Finding My Way Back to the Ride
I was about sixteen when I first started riding motorcycles. From the moment I got on that bike, I was hooked — the excitement, the freedom, the sound of the engine — I remember thinking, “This is cool!” For a while, riding was a big part of my life. But then everything changed.
One Easter, a good friend of mine went out for what was supposed to be a quick test ride. He said, “I’ll be right back.” A few minutes later, we started hearing sirens — police, ambulance, everything. He had crashed while taking a turn, hitting another car. Back then, in Connecticut, there was no helmet law. He didn’t make it.
After that, I couldn’t bring myself to get back on a motorcycle. The idea of riding again brought up too many emotions. For years, I went back and forth — part of me missed it, but another part just wasn’t ready.
What eventually brought me back was my time in the military. After being deployed twice, I found myself surrounded by bikes again. Overseas, I’d watch people riding motorcycles and mopeds through the streets, looking so free. That feeling started to come back — that itch to ride. I knew I wanted to get back on a bike when I returned home.
A few years later, I finally did. And when I did, I didn’t just return to riding — I built something bigger. I started a veterans motorcycle club called Infinite Skulls, with chapters in New Jersey and New York. The club gave me a new sense of brotherhood, like the one I had in the service. We ride together, we support each other, and we raise money for veterans through fundraisers and community events.
Getting back on a bike wasn’t just about rediscovering something I loved. It was about healing, reconnecting, and turning something painful into something powerful. Now, every time I ride, I feel that same excitement I had when I was sixteen — only now, it means a whole lot more.