My first motorcycle. Everyone told me not to. I bought it anyway. Matte black, Arrow exhaust, and a sound that turned heads at every traffic light. Four years of weekend rides, track days, and one very memorable trip through the Pacific Coast Highway.
“Two wheels, no roof, no excuses. The most alive I've ever felt at 70mph.”
Sold when the 911 came along. Two wheels or four — you can't have both. I still miss the sound of that L-twin on a cold morning.
Picked it up on a Tuesday. Rode home in the rain. Arrived soaked and grinning. Best decision I ever made.
Three days, Pacific Coast Highway, Big Sur to Malibu. The most beautiful road I've ever ridden.
First time on a real circuit on two wheels. Terrifying. Addictive. Did it three more times.
Sold to fund the 911. Still hear that L-twin in my sleep sometimes.
Car guy since birth. Grew up in my dad's garage, now building my own legacy. Every car I've owned has a story — and I'm not done writing them.

The car that started it all. Dad drove this to every little league game, every school play, every family road trip. The AC never worked right but we never cared — windows down, radio up.
Mom's trusty Camry. She drove this to work every single day for five years. We called it 'The Silver Bullet'. It survived two fender benders and one very unfortunate parking garage incident.
My first car. Saved up for two years working weekends. The day I drove it off the lot I cried — actual tears. Candy apple red, 5.0 V8, and absolutely zero practicality. Perfect.
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