The Rides I Wish I'd Documented (And Why I'm Starting Now)

Hey, folks — life's short, throttle's long, and my attention span's somewhere near the next exit.

I was cleaning out the garage last week — something I do about once every five years whether it needs it or not — and I found an old box of photos. Physical photos. Remember those? Back when cameras used film and you had to wait a week to see if the pictures were any good.

There were maybe twenty motorcycle photos in there. Twenty photos from 40 years of riding. Forty years of roads, bikes, adventures, and all I have to show for it is twenty blurry photos of bikes I barely remember.

I sat there on the garage floor looking at these photos, trying to remember the stories behind them. Where was I? When was this? What bike was that? Where was I going?

Some I remembered. That one's from California in the 80s. That one's from a trip through the Smoky Mountains. That one's... somewhere. No idea. Could be Florida. Could be anywhere. The bike looks familiar but I've owned so many bikes.

And that's when it hit me: I've forgotten more rides than I remember. I've lost more memories than I've kept. Forty years of experiences, and most of them exist only as vague impressions in my head.

That's unacceptable.

The Rides I Can't Remember

I know I've taken incredible rides. I know I've seen beautiful things. I know I've been to places I'll never see again. I know I've had moments that mattered.

But I can't remember most of them. Not specifically.

I remember that I rode through California a lot in my 30s. But which roads? What did they look like? What did I feel? Most of it's gone. Just a general impression of "California was good."

I remember a trip through the Blue Ridge Parkway. Beautiful road. Amazing views. But when? With who? What bike was I on? Where did I stop? What did I see? No idea. It's just "Blue Ridge was nice."

I remember rides with friends who've passed away. Good times. Good people. But what did we talk about? What did we laugh about? Where exactly did we go? The details are gone. Just the general memory remains.

And that's the problem with memory. It's not reliable. It fades. Details blur. Years blend together. Eventually, you're left with impressions instead of experiences.

"I rode a lot in my 30s" isn't a memory. It's a summary. A footnote. A vague acknowledgment that something happened.

But what happened? What specifically happened? I can't tell you. Because I didn't write it down. Didn't take photos. Didn't document anything.

I was too busy riding to record the riding.

Why I Didn't Document

At the time, it seemed unnecessary. I was living it. Experiencing it. Why did I need to document it? The memories would last. I'd remember the important stuff.

Except I didn't. Memory doesn't work that way.

Also, documenting seemed like it would interrupt the experience. Stop to take a photo? That breaks the flow. Write notes? That's homework. Record things? That's work.

I wanted to ride, not document riding. I wanted to be in the moment, not capture the moment.

And for years, that worked. The experiences were enough. Living them was enough. I didn't need photos or journals or records.

But now I'm 64, turning 65 in a few months, and I'm looking at the back half of my riding life. However many years I have left — 10, 20, maybe more if I'm lucky — they're limited. Countable. Finite.

And eventually, I won't be able to ride anymore. Eventually, memory will be all I have. And if I don't document now, there won't be anything to remember.

That's motivation enough.

What I'm Documenting Now

Starting this year, I'm documenting everything. Not obsessively. Not in a way that ruins the experience. But consistently. Deliberately. So future me has something to look back on besides vague impressions.

Here's what I'm doing:

Photos

I'm taking photos now. Not selfies. Not staged shots. Just photos of what I see. The road. The view. The bike. Whatever caught my attention enough to make me stop.

I'm using my phone. Nothing fancy. Nothing complicated. Just point and shoot. The quality doesn't matter. The memory does.

I'm taking photos of:

• Roads that look interesting

• Views that make me stop

• Bikes I see (especially interesting ones)

• Places I stop (gas stations, diners, overlooks)

• Weather conditions (storms rolling in, perfect skies, fog)

• Random things that catch my eye

Not every ride. Not every mile. But enough to remember. Enough to trigger memories later.

Notes

I'm writing brief notes after rides. Not essays. Not detailed journal entries. Just quick notes while things are fresh.

Where I went. What I saw. What I thought about. Who I ran into. What broke. What worked. Anything worth remembering.

I keep a small notebook in my saddlebag. After a ride, before I forget, I write down a few sentences. Takes five minutes. Creates a record.

Sometimes it's just:

• "Rode Route 19 north. Weather perfect. Saw two other bikes. Stopped at that diner in Steinhatchee. Mullet was good."

Not literature. Just facts. Just enough to remember later.

Mileage Log

I'm tracking mileage now. Where I went. How far. When.

This sounds boring, and it is. But it's also valuable. Years from now, I want to know how much I rode. Where I went. What I did.

Simple spreadsheet. Date, destination, miles, bike, notes. Takes thirty seconds to update. Creates a permanent record.

Plus, it's satisfying to see the numbers add up. Motivation to ride more. Evidence that I'm actually doing what I say I'm doing.

Route Tracking

I'm using a GPS tracker on some rides. Not all. Just the ones where the route matters. Where I want to remember exactly where I went.

There are apps for this. They track your route, save it, let you review it later. Some even add photos to the map showing where you stopped.

Not necessary for every ride. But useful for trips, new routes, explorations. Nice to have a record of exactly where you went when memory gets fuzzy.

What I Wish I'd Documented

Looking back at 40 years of riding, here's what I wish I'd documented:

The bikes I've owned

I've owned probably 30 bikes. Maybe more. I can remember maybe half of them clearly. The others are vague. "I had a Honda something" isn't much of a record.

I wish I'd taken photos of every bike. Written down what I loved about it. What I hated. Why I bought it. Why I sold it.

Those bikes were part of my life for years each. Now most of them are just "I think I had one of those."

The people I rode with

I've ridden with hundreds of people. Friends. Strangers. Groups. Solo riders I met on the road.

Some of them I remember. Most I don't. And some of the ones I remember, I can't remember their names. Just "that guy with the Harley who was really funny."

I wish I'd written down names. Taken photos together. Recorded conversations. Those people mattered at the time. Now they're mostly forgotten.

The first times

First time I rode through the mountains. First time I rode in rain. First time I dropped a bike. First time I rode out of state. First time I did a multi-day trip.

All these firsts happened. All of them mattered. All of them are mostly forgotten now.

I wish I'd documented them properly. Written about how they felt. What I learned. What went wrong. What went right.

The mistakes and lessons

I've made countless mistakes. Rode in conditions I shouldn't have. Made decisions that almost got me killed. Broke down in inconvenient places. Got lost in stupid ways.

All of these taught me something. All of these made me a better rider. But most of the details are gone. Just general lessons remain.

I wish I'd written down what happened and what I learned. That information would be valuable now. Both for me and for other riders.

The perfect moments

Every rider has had perfect moments. Times when everything aligned. The road, the weather, the bike, your mood. Times when you thought, "This. This is why I ride."

I've had hundreds of those moments. But I can't remember most of them. Just the general feeling. The general knowledge that they happened.

I wish I'd captured them somehow. Photos. Notes. Something. Because those moments are rare and precious and worth preserving.

Why Documentation Matters

Some people think documenting experiences diminishes them. That you're experiencing things through a screen instead of living them. That you're more focused on capturing than experiencing.

I disagree.

Documenting enhances experience. It makes you pay attention. It makes you notice things. It makes you appreciate what's happening because you're actively trying to remember it.

And later, documentation gives experiences a second life. You get to relive them. Share them. Pass them on.

Without documentation, experiences fade. With documentation, they persist.

How to Document Without Ruining the Experience

The key is not letting documentation become the experience. You're not riding to take photos. You're taking photos to remember riding.

Here's how I balance it:

Don't stop for photos unless you want to stop anyway.

If you're stopping for a break, take photos then. If you see something that makes you want to stop, stop and document it. But don't stop just for photos. That's letting the documentation drive the experience.

Take quick photos, not perfect photos.

You're not a professional photographer. You don't need perfect composition and lighting. You need a memory trigger. Quick snapshot. That's enough.

Write notes later, not during.

Don't pull over mid-ride to write notes. That breaks the flow. Write them after. While things are fresh. Five minutes after a ride is fine. Captures everything important.

Don't let tracking become obsessive.

You don't need to track every mile. Every route. Every ride. Track what matters. Ignore the rest. Use technology as a tool, not a requirement.

Share selectively.

You don't need to post everything to social media. Most of your documentation is for you. Your future self. Your memory. Share the good stuff. Keep the rest private.

Starting Now

I'm 64. I've been riding for 40+ years. I've probably got another 10-20 years of riding left if I'm lucky and smart and careful.

That's maybe 30,000 more miles. Maybe 500 more rides. Maybe 100 more trips.

However much time is left, I want to remember it. All of it. Not just the vague impressions. The actual experiences. The specific moments. The details that make memories real.

So I'm documenting everything now. Better late than never. Better some record than no record.

And I'm encouraging you to do the same.

To Younger Riders

If you're young and think you'll remember everything, you won't. You think you will. I thought I would too. But you won't.

Memory fades. Details blur. Years blend together. Eventually, you're left with impressions instead of experiences.

Start documenting now. Not obsessively. Not in a way that ruins things. Just consistently. Photos. Notes. Records.

Future you will thank you. Trust me on this.

To Older Riders

If you're my age and wishing you'd documented more, start now. It's not too late. The rides you haven't taken yet deserve to be remembered.

And go through old photos. Write down what you remember while you still remember it. Interview yourself. Record your stories. Before they're gone.

Our generation of riders has stories worth preserving. Don't let them disappear.

Later, folks — document the ride, remember the moment, preserve the memory.

Share your riding memories on Ride Nation USA's Facebook page. Photos from decades ago. Stories from your first bike. Rides you'll never forget. Let's build a community archive of riding history together. Your stories matter.

SAFETY NOTE:

While documenting rides is valuable, never use your phone or camera while actively riding. Pull over completely before taking photos or making notes. Distracted riding causes accidents. If you're injured by a distracted driver — someone using their phone, texting, or otherwise not paying attention — you deserve full compensation for their negligence. Connect with a motorcycle injury attorney who will hold distracted drivers accountable.