Why We Ride
Something happens to men in particular when they hit 50 and take a hard look at life and how it has gone so far. This past July was my turn to do so, at age 52—a little late to be enacting my declaration 17 years ago to get a street bike on my fiftieth birthday. So this was coming, and now it was here: time to drive from Chicago to Newfoundland and back in 11 days with nine other guys. Five thousand miles later, this is the legal analysis.
Our group met early on July 4 at the Rainbow Restaurant in Elmhurst, Illinois. We were composed of three core subgroups knit together by varying degrees of personal and work connections: four guys who run body repair shops, two airline pilots, one welder, an insurance adjuster, and one rail yard worker who, at 62, was the oldest. I knew the pilots; they rode with the adjuster, who worked with the body guys, one of whom had a son who rode dirt bikes with the son of the railroad guy.