (or the past)
"I wish I woulda'. If only i had..."
This was a powerful message to learn. I vowed I would never look back and say those words to some impressionable young person... ever.
And here I was... 20,000 kms, two sets of tires, twenty two countries and a thousand... no, a million memories and experiences to relate to you, to my kids, and to my inner soul, my lost inner child.
.JPG)
My ride was over, well nearly over (wink). THE ONLY QUESTION REMAINING WAS ... should I drink this last Rolling Rock?!
OK... Let's clear up this "Only x number of 24's " thing.
ReplyDeleteI never smoked, and don't drink now-a-days. When the cost of some motorcycle trinket came up in conversation, I would offer that if one simply stopped buying beer for a few weekends the trinket could be afforded!
I was implying that if you wanted something badly enough you could give up a few vices for awhile. The expense of a pack of smokes along with the cost of a case of beer could be eat up a high percentage of a young man's pay cheque.
I rest my case...
ReplyDeleteDoc.