My dad just blew his entire $35,000 retirement fund on a Harley instead of helping me with my loans—calling it his “last great adventure.”
For decades, he toiled in a grimy motorcycle shop, smelling of oil and cigarettes, his leather vest and faded tattoos a childhood embarrassment. I thought selling the place meant he’d help me get out of debt. Instead, he’s off on a three-month cross-country ride “before it’s too late.”
I was furious—42, in debt, dreams on hold—while he’s chasing freedom. But maybe that Harley isn’t just a bike. Maybe it’s the life he’s been waiting to live. And maybe the lesson is that happiness, in any form, is worth the ride.
