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 the skinny kid providing more fuel for the ire of the mean boys (and some girls).
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 pressuresof getting good grades, and from the rough-and-tumble existence that came with the everyday in an assisted- housing neighbourhood
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
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!
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.
On 2, I’ve found me again
