Mental Clarity: Riding Through Pain and Survival

Riding a motorcycle isn’t just a hobby. It’s therapy. It’s survival. And sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps your head straight when life decides to blow up in it.

I’ve been riding for forty years. The first ten were short, crappy bikes, short rides, just learning the rhythm. The last thirty? Riding became my reset button. One hour on the bike, all my worries gone. Later, one tank of fuel. Two. Three. Five-gallon tanks at 40 mpg—do the math. It’s not just distance. It’s focus, adrenaline, danger, curves, and speed. It’s everything that forces your brain to stop chewing on every stupid worry you’ve dragged in all day.

It had gotten to the point I felt dead inside. But then—the adrenaline, the temptation of fate, doing “ding-dong-ditch” on the devil’s door—that’s when I started to feel alive.

Then reality hit harder than a corner at 90 mph. November 15, 2025. Headaches had been creeping in for a year, but this one? It wasn’t a headache. It was knives through my jaw, sinus, and eye socket. My teeth locked like a vise. Ice pick in the ear. Right eye ready to explode. Fun times. ER visits. Urgent care. Tests. MRI. One word: “Abnormal.”

Tumor on the left trigeminal nerve. Pain on the right. I had officially stumped a brain surgeon. Surgery followed. Right side fixed. ICU for three days. Home to recovery, ten-pound weight limit. Weeks of forced stillness. And yes—the left-side tumor is still waiting for me.

Here’s the takeaway: the mind wants clarity. The body wants survival. But the world won’t stop for you. That’s where the bike comes in. That’s why, even three months without riding, I feel the pull. The ol’ girl waits in the garage. I need her. I need the road. I need the focus, the danger, the intensity that strips away every irrelevant worry and leaves me sharp.

Riding teaches something few other things can: you can’t control what hits you. Pain, surgery, life itself. But you can control focus, reaction, decision-making. You can push through the noise and force clarity. You can reset your operational mindset. And when the ride ends, you’re not just alive—you’re aware, intentional, and ready to get work done.

Life is short. Mine’s shorter than most. But the work doesn’t stop. Property, family, responsibilities—they don’t wait for pain or recovery. The road doesn’t care. And neither should you.

Ride to survive. Ride to think. Ride to reset.