I’ve been having dreams of riding a motorcycle towards endless horizons. I can almost feel it even now: the trees whizzing by, the hum of the motor ready to leap at my command, bursting with desire for those high revs. It’s a sensory feast—every dream has its own taste, touch, and color. The trip gets me involved, focused on the details, conscious of the surroundings and of my reactions.

Observe the loose legs in this picture, fit for a noob.

Sure, I love my cool Honda Civic. It’s a reliable companion, but it now feels as if I’m trying to fave fun sitting on a couch. And those dreamy landscapes? They don’t look anything like my usual commute through city traffic. For me, riding a bike seems to be more than just getting from point A to B; it’s a journey for the soul.

And I haven’t even ridden a motorcycle yet. Weird, right? Maybe I’m glorifying it, but it’s like slow-cooking a meal, savoring every step until the final bite. If I end up chickening out after my first ride, at least I’ll have enjoyed the anticipation.

But then, reality knocked. One night, as I climbed the stairs to bed, my wife met me at the top. She’d been having nightmares about traffic accidents. It was bad enough she has had to put up with me constantly talking about motorcycles and threatening the family budget with reckless spending. Now even more so, having her sleepless and worrying must have rang a distress bell so, my own dreams took a dark turn—visions of crashes, poor decisions, and regrets.

I read there are two types of bikers: those who have fallen and those who haven’t fallen yet. So I tried to use my dark dreams to get used, as much as possible, with that crashing sensation. And I waited it out. Eventually, the nightmares faded for both of us.

Yet, a new worry crept in. What if my kids want motorcycles when they grow up? How could I say no if I’ve been riding for years, showing them how much I love it? I’d be a living, breathing contradiction, influencing them towards something dangerous.

I’ve done my share of reckless driving in my youth. No amount of confidence in my mature, experienced driving can counter the impulsive thrill-seeking of young blood. Should I abandon my biker dreams for the sake of my family? Is that what a responsible father would do? Or should I teach my kids that fear is a part of life and that following our passions is essential?

It’s a tough decision. So, I’m exploring until clarity finds me. In the meantime, I’ve considered a trike—a three-wheeler that I can drive with my car license. It’s more stable, yet promises a motorcycle-like thrill.

Is this my mind tempting me with an easy out (instant gratification by just buying it now, no stress and time invested in getting a motorcycle license). Perhaps. But if I’m going to follow this newfound passion, it should be with something that genuinely excites me.

What do I really want? A machine that handles city traffic, potholes, and highway speeds. If I’m allowed to dream big, then let it be the electric Zero DSR/X.

Dreaming is free, but this bike costs a fortune so I’ll just say it’s not fit for a beginner. Back to the drawing board.

Ride safe, dream big, live it.