My Motorcycle. And Me.

Motorcycle.
And Me.

I grew up smallest in my class. Being the little guy came with a slew of problems, the worst being the target of the class bullies. Needless to say, 9 year-old me wasn’t a big fan of recess,
especially since I preferred drawing pictures and writing stories to organized sports. In fact, athletics was a struggle for this
skinny kid providing more fuel for the ire of the mean boys.

(and some girls ~ I have the scars to show for it…)

My moments of true happiness occurred riding solo on my purple Baycrest hi-rise bike. It had one speed, a banana seat, and the crank creaked when you pedalled hard. I would ride it all day, away from the projects where my immigrant family lived, through a paved path that crossed the hydro field. Taking this path flat out, feeling the wind in my hair, whistling in my ears as I sped to no destination in particular.

How I loved that bike. On 2, I left behind the taunts and fists of the bullies.

Pedalled away from the pressures of getting good grades, and from the rough-and-tumble existence that came with the everyday in an assisted-housing neighbourhood.

On 2, I found me.

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Not the purple person mover, but my second bike – a Crappy Tire faux motorcycle special with front and rear shocks. That’s my bro and sis on their bikes in our Ontario Housing back yard.

Fast-forward three-odd decades and the skinny kid was all grown-up, with a career in design being his everyday. My purple Baycrest was a distant memory, left behind by adulthood,
replaced by responsibilities…and bills, bills, bills of all kinds.
I was no longer bullied, but the drudgery of everyday life became a new challenge.

I now had a big-boy 21-speed bicycle, but it was totally utilitarian – used to navigate the crazy downtown maze to get to work and back.

As an emerging photographer, I realized that I needed a more
efficient way, though equal in utility to get around the urban
tangle of Toronto to photo gigs. I Iooked into getting a small scooter – nimble in traffic, with the advantage of free street parking.

Settling on a rickety 150cc scoot, hitting the streets for the first time gave me a pleasant surprise.

As I built up speed, the wind in my hair and whistle in my ears brought back the good memories and feelings of freedom that I associated with my purple bicycle. It was back – the peaceful bliss of being solo on on two wheels. The buzz of the motor
replaced the creak of the crank, but nevertheless it was back!

Happiness. Big ear-to-ear grin.

Another few years pass, and I’ve graduated to a full-sized motorcycle, faster, more powerful and providing me with the freedom the open road brings. Now I create pictures and write stories about motorcycling and am a part of a community of enthusiastic riders.

Most importantly, it all can be distilled into that feeling.

Of bliss. Wind-in-hair. Whistle-in-ears.

On 2, I’ve found me again.

Toulouse
My first scoot Toulouse. As in “parts started falling off a week after I bought it.”