Mileage, Memory, and a New Space at 69…
I find a unique kind of clarity when I’m weaving my way down a twisty Ohio back road. It’s a rhythm that I have been addicted to for most of my life. Recently, I crossed the 69-year mark on the odometer of life. It’s a number that has made me pause for a second, and give some serious thought to what’s over the next hill.
When you’ve spent over half a century riding and wrenching, turning a year older isn’t about slowing down; it’s about perspective.
In my younger years, like a lot of riders, it was all about speed. The thrill came from pushing the envelope, racing, and seeing just how fast a machine could carry me from point A to point B. It was an era of high revs, heavy throttle, and the adrenaline of the chase.
These days, I find far more enjoyment in the nuance of the ride rather than the top speed. The thrill now comes from the quiet satisfaction of cutting a perfect corner, hitting the apex exactly right, trusting the suspension, and rolling on the gas with smooth, practiced finesse. It’s about the art of riding well, not just riding fast. That said, I still like to do the ton on the ’82 Yamaha XJ650LJ Turbo from time to time.
That shift from raw speed to pure craftsmanship applies to the garage just as much as the road. I’ve always derived immense satisfaction from wrenching on my motorcycles, but over the years, the nature of that satisfaction has evolved. Where I sometimes used to rush to finish a job just to get back on the pavement, I’ve developed a calm, patient approach to the workbench.
There is a distinct discipline in keeping a vintage bike in top mechanical shape, but today, I don’t see the labor as a chore or a race against the clock. The work itself has become the reward. Taking the time to measure clearances precisely, diagnosing a mechanical quirk by feel, or cleaning a thread until it’s perfect is all approached with a steady, unhurried cadence. That patience doesn’t result in a better-tuned machine; it makes the entire process incredibly grounding and genuinely enjoyable.
Recognizing when it’s time to adapt…
The time has come when the need to adapt is more than just a philosophical choice; it’s a physical reality. Getting older is one thing, but also dealing with some health challenges adds a completely different weight to the equation. There are days when the physical toll is real, and it forces a hard look at exactly how and where I spend my energy.
Rather than letting it slow me down, I’ve chosen to adopt some specific solutions to keep the wheels turning.
First, my perspective on the garage has shifted. I find myself looking at the big, heavy multi-cylinder classics differently. They are spectacular machines, but there is an undeniable, pure joy in smaller, lighter bikes. They are nimble, easy to handle, and they don’t demand a wrestling match every time you back them out of a stall. Thinning the fleet down to focus on these lighter, analog machines isn’t a retreat; it’s a deliberate strategy. It ensures that the physical energy I have goes directly into the ride, rather than being spent just trying to manage the mass of a heavy bike on the driveway.
Second, smaller bikes are simply less demanding in the wrenching department. There is a beautiful, stress-free simplicity to rebuilding a twin-cylinder SL175 compared to the intricate, tightly packaged puzzle of a four-cylinder, dual-overhead-cam Yamaha Seca Turbo. One is a masterclass in elegant, accessible engineering; the other is a high-stakes plumbing project. At this stage in my life, I’d rather spend my time enjoying light duty maintenance projects rather than massive restoration jobs.
Finally, that theme of refinement and right-sizing is taking shape in concrete and timber right now, too. I’m currently building a new, smaller, cozy workshop, a dedicated space scaled perfectly for the next chapter of wrenching. It’s a project that keeps the hands busy and the mind sharp, designed to be a comfortable, easily managed haven for winter projects and quiet afternoon tune-ups.
As a rider, your eyes are always trained on the horizon. You don’t look at the front tire; you look where you want the bike to go.
My goals for the road ahead remain ambitious. There are big miles left to chase, a major trip out west to execute, and endless loops through the local valleys right here at home. Turning 69 just means appreciating the physics of the turn, the warmth of the sun on a crisp morning, and the steady hum of a well-tuned engine a little bit more.
The shop is coming together, the lightweight classics are running sweet, and the road is wide open. Here’s to the next stretch of miles.