How I Learned to Love The Feeling of Riding Fast Motorcyles

Keep your inner child thriving.

I got to ride my first dirt bike when I was 12. My mother had a friend who's son had crashed it on their farm, broken his neck, and been paralyzed.

That was the back story my mom gave me driving to the farm. Her reasoning was to give me what I wanted and teach me a lesson; motorcycles are dangerous. "After this, maybe you won't want to ride one," seemed the rationale.

Unconsciously, in retrospect, my mother was asking me if my burning desire to ride a motorcycle was strong enough to risk being paralyzed for life if something were to go wrong.

You see, some of my buddies had dirt bikes, bigger garages, and dad's, unlike mine, who embraced fast toys with motors. I knew they could ride because I would hear their stories, but my father was dead set against anything with a motor because he had zero knowledge or skill of his own.

We pulled into the gravel driveway of the farm located just outside of Laconia, New Hampshire. The fields were many, wide open, and the closest structure was the state mental hospital miles away. The land felt like I owned it.

My mom and her friend, Mrs. J, and I walked from the car to the barn next to the house. The barn door was huge, and slid…