My dad grew up hard. A child of the Depression, raised by a single mom long before it was “normal.” This lit a fire in him and he sought to push the limits. Imagine a man of 18 in the 1940s, already in Navy flight school and spending his free time reassembling a junked Harley, then cruising 160 miles on dirt roads through coastal Texas to a Mexican border town.

He excelled at nearly everything he did.

Dad loved the Navy, fast cars, airplanes, boats, guns, camping and, yes, motorcycles. He also was overwhelmed by the responsibility of providing for his family. Work always came first. And, although he never said it, this sucked the fun, and ultimately, the life out of him. He died at 60.

Dad made it a point for all of his kids to follow their dreams. He did everything he could to provide us the opportunity to pursue those dreams. There were sometimes contentious discussions about our choices and the path necessary to achieve our dreams, but he made us think about what and who we wanted to be.

Motorcycling became a part of my life early, when Dad sold our go-kart to help my older brother buy his 50cc 1964 Suzuki. My big brother took me on the occasional ride and began to fuel that desire for speed and excitement. This bike became our errand runner when we went camping.

After I learned to ride the bike at age 10, I never ran short of ways to sneak out and ride. Dad would feign anger with my illegal rides, all the while telegraphing his unspoken creed: “Rules are for those lacking the imagination and good sense to make up their own.”

We finally sold the little “Zuk” for a Suzuki TS125, which I received at age 16. This is still the very best birthday present Dad ever gave me. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a vehicle to help me find my edge. Not just with a motorcycle, but also in life.

We all have boxes where we feel safe and content. Life begins when we look out over that edge and see how big our box could really be with a little effort and some grit.

I loved the mechanical, adrenaline-fueled, fun side of Dad.

More bikes came and went. A Suzuki RM370, Kawasaki KZ750, Yamaha IT465, and now a Triumph Bonneville.

I sold my IT465 in the mid ’90s and proceeded down that same slippery slope as Dad, slowly losing the thrills that kept me alive, slowly watching the life being sucked out of me. I was able to keep one outlet for adventure with my service in the Navy Reserves and numerous deployments.

As my military retirement neared, I realized I needed to resume some of those adrenaline fueled passions or die a slow and boring death. I bought a Triumph Bonneville T100, the last of Triumph’s air-cooled models, while on my last tour of duty in East Africa.

Maybe that would get me going again.

Retirement has been a blessing, but I have been slow to embrace the freedom and the opportunities. The year 2019 promises a move to the farm, summer work as a bush pilot and some long-distance rides to free the soul.

In a world increasingly averse to any risk, motorcycling is one of the last bastions of rebellion, freedom and unconventional thought. Motorcycles have always given me that.

If we have any hope to strengthen our country’s values of freedom and independence, our commitment to motorcycling is more important than we may think.

Look outside your box. Peek over the edge, and find out how big that box really is.

Chris Upton is an AMA member from Centennial, Colo.