My "disapproving" family - the barriers we create for ourselves

Yesterday, I heard a familiar expression that I often get from acquaintances when they see my bike or riding gear:

"My (insert relation here) would never let me ride a bike"

That comment really inspired me to talk about my father and what I thought his reaction would be to my interest in riding:

You see, the whole subject of motorcycles was rather non-existent in my childhood home. I never really even spoke to my Dad about his old helmet in the garage, or bikes, or anything related to motorcycles at all for that matter. It wasn’t until motorbikes began to pique my interest that we had any conversations about riding.

As I began considering a life where I might actually have a bike, I began to pick my father’s brain on the subject. My father did ride quite a bit in his youth. In those days, riding was more about economics that anything else for him. When he was a teenager, his first bike was a small displacement Harley-Davidson. After his younger brother needed transportation, he gave the bike to him and went into the service.

He continued riding into the early 80's as a form of cheap transportation. Sometime after my birth, he had given it up - "got tired of being run off the road".

More than anything, I feared my parents disowning me if I bought a motorcycle. And because I was dependent on them for housing at the time, I feared being kicked out if I did so.

I had begun to find myself following a familiar pattern of behavior. I was always a researcher by nature, and I approached riding in the same manner. Retail clerk and student by day; internet motorcycling researcher by night. I scoured Ebay and the like, searching for gear that I swore I had no use for. I should have known then. The internal fight with myself was over. I just needed to get past my conviction that my parents would disapprove.

In reflection, I guess I don’t really know why I didn’t feel comfortable talking with my Dad about my riding aspirations. After all, our relationship had changed from parent and child to adult and adult. I was in college and "all grown up" as it were.

My friend and I began to toss around the idea of signing up for a Motorcycle safety foundation class. The class taught the fundamentals of riding; a course for beginners. Though the class cost about $200 dollars at the time, I figured the worst that would happen is we would pay $200 to find out that motorcycling wasn’t for us. I went about finding out the details of taking the class.

One by one, the UPS truck delivered nondescript brown boxes to my parent’s doorstep. It wasn’t that unusual; I did a lot of online shopping, so there really wasn’t anything to raise my parents’ suspicions.

By the way I was being secretive by hiding things in the closet, you would think that I had a giant pot colony nestled in between my pants. I would mill about, pretending that the contraband wasn’t hung up in between shirts. When the coast was clear, I would take my jacket and gloves out and pull them on.

Finally, one day my Dad and I were talking a walk and I drew up the courage to broach the subject of riding. We spoke about his old bikes and what made him stop. Finally, Dad said: " You know, we won't kick you out if you get a bike".

I had never given my father enough credit for knowing his son, but in fact, he knew me better than anyone. It was the validation that I was looking for and my life would never be the same again.

Its funny how many people have the same perception about someone in their life. Most people's perceptions about motorcycles are based on popular option which dictates that motorcycles are death on two wheels for the unfortunate soul who was foolish enough to pay for his own demise, much like a cigarette smoker. Most have some related story about a (insert relation here) who pretzeled a motorcycle and was gruesomely disfigured or worse.

Motorcycling is a dangerous pursuit, there's no denying that. But for me, it's a soul-replenishing necessity that I can't be without. I'm lucky to have a wife who would rather I didn't ride, but also understands that it's a part of who I am and that is who she fell in love with. She further commented that if she asked me to stop riding, it would be like asking me to not be myself, and she could never do that.

To those who want to ride but are afraid of the reaction of a loved one, I ask you; have you really had a honest discussion about it, or have you simply come to the conclusion of what your parter would think?

After I started riding, my father took it up again and is pictured above. My future wife, who disapproved of the bike at the time is pictured next to him. I never thought I'd see either happen.

The people you love and think you know the best can also be the most surprising if you give them the opportunity.