I didn’t expect it to hit this early, but it did. Somewhere between late nights, bottles, and trying to figure out what being a dad actually means, my brain keeps drifting back to riding. Not my rides, not track days or weekend blasts, but this weird, very specific picture of my kid on a bike.
First helmet, slightly oversized. Tiny gloves. That awkward first attempt at balancing something with an engine. And me just standing there, trying to act calm while internally losing it. I know I’m not the only one wired this way. If you ride and you’ve got a kid, that future shows up in your head whether you like it or not.
But the more I think about it, the more that daydream comes with a reality check. Because as much as I want to share riding with my kid, I also know exactly what riding involves. The crashes, the mistakes, the stuff you only learn the hard way. That part hits differently now. It’s not just about fun anymore. It’s about responsibility in a way that riding never really demanded from me before.
