There are things I used to be devoted to that I simply don’t care about anymore. Not because I made a principled decision to quit them. Not because I was scared off them. They just faded, the way a color fades in a window that gets the afternoon sun. One day I noticed the color was gone, and that was that. Two of those things had wheels. Motorcycles I loved motorcycles. Really loved them. In my late teens, while I was in the Navy, I was in an accident that should have killed me — a life-threatening one, the kind people don’t walk away from. I did walk away, eventually, but it cost me. It affected my health for decades after. And here’s the thing: I still loved them. The accident didn’t turn me off motorcycles. I didn’t come out of the hospital swearing them off. For a long time they still meant something to me — the speed, the noise, the particular way a…

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