Along those lines, I've met two older ladies, their names escape me right now. One rode her little red Honda scooter (Metropolitan?) the entire Run-For-The-Wall. She was well in to her 60's when I first met her. Another lady, for her 70th birthday rode her street legal Honda CRF-250 dirt bike from Columbia to the bottom of the continent... beyond Patagonia. She did the trip solo for the majority of the way. Amazing ladies, both of them. Comes to show that #1: it's not the bike that counts, and #2, age doesn't mean diddly either if you don't allow yourself to succumb to it. My life is measurably better from meeting these two ladies.
So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.
"Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another" Ernest Hemingway
Last edited by squidchief; 05-19-2017 at 10:40 AM.