I want to preface this column by saying this is meant to convey a happy realization rather than a morbid understanding.

Some of you may be familiar with Max Burns, writer and long-time journalist for Cycle Canada. When I heard of Max’s passing I was saddened to say the least. I had most of his books, all of which have become good weights for my bookshelf to keep it stable in the event of an earthquake. I had read portions of his books, but honestly, never really got into them.

When he passed, I picked up Adventures with Neddow for the cover photo, featuring Bruce Neddow sitting in his lawn chair in front of an eclectic shed. Neddow was a person who brought great joy to Burns’ life through Dual-Sport adventures and shenanigans. The book is more than just a chronicle of their adventures throughout the years; it’s a memoir of life and a love letter to his late friend.

“One person’s life so stealthily weaves into the lives of others that when that person leaves, a part of each of us also takes leave. So instead of finding some link or memory, what I really found was the true cost of friendship,” Max wrote.

As I read through Adventures with Neddow, I was taken aback by the overwhelming love and compassion conveyed through Burns’ words. I was also saddened by the idea that there may be few words written about him now that he’s gone. To have such a friendship — such a connection — that inspired him to write about his antics and rides countless times says that he was a confidant; a soulmate of sorts. How lucky both Neddow and Burns were to have found that connection through riding; an unbreakable bond, even in death. At first, I was saddened, realizing the amount that Burns had written about Neddow may never be penned about him. But then, it’s obvious: Burns didn’t write the book for Neddow; he wrote it to comfort himself, and to help heal from his loss.

I’ve always carried a fond respect for Max. I had first met him briefly when I was a child and remember vaguely the cheerfulness that exuded from him when the mention of the world’s best hot chocolate was brought up. During the conversation, he made me an orange hot chocolate, which I recall as the best I’ve had to date. The memory of his face is blurred in my mind now, but I know it was the face of a friend.

Looking back on my time knowing Max, I’m saddened to say it’s a fog; perhaps memories I made in my mind to try to solidify the ever-lasting idea of this great writer. One incredible thing I learned we had in common through reading his books is that adventure can be achieved on any machine. Whether it’s a scooter, a car, or an old and unreliable bike: have faith and adventure will ensue.

In my most recent email to Burns, he signed his name “The once Mighty Max.” Little did he know that, to me, he was always mighty and magnificent; his words carried such meaning and passion behind them. Although his perception of himself changed — withered by illness and not feeling himself — knowing that he was a shell of what he once was is disheartening, although I guess we will all have this affliction throughout our lives.

He reminded me through his words to never take a ride for granted, and that there is always benefit in having a long-time riding partner. After finishing his book, I thought about what becomes of us when we pass. Of course, memories fade, and a veil drops with the onset of time. But words, photos, and videos can help to keep experiences vivid, and give an onlooker a glimpse into the epic life that is lived by the motorcyclist.

So take the photo, write in your journal and film your friends; you never know what can happen, and sometimes the time to share your words pass without the realization they will never get to be spoken again. It is not likely that many of us will have a memoir written about our riding adventures, so it’s up to you to keep those memories alive. So if you have a riding companion — a soulmate of sorts — don’t forget to tell them how much they mean to you. Go ahead, be cheesy.

To conclude, I’d like to share a few words that hit home from the late and mighty Max Burns: “The worst part of aging is not declining health, which sucks, but that the only reason friends aren’t bumping off around you is that you beat them to it. Meanwhile, the survivors are left only with double-sided memories: One side up, those memories put a smile on your face, The other, a frown saturated in sadness.”