A week ago today my step-uncle, Tim Johnson, was killed in a motorcycle accident. This man lived to ride. He drove over 700,000 miles on his motorcycle since the 1960's. Adventure was his middle name. On his website he says,
"Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely and in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways totally worn out, shouting..."Holy shit, What a Ride!"
This was Tim. All of Tim's friends, family, co-workers, and even a mere acquaintance will miss him terribly. The one thing we have is that Tim died doing what he loved....riding his motorcycle. He lived by what he said. He did what he loved. He loved his family and told them so often. If he said he would do something, he did it. He didn't do anything half way.
The stories his friends and family told at his funeral service last Saturday were wonderful. What a man. His motorcycle friends gave him the most wonderful tribute. Forty-two motorcycles were escorted to Tim's funeral service by the CHP. What a sight. I'm not a motorcycle rider, but I respect the bike and can understand the love and the passion. As I took these images of Tim's friends I was crying. Crying for the wonderful tribute they paid him, crying for the loss of a life cut way too short. (he was only 53)
I'm sure he is in heaven right now riding like the wind. May Tim rest in peace.