Short Shift - A Good Day, and a Hope for Change

I was riding around today with another rider in moderate Sunday traffic.  From one side of town to the other, into the centre of town for lunch.  Enjoying the ride.  Nothing fast, no urgency, no lane filtering just having a really good day on the bike.

It was good to see so many other bikes out doing the same thing—just chilling and riding.

My lunch conversation had me feeling grateful for how my life is now, and how riding motorcycles is this very positive cornerstone of my life.

I have a Google Alerts email that lets me know of any motorcycle fatalities in my state.  It's been a rough year for motorcycle fatalities in Queensland. But what always hits me harder is the stuff you don’t see in those emails — the riders who didn’t die, but whose lives changed forever—the ones who end up with permanent injuries or disabilities.

That's where my brain goes when I see, or hear, another rider taking unnecessary risks on their ride.  I dont want to see anyone lose their life in a motorcycle accident, but you don't need to be dead to lose your life.

Being seen

Have you ever wondered if you’re being seen as just another vehicle sharing the road, or as a person travelling the same world as the person coming the other way?

I wonder how much of our behaviour makes us appear simply as a vehicle for other people, and what makes other people look past that to see the person.

Sometimes, you see their headlights; you feel clearly seen, but they’re only looking at the headlights behind you and thinking only of where they’re going.

Being seen is very different; you feel fractionally safer, and there's gratitude and relief.  The road feels safer for a little while.

Short Shifts - Dad mode on pause

Bub is away for a few days; she’s off to have fun with friends.  I’ll be off to work with the Smart Rider team while she’s away.

There’s a brief period while my Dad mode shudders into pause.  It's amazing how much of my day is wrapped up in being a Dad.  The shuddering is the sudden realisation of how important she is to me. I dont often get a break from being a Dad, you’d think I’d be off patying or up to no good.  And, maybe I will, but I take a moment to get my balance before I do.

I think, maybe, I’m still getting my balance after 2025, and having a bit of breathing room now feels uncomfortable.

I have a 2500km bike ride to find some balance inside my helmet while she’s away.

Short Shifts - Not everything needs to be saved to be understood.

Before the crash, during it or after it — I always thought I could save it. Hold on, ride it out, accept the damage later.

I’m guilty of thinking like that still. Still trying to rescue something that's already sliding away.

It's a tough lesson to learn, but not everything needs to be saved to be understood.

Short Shifts - Coffee

Every Friday (Saturday if work catches up with me), I ride out to this place for a quiet coffee, alone.  It's a great place, it's almost like sitting amongst the trees.  Very chill.  And, man, I got to get those moments of chill in when I can. Being a full-time dad, amputee, working full-time + subcontract work, life, and in the middle of carrying some grief, currently taking a moment to pretend I’m not connected to the world for a bit helps.

Short Shifts — Held Together by Training

Martial arts training is the thing that keeps my accident‑ravaged body in running order.

It’s the perfect mix of strength, endurance, and flexibility — sure, you learn how to fight and defend yourself, but that’s almost the side benefit.

Regular training is what kept my mind together through a rough 2025. On the days when I felt like giving up but still forced myself to train, those were the best sessions.

The ride home, even with bruises, sore muscles, or the occasional cracked rib, always felt clearer. Calmer.

Like a reminder that I’m still here, still moving, still rebuilding.

Short Shifts — Sunrise on the Bridge

Not the actual sunrise… or the actual bridge.

I wake up at 4am, exercise, lift weights, have a spartan breakfast, get ready as quickly as I can — all just so I can cross the bridge on the way to work at the right time. Very light traffic. Just me, the bike, and the sunrise.

It doesn’t happen every day. Sometimes I skip the exercise for a sleep‑in. Sometimes I’m late and get stuck in traffic. Sometimes the sunrise is hidden behind clouds. And I’m not a hopeless romantic — I’m not “into” sunrises. I just know that when I cross that bridge, I look for it. And when it’s there, I drink it in.

I slow down a bit. It knocks the sharp edges off my day.

Short Shifts — The Long Way to Training

When I’m really struggling mentally or emotionally before Tang Soo Do training, I make a point of taking the long way there. I’ll go out of my way to stretch the ride out, maybe stop for fuel or grab a quick snack. A few extra minutes on the bike, and a few minutes standing next to it somewhere quiet, does more for my head than sitting at home trying to “push through it.”

It’s not about avoiding training — it’s about arriving with my head clear enough to actually be present. The long way gives me space to breathe, reset, and knock the noise down before I walk into the dojang.

Some days, that detour is the only reason I make it through the door at all.

Short Shifts — The Voice in My Helmet

I went on a charity group ride recently. Good ride, well organised, everyone having fun, everyone safe enough, and my usual wingman Caine was with me. We ended up somewhere in the middle of the pack on the first leg.

I won’t admit to anything or incriminate anyone, but let’s just say a bit of stupid started leaking out of a few riders — including me. And I just remember Caine telling me to slow down and check myself… without actually telling me to slow down or check myself. I don’t know if he does it intentionally or instinctively, but he can talk me down better than anyone. He might’ve been doing it for the entire three years we’ve been riding together, and I’m only just noticing it now.

I’m grateful for that voice in my Cardo that bumps my brain out of stupid mode. Thanks, Caine.

Caine’s work can be found HERE