Motorcycles and me. Part 1
Updated: Aug 7
By some sort of miracle, I survived a motorcycle accident on July 31, 2026. I was the passenger on a motorcycle that was rear-ended on Highway 401. Of the two riders, I was the least injured.
When I started my retirement blog, I never imagined that motorcycles would become one of the subjects I would write about. Life, however, had other plans. Today, I feel compelled to tell the story of motorcycles and me. It is not a long story, but it is one worth telling.
The first time I rode on a motorcycle was in the early 2000s, when I was almost thirty years old. I was in Québec City, and a friend offered me a ride to a shopping centre. I climbed on the back seat, wrapped my arms around his waist, and off we went. The moment we entered the highway, I felt anything but safe. I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Every gust of wind seemed stronger than it should have been. My mind spent most of the ride asking the same question: What if I fall?
Yet so many people I knew and liked rode motorcycles. Why was I so afraid of them?
The answer was probably simple: I had heard too many stories and witnessed too many consequences. One story involved a retired military member who had just begun enjoying his retirement. He was touring the United States with his wife when he was killed on a rural road somewhere in Colorado. Another involved a colleague whose motorcycle was T-boned during a house-hunting trip. The accident nearly left him paralyzed. He had to learn how to walk again. I have many more stories. Truthfully, almost everyone seems to know at least one person whose motorcycle ride did not end well. So why would I willingly take that risk?
After that first ride in Québec City, many years passed before I found myself on the back of a motorcycle again. To my relief, my first husband, James, had no interest in motorcycles, so the subject rarely came up. That changed in 2021. Following my divorce from James, I began dating a former colleague and friend named Dave. Dave was an avid motorcyclist. He had owned motorcycles in his youth, nearly died riding one in his twenties, and yet after a 30 year hiatus, somehow climbed back into the saddle. Now, in his late fifties, he was riding a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy.
Our first date was on August 5, 2021, and we had already planned a second date for the 12th. Apparently, waiting a whole week was too much for Dave. On August 7, he called and told me he was attending a celebration of life in Trenton and wondered if I would like to come along. Not only was he inviting me to a somewhat awkward event where I knew absolutely nobody, but he also wanted me to get there by riding on the back of his Harley. To this day, I am not entirely sure what possessed me to say yes, and wear a sundress while riding!! Yet somehow, there I was, climbing onto the back of a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy wearing a sundress and a helmet that didn't fit properly.
Because we were running late, Dave chose the highway. That is when things got interesting. Or, more accurately, miserable. My glasses were crooked and digging into the sides of my head. The wind whipped at my dress. I clung to Dave for dear life while we travelled Highway 401 at 100 km/h. I remember people in passing cars staring at us. Some passengers even seemed to be making comments. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their facial expressions said enough. "That woman has lost her mind." Today, Dave laughs about that ride. He says that every time he glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, he thought to himself: "Oh God, she's not happy. This is definitely our last date."
Fortunately for him, we arrived in one piece. The return trip was much more pleasant. We took scenic roads rather than the 401, and I actually began to enjoy myself, until the skies opened and unleashed a torrential downpour. Oddly enough, the moment reminded me of The Notebook, when Noah and Allie reunite after years apart and get caught in the rain during their rowboat ride. We all know how that ended...But I digress.
Dave was wrong. It was not our last date. In fact, two years and two months later, we were married. Dave knew motorcycles frightened me. He worked hard to convince me that the Fat Boy was a relatively tame bike and that he was a careful, defensive rider. He even bought me a properly fitted helmet. Slowly, I began riding with him...
Between 2021 and 2026, I probably rode behind Dave half a dozen times. That isn't much, but it reflected the reality of our relationship with motorcycles: riding was his passion. I tolerated it. I would never be a "biker".
Two years ago, Dave decided the Fat Boy had served its purpose. It was a great bike for shorter rides but not for long-distance touring. Dave had a few bucket-list adventures he wanted to complete on a motorcycle, and the Fat Boy simply wasn't designed for them. So, in the fall of 2024, he sold it and began searching for a touring Harley—something built for comfort, distance, and, perhaps most importantly, a happier passenger.
The story of how he found his next motorcycle could fill a chapter of its own, but I'll give you the condensed version. After selling the Fat Boy, Dave spent a significant portion of his spare time browsing AutoTrader in search of the perfect Harley touring bike. We even drove to Toronto to inspect a few promising candidates. The motorcycles were nice, but Dave always found something missing. Until we discovered the dream bike.
To explain the dream bike, I need to take you back to 2018. At the time, Dave was living a very different life and was married to a different woman. One day, he came across a new blue, Special Edition 115th Anniversary Harley-Davidson CVO Ultra Limited. For a Harley enthusiast, it was the holy grail. Unfortunately, there was no chance he could justify buying such a machine. It remained a fantasy—a motorcycle he dreamed of owning someday, perhaps after retirement (plan for his severance pay?).
Fast-forward six years. Now remarried and browsing motorcycle ads, Dave and I stumbled across a used version of that very same model. "There is no way I can afford this," he said. I looked at him and replied, "You're not getting any younger. You're healthy, you're still riding, and if this is truly your dream bike, then you should buy it. I'll even contribute". The expression on his face was priceless. He looked like a child on Christmas morning. From that moment on, his mission was clear: find the best possible deal on his dream motorcycle.
And that is how Dave ended up buying three motorcycles in one week!
To be continued...
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