The Last Wave – and My First

I’ll never forget my first, and I’ll never forget my dad telling me about his first.

When my dad finished the first leg of his cross-country trip in 2008 – from Toledo to Ojai, CA – I was pretty distracted. After all, I was getting married in less than a week, my whole family was arriving on my turf and, between the wedding preparations required of a pretty DIY affair and entertaining them, my mind was on things other than how everybody got there. But even for a distracted mind, the story of your 60-year old dad’s solo cross-country trek on a motorcycle deserves some attention. And I’m glad I listened.

Strangely, it wasn’t the sights he’d seen or the (minor) troubles he’s encountered that made the biggest impression on my dad; rather, it was his introduction to the outward symbols of a secret society, and his acceptance into it, that pleased him the most.

You see, when riders pass each other on the road going opposite ways, they give each other a special wave – one that signals understanding, kinship and acceptance, regardless of skill level or length of tenure as a biker.

My dad was excited to share that bit of info and, yesterday, I was excited to get my first “motorcycle wave.”

I’ll admit, though – getting my first wave made me wonder who gave my dad his LAST wave. I suppose I’ll never know, but I can’t help but believe that whoever gave – and received – that last wave will somehow know how special that was, just like whoever rode by me on that Goldwing hopefully knew how much it meant to me.