Dad, Motorcycles, and Me; a complicated relationship
My father hated me riding motorcycles on the road. Which is odd because he was the first person to sit me on one. And Dad was a rider. When I got a little 250 to learn on in 1985, his opinion was that I woud kill myself within months. It turned out I did not, however I did give up road riding after a year following a disasterous trip out west where another person in the group convinced me I was not up to riding on the road. I believed him, and gave up, turning back to off road riding a few years later, competing in trials. Dad was most pleased with this turn of events. Then when I finally got my bike license after a year on a 250 in 1995, he wanted to come along when I did the test ride. He passed his opinion, I bought the bike, and rode it home in the rain. His verdict was the same - "you'll kill yourself". Dad was born in 1932 and it seems from a pretty early age he had an affinity for internal combustion engines, so he rode bikes and as was the custom of the day, wo