When my parents first started Motorcycle Mojo Magazine, I didn’t have the wherewithal to understand just how special this publication could be. I had always enjoyed reading magazines and books, but never comprehended the value that they brought to riders across Canada, and eventually, around the world. Mojo created a collective for motorcycling — a way to share the love of motorcycles through both its writers and readers. 

Throughout the years, I’ve experienced the joy and inspiration that were packaged in each issue. The stories of the perseverance it takes to build a motorcycle in someone’s perfect image; heartfelt articles about charity and community across Canada; the honest pros and cons of each new model release; and a stranger’s journey into the unknown with just a bike and a goal. Together, each issue becomes a collection of insight and passion, expanding the reader’s scope of what motorcycling can be and allowing a brief experience to be shared by another fellow motorcyclist — not dissimilar to chatting with another rider at a gas station or coffee shop.

A friend asked me not too long ago why I decided to write instead of taking videos or photos. I pondered this for a minute as we sat under a night sky speckled and streaked with celestial light. I’d always found doing video to be time-consuming and it takes you out of the experience. And while photography is an art form I much admire, I’ve never taken enough time to take much pride in my photography skills, or to plan a trip around it. In both mediums, you, in a sense, must pause your experience to be able to capture proof of its existence. The amount of work you produce is directly correlated with how often you’re off the bike, and paying attention to something other than the ride itself.

While writing might not be as glamourous, it has its perks. It becomes challenging and fun to learn to write well … or at least coherently. You don’t create your visual through a lens, but instead, through words. When you describe a brisk chill, the exhilaration while riding, or remark on the smell of wildflowers — the smallest details are often what makes a story interesting: they give the reader new depth to the story, painting a picture that can embody all senses through the mind. 

To top all these reasons is one very important one: writing doesn’t interfere with your experience. Often, I find myself writing while winding down from the day’s adventure. I can remain fully immersed in the ride, then record everything after the fact. I never need to take away from my experience while riding to achieve the product. It’s rewarding to look back on your day or on a trip, think about the parts that really stood out, and expand on why they made your experience so special.

My favourite articles I read in Mojo these days often come from our reader submissions. These articles tend to have a level of ruggedness and become personal, showing that, sometimes, all it takes to travel is to take those first steps. These articles seem to embody the thrill of riding and exploring through fresh eyes, in a way that becomes easily inspirational. I’ve seen Motorcycle Mojo over the years not only inspire people to travel, ride different bikes, or go to events, but also to write their own story down. Sharing just one person’s experience with thousands of readers, creating a chain reaction of inspiring tales and reasons to get out and ride.

Over the past 25 years, I’ve gotten my street licence, bought and sold bikes, solo travelled for a few months on end, competed in trials and  enduro riding, trained other riders and watched Mojo evolve. I always find myself writing what I have felt or learned from my experiences and wondering if anyone will gain from it… immediately followed by another question: How could anyone gain from it if it’s never documented?

A similar question that no doubt my parents have asked a few times over the magazine’s two and a half decades in publication. No doubt there were struggles throughout the years, but I think — aside from the joy that my parents get from working on the magazine — they understand the value it has in the community. Especially here in Canada. We are a big country with few people, and even fewer in motorcycling. Mojo has helped make the country feel just a little smaller and more connected through articles about travel, events, and community. Closing out yet another love note to Mojo, I want you, the reader, to think about your greatest memory on a motorcycle, and write about it. You never know who may be inspired by it, and even if no one reads it, those words will remain as a marker of your incredible journey.