Fathers and motorcycles: Memories of a powerful combination

With Father's Day approaching, we asked some of the Common Tread staffers to share their favorite motorcycling memories that involved their fathers. Read theirs, then share yours in the comments.

Ari Henning: Racing my dad's bike is a connection otherwise impossible to make

I grew up caravaning across the United States and Canada with my father as he pursued championships with several vintage roadracing organizations. It was a unique and exciting way to come of age, and it left me with a deep passion for motorcycles and travel, lifelong friendships (Zack and I met at the track as paddock rats), and a can-do attitude that is my biggest asset.

Given how influential those experiences were, it's been incredible to flip the script and bring my dad along to events when I compete — on one of his bikes, no less. Gridding up is always rife with emotion for me, but it's especially powerful to do it on dad's bike, with him there, because it's far and away the deepest personal connection we share, even if he doesn't realize it.

Dad was changed forever when a crash scrambled his brain back in 1999, so as adults we've never been able to fully commune. I can talk to him about racing, or life, but his responses are muted. When I race his motorcycle, though, I'm transported back to a time in his life when he was vibrant and seemingly unstoppable. Being on the same machine and living the same fully immersed and focused experience is like riding with a ghost, and it never fails to make me choke up.

Jen Dunstan: Grateful my father set aside his worries to help me fulfill dreams

"Now Jenny…"

It's how every cautionary talk from dad began. Whether I was about to pedal off on a trike as a toddler, go up to bat during my softball years, or finally, here in this photo, about to set off for my first track day ever.

I'm still not sure how I convinced him this was a good idea, to start racing vintage motorcycles, but I know it didn't take much. After my first talk with him about the crazy notion, a 1974 CB360 suddenly showed up in the garage a week later, and dad was busy reading the United States Classic Racing Association rule book and safety wiring every bolt on that little Honda.

Every motorcycle rider's first track day is a memorable experience, a rite of passage. It's only fitting that my dad was there to shepherd me as best as he could and then pat me on the back as I rolled out into the unknown wonders of the race track. I am almost certain that he had just the tiniest frown as he worried about something as I rode into hot pit lane. Did he check the tire pressures for a third time? He did top off the gas tank right? Did she remember to take off the choke? That frown would be all smiles as I pulled back into our garage and we celebrated our first baby steps into motorcycle racing, and what grew to be many seasons of racing together and some of the best bonding experiences a daughter and father could share.

This and every Father's Day I am always so grateful for my dad who believed in me and all of my wildest dreams, and despite his worst fears or reservations would still pat me on the back and push me out onto the track to discover myself and push beyond my limits.

Zack Courts: The racing trophies aren't the real prize

Dads and kids have connected through motorbikes for as long as bikes have been around, and I guess I’m no different. There are individual moments that stand out — my pops sitting behind me on my first dirt bike with his hand over mine so I could feel how the clutch engaged, or teaching me how much to tighten a spark plug — but vintage sidecar racing was probably the pinnacle of our bonding through motorcycles. Sometimes we won, but in the end that wasn't the good stuff.

Riding along with my dad, peering over his shoulder as we careened through a corner, was the most literal form of him guiding me. And stretching myself out over the pavement to make sure the rig didn’t flip was a pretty obvious way of showing him I was accountable. We trusted each other going sideways at 60 to 80 mph, which makes talking about how much money I spent on beer in college kinda trivial. Sidecar racing is hard, and dangerous, and because of that, teammates can feel like family. For me and my dad, sidecar racing turned family into teamwork.

I was a competitor who wanted the trophy and the recognition from everyone that we were the best. But, after the cups and plaques sit around for a while it becomes clear that those things on the shelf weren’t the prize. Packing for the track, sharing stories and experiences with friends, long van rides across the eastern seaboard, and questionable camping choices, those were the victories in retrospect. They just don’t look as cool in a photo as sliding through Turn 10 at full speed.

Spurgeon Dunbar: When the plan fell through, dad came through

One of my favorite memories of riding with my dad was one of our first. It was the summer of 2006 and I had been riding motorcycles for a little over a year. My two primary riding partners at the time were Ben, a high school buddy with a Harley Sportster, and my dad, who, after years away from motorcycling, brought home a Suzuki V-Strom 1000 six months prior in response to my purchase of a Triumph Bonneville.

That summer, Ben and I were planning a multi-day trip to Chicago to test our touring chops. The week before we were supposed to set sail on an ocean of asphalt, his wife at the time refused to let him leave. Without going into detail, I'll just say it got ugly and Ben, in an effort to keep the peace at home, bailed on the trip.

I was lamenting my disappointment to my dad and, without missing a beat, he started planning a trip to Skyline Drive in Virginia, a location he used to ride to all the time with his buddies when he was younger. Within 24 hours I had procured a tent and some sleeping bags, we traced a route on some paper maps, and we hit the road. There was no plan, no agenda. Just me and Pops and the open road.

To understand what made this trip so special, you have to know that dad never left work on a whim. He owns his own business and back then he would take the family to the Jersey Shore for a week each summer and he was at his desk six days a week for the remaining 51 weeks. So for him to just close up shop and hit the road with his then 22-year-old son was a pretty big deal, for both of us.

The ride itself was relatively uneventful outside of some rain, some fog, running out of food, dad swearing off camping for the remainder of his days, and some daredevil deer with a collective death wish. But it sparked a new era in my relationship with my father that has only brought us closer in the years that followed. Riding with dad isn't about the destination or the distance. It's just about those simple moments together, sharing a pack of crackers at the gas station or laughing over dinner as we replay the day's ride out loud.

Ben eventually divorced his first wife and moved on, but I'll be forever grateful to her for giving me that opportunity with my dad.