The year I was born, my dad passed his motorcycle license, and for as long as I have memories, my dad — wearing a distinctive grey with blue and red jacket — rode a Yamaha FZR400: a lightweight race bike, which screamed loudly as he revved it on our driveway.

Recently, my dad got onto a more convenient bike, a Moto Guzzi Breva 1100, but still wears the same jacket! Instead, it’s me on the lightweight supersport — a Honda CBR600RR — somewhat the modern day equivelant of the FZR400.

This weekend was a reminiscing mixture of past and present, and perhaps it’s a stark reminder of how quickly time goes by. I still feel like the kid on the driveway, watching my dad get on his bike and go. Only now I step onto my own bike to follow.