Tom’s Trip

Ever have something in your life that rips through you with a combination punch of worry and happiness all at the same time? Something so strong you’re not sure if you’re reeling from the impact or jumping with joy? Well that’s how this was for me.
See, my son Tom’s followed his uncle Nicko and me into the bikes. Naturally he’s doing it differently, ‘different’ seems to be the West way of handling the world. Unlike some dad’s I never wanted my kids to follow in my footsteps. Maybe that’s because these feet often tracked into the murkier side of life, maybe I figured what I used to get away with wouldn’t work for them in this modern world, maybe I just wanted better for them. I don’t know. Anyway, the bikes were never pushed.
Having said that all my kids were taught to ride from an early age though, just like they were taught to shoot, chop wood and light a fire. I taught them to drive as soon as their legs reached the pedals and the importance of servicing vehicles if they wanted them to last. This is standard ‘life skills’ stuff tho, the love of motorcycling is something special again. But you know that, or you wouldn’t be reading this magazine.
Then Tom got really crook and wound up spending the best part of a year on and off in hospital, getting a bit to close to that line in the clouds. I rode in most nights to see him and it was on one of those nights that he announced he was going to get his motorcycle licence. Why now?