I was just like him growing up. I loved motorcycles.
I remember the first time I actually rode one all by myself.
I was twelve I think, I can’t say for sure, but the feeling has never left me.
My mom had dropped me off for the summer with friends. I had never met them before. She barely knew them herself, but they were nice to me and they had a farm and a big old-fashioned barn. The perfect place, as it turns out, for a boy’s ample imagination to spend the summer.

I caught pigeons, got bucked off a horse, kissed a girl, and I rode a motorcycle for the very first time. The bruises finally went away from that wild bronco ride and while the girl was pretty, I’m guessing there’s been a boy or two since that warm summer night. But that motorcycle. She was special, and I won’t ever forget her.

I imagine Jesse too will ride a horse one day and maybe even get bucked off. If he plays his cards right he might even kiss a girl or two before he finds that “right” one. But that motorcycle…I can see the love in his eyes already.

I took this quick shot of Jesse a few days back in our garage. He loves that shiny black Harley. He can’t sit on it long enough or often enough. The day I took this shot, he was leaning on it, lost in thought. Dreaming like I used to, I’d like to imagine, about lonely winding roads filled with fresh air and sunshine, the primal throb of that big engine, and the incredible feeling of freedom.