Noah, I am greatly sorry for your loss, it is hard to find words to say to someone that has lost something so dear other than sorry, and it just doesn't seem like enough.

When I was 19, there was 6 of us that bought and rode crotch rockets together, we raced circuts, street and spent allot of time practicing tricks. We had no worries and wore the same colors and rode the same bikes. We all met in grade two, and thought we would grow old together.

Here's what happened to the 6.

When I was 20, I got in a bar fight and wound up doing 19 for assault cause bodily harm. While I was in Rich Wilkins, was T-boned on his bike on his way to work. He died instantly.

When I was 22, we were racing at Finch/400, on the way home, the police engaged us on the 427. Two of the guy's riding had no insurance. Mark Wilson decided to take the collar and fled, instant pursuit. Rounding a corner on a side road, Mark caught sand and wiped out at approx. 195 KM/H. He apologized to the police in his last breath.

When I was 25, Rob Gracey took his bike to Montreal for a circut race. He stopped at a bar for few drinks and during an altercation over a woman, was stabbed 8 times. Nobody saw anything.

Last summer, Dan Desimone, decided that it was time to get rid of his bike, called us on the Friday to go for one last ride in the morning, on his way to meet everyone, he was hit by an oncoming car.

My brother and I (who as of last week are not talking), are the only two left out of that group. Everytime I hear Pink Houses by John Cougar (one of our party fav's) I cry like a little school kid, and think to myself "It has been a strange turn of events that has led me and everyone else in this world to the point that we are at right now, and it is incredible that such circumstances has brought me and you(s) here to this point of/in time."

And I will gladly shake your hand in friendship and warmth, regardless of the manflirting.