My New Normal — Riding with My Dad

There are always road bumps in life. And when that happens, you get on your bike and you ride. That's what I've been learning over the last few weekends — short rides, but every one of them exactly what I needed.

The Man Who Started It All

My dad has had a motorcycle since he was 16 years old. He had to hide it from his mother, who absolutely would not have allowed it. She never knew — or at least that's the story. He rode them, raced them, and built them. Motorcycles weren't just a hobby for him; they were part of who he was. Growing up watching that, I always wanted to keep up. I just took the long way around to getting there.

Now that he's slowed down a little in his golden years, I find myself in this wonderful, unexpected position: I'm finally keeping up. And some days, I'm the one leading the way down a road neither of us has ever ridden before.

Saturday: Monitor Pass for the First Time

The weekend started with a solo adventure on Highway 89 over Monitor Pass, the climb between Markleeville and Topaz Lake. I've lived in Carson Valley nearly my whole life and had never once been on that road. The first time I rode it was on my bike — and I'd call that a perfect introduction.

I pulled off at a dirt turnout near what I was pretty sure was the summit, got off the bike, and took my picture. Thirty seconds later I spotted a perfectly paved turnout just down the road. Oh well. My picture counts. The road is twisty, dramatic, and completely worth it. I'm going back — and next time I'll bring a camera mount so you can ride it with me.

Sunday: Father's Day on the 338

Father's Day. I went and found my dad and told him to get his bike out. He did.

We started at Holbrook Junction and headed down to Smith Valley for a bite at Rosie's, then turned south on Highway 338 toward Bridgeport. It's not the twistiest road in Nevada, but it makes up for it in other ways — wide open, almost no traffic, and the kind of quiet that reminds you why you ride in the first place. Just the two of us, the road, and the Eastern Sierra stretching out ahead.

At some point I looked over and watched my dad take a curve at 65 mph. Smooth, easy, like he'd been doing it his whole life — because he has. So of course I had to keep up.

It was a day of firsts. First time on that road. First time ever riding with my dad. Two things I didn't know I was missing until I had them.

Just the Beginning

There's something quietly profound about riding with a parent who taught you — even indirectly — to love something. My dad never sat me down and said "you should ride motorcycles." He just lived it, for decades, and eventually it found me too. Now we're out here on the same roads, on the same kind of machines, and I'm the one suggesting the routes.

He started at 16, hiding a motorcycle from his mother. I started a little later, but I'm making up for lost time. And it's just the beginning.