Dan Segrue | Ambassador
More Than A Machine
Motorcycles, I cannot think of a single physical object that has had a more powerful and long-lasting positive effect on my life than the motorcycle. When sitting down to write this article, I started collecting my thoughts and trying to find categories I could put all the memories and experiences into so as to have some resemblance of focus. It quickly became apparent this was not going to happen. The motorcycle has had too much of an impact on my life ever to think it would all fit into one article and if it did it would be so long that you, as the reader, would be cussing me out halfway through.
“This conversation was one of the biggest Holy Shit moments in my life!”
So where do I start? Let’s start with why I am even writing this. The voice on the other end of the phone said: “What’s with not responding to my text messages?” That was the start of a conversation that led to me being asked to be a brand ambassador for Royal Enfield Motorcycles. This conversation was one of the biggest “Holy Shit” moments in my life. Within a week, I was uncrating a brand new, shiny Royal Enfield Continental GT.
My Love/Hate With Words
Being a brand ambassador isn’t just riding around on a motorcycle and talking about its qualities. There is a lot of behind the scenes work that goes into it. I am first a photographer and so as a photographer, you can guess that there is a lot of photos that will come in the future of my Continental GT. Follow me on Instagram @nubbsphoto so you don’t miss any. There are also articles to contribute to, which I am very excited to share. Let’s be clear I love making photos and I am pretty decent at it, but writing makes me reflect and reflection makes me realize how huge of an effect what I am writing about has had on my life. I’d like to think I could be considered a story teller but putting stories into written word has not been a strong suit of mine. My sentence structure has a mind of it’s own, my spelling is abysmal, and I constantly use the wrong forms of words at the wrong time. Don’t get me started on my short attention span to most articles. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my experiences. It may just mean it’s a little more interesting and a lot quicker to read.
From Point A…
“Growing up the motorcycle at times was my dad’s only mode of transportation. He would sit me in front of him right there where the seat meets the tank and we would head out into the streets of Chicago.”
Let’s get started on how I got to the point that I am writing about my life with motorcycles. It is not at all uncommon to hear from those in the motorcycle community that they were exposed to motorcycles from an early age. The same applies to me. I remember my dad picking me up at a very young age from my mom’s house on his motorcycle and my mom’s very evident, disapproving look on her face. Growing up, the motorcycle at times was my dad’s only mode of transportation. He would sit me in front of him right there where the seat meets the tank and we would head out into the streets of Chicago. I would wear a simple ¾ helmet with green and blue Metallic flames painted on it. (I would give anything right not to know where that helmet is.) I would hold on to the bars and pretend I was steering; we would laugh about the bugs in my teeth and cuss out taxi drivers. We would split lanes and make our way to the final destination quicker than anybody else. It has to have been close to 30 years ago that I first got off a motorcycle on the wrong side and burnt my leg on the exhaust of his bike. I remember him looking at me and saying, “at least you got that out of the way. You won’t do that ever again.” I remember the very gas station it happened at. It’s still there and I drive past it nearly every time I am back in Chicago and it reminds me of that very day. Dad was correct, uncountable miles later on motorcycles and I have never again burnt myself on the pipes. Years went on and eventually I was relegated to the back seat of whatever bike my dad had at the time. Once I got my driver’s license those days of riding on my dad’s bike were over and cage life was it for me. It was a few years until I would learn to ride on my own. But as you would imagine that was a story in and of itself and in looking back was pretty crazy and maybe a little dumb. My sister ended up teaching me to ride – you would think older sisters would set better examples.
I’ll leave off here for now. I hope you continue to follow along as I work my way through the years to when I landed on the seat of the Continental GT exploring the streets of New York.
Until next time, Enjoy the miles!
Nubbs