And the years went by. Everything morphed into new priorities. I stood at the office, I swam in the pool and I often thought of just how lucky I was to be able to be here and enjoy all things life still afforded. In some ways life slowed due to the need for daily maintenance. That all kept me home more often than it used to which meant I got to participate more in the wonderful adventure that is home life with Angel and the brats.
But I pined. Some. Never outward and not a lot. And what pining I did I thought I kept effectively to my self. My own stupid fault, after all. But a huge part of me missed all the action of what was. I was always one to be looking for the next thrill. The next adventure. I was an accredited scuba diver. And I had travelled far and wide enjoying some of the best dive sites in the Americas over the last 20 years. Something I did for myself as Angel was never keen on the whole ocean thing. Although she always did the lying on the beach part really well. But diving, too, had come to an end.
I am no expert on what makes a relationship work but I do know that for us it was imperative to have two very separate and fulfilling lives that came together, as often as possible, to share with each other. Angel and I both had that absolutely. Joint interests but somewhat secondary to our own as individuals. And I desperately needed something else to fill a rather substantial gap in that regard.
I had a love of motorcycles that was a lifetime deep. I wanted one since the first day I saw some dude cruise by on one. I dreamed of turning 16 and getting my 'M' licence. To prevent my pursuing that whole avenue, my dear old Dad, to his credit, put as much metal, plastic and cloth between me and everything I was to run into during the learning-to-drive years. And I ran into a lot o' shit. He bought a Ford Econoline 200 van, not for me specifically but to assist with his antique car restoration business. Towing cars and car parts all over eastern Canada and the U.S. became a regular pastime for my brother and me. And we would use the van.
Until one day he and I decided the van would serve us much better if we finished it all up with aluminum mag wheels, shag carpet --- floor and ceiling of course --- a comfy double bed, a wee refrigerator and a giant sound system. Voila! :The Brown Room" as she affectionately became known. And with all the recently installed cosmetics. "We certainly won't be loading all that greasy, oily car shit in 'er anymore, right?
Dear old dad was a little taken back when he had to go out and buy another van. But as we have previously acknowledged, kids are relentless. So he did. And over the next seven years the Brown Room travelled from Vancouver to Newfoundland and from Thunderbay to New York. She had had over 500,000 miles on three engines when we finally laid her to rest on the east coast of The Rock, over 2,500 kilometres from home.
Pops not only provided us with the best memories any teenagers could ever hope for, he saved us busting our selves, or worse, by keeping us both off motorcycles during the insane years. Male teenagers in my day and age just weren't right in the head. And I don't believe anything has changed today. There is a brain rewiring thing that happens in the male teenage years that makes rational thought a very rare occurrence. And therefore a very serious disconnect with bikes that should be addressed. I came to believe, over the years, that no one should be permitted to obtain a licence to ride until they have had 10 years of accident-free driving a car under their belt. This would save a lot of lives. But it seems the time when you want a bike most is when you are young and crazed. The time when you are least capable of dealing with it. Anyway, it's appropriate to take a moment and send thanks to both Mom and Dad for keeping us off 'em until we were less likely to kill ourselves. It is also very reasonable to offer up a "So sorry" to both Mom and Dad for smashing up so many of their cars, vans and trucks while we tried to figure it all out.
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