Remembering a Free Spirit: A Tribute to My Father
My dad was a true free spirit. He loved motorcycles, adventure, and living life on his own terms.
In his younger years, he raced dirt bikes on various teams across New England. Every weekend brought a new challenge. He raced in hare scrambles, some of the toughest off-road races out there. These grueling events involved treks through woods, across streams, up steep hills, and over open fields. Riders were tested not just in skill but endurance. In 1986, he placed first out of 280 riders on a 50-mile race. A remarkable achievement. During that race, while others struggled through water crossings, dropping their bikes, my dad simply wheelied across the fallen bikes in the stream to make it across. It was just like him: clever and calm.
The races were organized by skill level, but he never flaunted his wins. He was effortlessly cool and humble. One friend put it best: “He was cool without trying.” Another said, “Those races were brutal, and your dad was the toughest one of us.”
He and his friends rode XR600 dirt bikes and didn’t let winter slow them down. When the snow came, they turned to ice racing, modifying their tires with spikes.
He was a legend and everyone in his neighborhood called him the wheelie king watching him hold wheelies effortlessly down the road and even taking corners.
Annually, my dad and his friends would make the five-hour ride to Syracuse, New York, for a weekend at the legendary Syracuse Mile, a mile-long flat track known for its high-speed motorcycle races. They went not just for the race, but for the camaraderie, the memories, and the love of the sport.
He also had a deep love for his Harley. He took road trips to Daytona Bike Week in Florida and to Sturgis, North Dakota, for one of the most iconic motorcycle rallies in the world. Later in life, he cruised cross-country on old Route 66. As his daughter, I’ve driven some of the same roads. Years apart, we both found ourselves on the corner of Winslow, Arizona, just like the song and called each other. “Such a fine sight to see,” we’d say, laughing at the coincidence.
He never missed the annual Toy Run, a charity motorcycle event where riders donate toys or gift cards for children in need during the holiday season. He’d take me or my siblings along on his bike, surrounded by thousands of other riders. It was a beautiful community experience.
He was the kind of person who would stop to help anyone. “He was open-minded, a free spirit, and treated everyone with respect,” another friend shared. He could fix almost anything, from bikes to cars, and had a gift for welding and auto body painting. He often had a vintage car or vehicle of sorts that he would always be working on in the yard. His signature camouflage motorcycle was painted using real leaves as stencils, it was a standout. Friends often asked him to customize their bikes and vehicles. One man at my dad’s memorial said, “Your dad painted my bike 20 years ago, and I just had to come show my respects.”
He had a green thumb, too, in his yard was always full of life and color. He loved spending time outdoors, including shad fishing, snowmobiling and even making friends with wild animals who would often trust him with their life. That truly shows what a gentle giant he was. My dad was deeply loved. To know him was to love him. He would never start a fight, but as his friends called him "One-Punch-Bill" he would end a fight if he needed to, in one punch.
“He was one of a kind,” “one hell of a man,” and “nothing ever bothered him,” friends recalled. One added, “You couldn’t help but like the guy.” Another said, “I’m a better person for having him as my friend.” For me, he was my comfort. He could calm me down with just a single “hello” on the phone. He will always be with us. As my grandmother said, “His legacy is his children.” He took care of her, of us, and gave everything he could to enrich our lives and he truly did.
My dad and I had matching tattoos. He owned a '67 Shovelhead Harley and had the engine tattooed on his forearm many years ago. It's the heart of the motorcycle and the heart on our sleeves. I followed in his footsteps and got the same tattoo just a few years ago, after taking a road trip in my car along the same motorcycle route he once rode, Old Route 66. In 2022, I also hiked the Appalachian Trail, and my dad later added my route to his map of the USA, alongside all the routes from his own trips.
He passed away while riding his motorcycle, his true love and for that I can find peace that he was having a nice day with family and friends and his Harley. Days before my dad passed, he reminded me that one of his favorite songs was "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum, a song from 1969...and I will forever think of him when I hear it.
I’m honored to call him my dad. He was the coolest. He was truly a legend. Name a cooler dude, we’ll wait.
