Cheers to you, Mom

Reflecting on my motorcycle upbringing

I remember when my mom enrolled me in Irish dance class – I was excited, yet there were so many other things to do. Like riding a dirt bike. She would squeeze my feet into small leather shoes and watch every class. I hated it at the time, but I became good enough to compete and I won many medals in the 10 years I danced. That was until my teacher pulled me aside one day after class and explained to me that I was very good, but it was too risky for me to continue dirtbike riding and dancing competitively.

That was the day I quit Irish dancing.

I couldn’t tell if my mom was upset or delighted that I had decided to quit. She put so much time into helping me become a great dancer when all I wanted to do was ride my bike. I think it was a bit of a relief knowing that she wouldn’t have to wrangle me into going to dance class anymore.

Moms are funny in that sense. You never realize how good their intentions are when you’re a child, but as you get older, you notice little things that you start to do instinctively because your mother drilled it into your subconscious. Like a bear raising her cubs, a mother’s nurture is the most integral factor of survival. Reflecting on my childhood, I see the amount of endless love and encouragement my mom had given me. Like most children, I never looked at the greater picture and realized how much she did just to make sure I could do what I loved.

So this Mother’s Day, I wanted to simply say thank you to all the mothers out there and women who have inspired us on our journey.

Whether we live near or far from you, know that we are a better version of ourselves because of you.

Thank you for staying strong when we came home with our first street bike, thinking we were the coolest kids in the world. Watching us ride away for the first time not knowing what the future would bring for us on these two-wheeled beasts called motorcycles.

And thank you, Mom, for letting me borrow your motorcycle with only 5,000 km on it when I was 18 years old. I vanished down the road into the horizon, only to come back three months later with another 20,000 km on the speedo, a few scratches, bent forks, three new tattoos and an undying desire to continue travelling.
My mom never forced me to do anything, but rather sometimes just steered me in one direction or the other. Now that I think about it, this might have been part of her master plan, because to this day, I continue to break out in a little jig whenever I get excited.