I must confess, my fellow bikers, I am not what you would call a “proper” biker. I mean, I’ve spilled my guts in countless blogs, therapy sessions, and sharing circles (or was it my mom’s book club?), admitting that my love for motorcycles wasn’t exactly encouraged by my family. In fact, they straight-up vetoed the idea of me getting a bike, saying something about college tuition and “not paying for your road rash.” So, alas, I was deprived of the sweet sensation of wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth for far too long. Sure, I had mates who rode when I was a young punk. Dale, who was three years older than me, had a Kawasaki AR50 with an 80 head and bore kit. Andy was even posher with his brand-spanking-new TS50 crosser. And what did I have? A BMX, some acne, and a knack for hanging out with them when they weren’t busy tinkering with their bikes or pretending to know what to do around girls.
I've hit a verified 40 mph (albeit downhill and according to the bike's own speedo)
The closest I got to two-wheeled glory was when I rode my primary school mate’s PW50 in his backyard. I’ll admit, I was a bit of a hero on lap one. But by lap two, I managed to ride it straight into a water barrel. Not exactly a feat worth bragging about, but hey, it was better than my mate’s attempts.
But enough about my embarrassing past. Let’s fast-forward to the present. Despite my lack of credentials, I’ve managed to rack up a few trophies and accomplishments on my trusty steeds. I’m talking GS Trophies in Mongolia, Romaniacs, even a Dakar. And what do I have to show for it? A slightly used AR50. That’s right, my fellow riders, I have finally achieved my biggest dream.
And let me tell you, this little cracker can move. I’ve hit a verified 40 mph (albeit downhill and according to the bike’s own speedo), and I’m feeling like a regular Evel Knievel. Of course, I still have to avoid the teenagers at the park (assuming they still congregate there), lest they mistake me for some old weirdo reliving his youth. But who cares? Nowadays, they have 93cc kits and fancy gadgets that I can actually afford. So, watch out, world. Dad Craig may not be a proper biker, but he’s finally arrived.
