After 62 years on this planet, 58 of them riding a motorcycle, I have had my share of success and failure. Most people would say that they owe most of their success to their parents. While I acknowledge that I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for my parents, there is no question in my mind that I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for motorcycles.

My explanation of how everything in my life was shaped by learning to ride a motorcycle follows. (I’m still learning, by the way). I was raised in the sixties and seventies, a period when mechanical engineering and assembly line technology made it cost-effective to build recreational products at prices middle-class America could afford. These machines were everywhere, and most of our friends had a motorcycle, snowmobile, boat, or some other form of mechanical toy.

My dad owned a gas station in Saint Louis, Michigan, where he also sold minibikes, snowmobiles, gas, oil, brakes, and tires. I was 4 years old when he brought the first minibike home for me to ride. I hadn’t even ridden a pedal bike yet. I don’t remember much about riding that first bike, but my dad tells the story with some tears involved, and they weren’t his.

Motorcycles have been in my life for as long as I can remember. When you’re 4 years old, committing to riding a machine with two wheels, propelled by a gas engine, and equipped with brakes that stop just one of the two wheels, there’s going to be some figuring out to do. Motorcycle technology has undergone significant changes over the past 50 years, but the principles of riding remain essentially unchanged.

When you ride a motorcycle in the dirt for the first time, you learn right away that some things are not completely in your control. The tires move around a lot depending on the terrain you are riding over. The front tire floats on sand differently than it does on hard ground, such as black dirt or clay. Riding in the sand for the first time gives the rider a tense, uneasy feeling in the bars. The front end can push and swerve depending on speed and technique. As you learn to ride in this condition, you learn to move your weight back over the rear wheel and keep the throttle on. This keeps the front end light, which helps the motorcycle go where it’s pointed.

You start out riding in your yard one day, and the next day it rains, you come flying around the same corner, and the next thing you know, you’re sliding across the lawn on your ass.

Lesson #1: You can’t go as fast on wet grass as on dry grass…

Lesson #101: You can’t stand on the seat of your motorcycle and let go of the handlebars under 30 mph.

You get the picture.

Growing up on two wheels teaches you things you could never learn from anyone else, and some of it hurts like hell! You know how your father would tell you you’re getting a spanking for doing something you were told not to do?

On a motorcycle, you don’t see the ass-kicking coming.

It just shows up!

Failure is equally important as success. Ask anyone successful, and they will have dozens of stories about failure. What you choose to do with failure makes or breaks you. If you don’t fall, pick yourself up and try again; all that’s left is failure.

Two years ago, I resigned from the best job I ever had as Zone Sales Manager for Victory Motorcycles (a division of Polaris Industries). I had full medical benefits, a 401 (k), stock options, a company truck, demo units, a great salary, and commission to boot. I left it all at the curb to take a chance on my own start-up business.

Why?

Let’s just say I flew off a motorcycle one too many times—and somewhere in the air, between takeoff and crash landing, I figured out I could handle whatever came next.

MM