Why I Ride: A Journey of Remembrance, Reverence and Becoming

By Roshan Jayasinghe

There are roads you travel with your body and then there are roads you travel with your soul.

For me, riding a motorcycle has always been both. It’s never been just about the machine. It’s never been about the noise, the escape, the thrill. It’s about the stillness that arrives when the world blurs and something inside sharpens. It’s about the silence that speaks louder than any engine. It’s about remembering who I am, and why I’m here.

A Ride That Begins in Love

The first time I ever truly felt a motorcycle, not just saw it or heard it, was because of my uncle, Chandra Bappa. Hewasn’t flashy. He was calm. He was composed. The way he walked, the way he stood next to his bikes, it was as if they were alive, respected, understood. He didn’t speak often of motorcycles, but he didn’t need to. Watching him was enough. He introduced me to the dignity of riding. And something inside me ignited.

Later, my uncle Sapumal, whose passion for motorcycles was worn more loudly, who fed that fire.
He brought an energy and enthusiasm to riding that was contagious. The kind of joy that can’t be taught, only caught. He too became part of the road that shaped me.

And then… there was Yasas, my younger cousin. A bright, passionate soul whose love for riding ran just as deep as mine. He left us far too soon, taken in a motorcycle accident that still leaves quiet echoes in our hearts.
But he lived doing what he loved. And every time I ride, I carry his name with me. Not as a shadow, but as a spark.

A Tribute That Lives in Every Throttle

Today marks the death anniversary of my father, Ranjith. And though the grief softens over time, the presence of who he was only grows stronger. He was a quiet force. A man whose conversations with friends were more than talk, they were classrooms. As a child, I would sit nearby, listening as he and his companions explored ideas of justice, truth, world affairs, and the deep questions of life. I didn’t realize it then, but I was learning to think, to feel, to care. That foundation became the compass I carry into every ride.

And my mother, Nimala, her compassion wasn’t philosophical. It was lived. She brought it into the world through action. In Mandawala, Sri Lanka, she worked to uplift women and children, helping to build not just homes but hope. She lived her life in service. Not for recognition. But because kindness was her nature.

Both my parents have passed, on different dates, under different skies.But today, on this anniversary of my father’s departure, I feel them both. Not in sadness but more in reverence. Their values live in my body. Their wisdom rides with me.

Why I Ride

I ride to honor my sons, my puthas Rukshan, Ashan, and Shehan. May you always know that your father’s journey was never about running. It was about returning, to truth, to love, to presence. And I honor the woman who bore you, who brought your lives into this world with strength, grace, and devotion. Through her, I was gifted the privilege of fatherhood. And through you, I ride with a purpose greater than myself.

I ride to honor my family, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, my dearly loved ones, and my dearest friends,
those present and those passed. Each of you are part of the road that has carried me, lifted me, and shaped the man I continue to become. I ride for my fellow riders. The ones who understand that riding isn’t about showing off. It’s about showing up, with awareness, with presence, with soul. We may ride alone. But we are never alone.

The Road as a Mirror

People ask me why I write about motorcycles as if they are spiritual. I write because they are. They mirror your energy. They respond to your hesitation. They demand your presence. And they gift you with silence.

They remind you that you’re not in control of life, but you are responsible for how you move through it.

And that…is the essence of becoming humane.

The Invitation

There’s a song I often return to, “Ride” by Lana Del Rey.
It doesn’t just speak about movement. It speaks about being. It’s not loud. It’s cinematic. Soulful. A woman’s voice floats above wind and memory, reminding us that freedom is sacred, but loneliness is real. That the open road is not always an escape, sometimes it’s the only place we feel honest. It reminds me that sometimes, you don’t ride to leave life behind, you ride to meet it… raw, unfiltered, and awake.

So today, in memory of my father Ranjith, in love for my mother Nimala, in tribute to my uncles, my cousin, my sons, my aunts, my brothers, my friends, and my dearly loved ones who made me who I am and in presence with every fellow rider whose visor hides a story – I ride for love. For presence. For truth. For becoming. And mile by mile, with reverence, until I arrive.

About the Author

Roshan Jayasinghe is a humanist thinker and emerging writer based in California. With a background in administration and a deep passion for social equity, he explores the intersections of politics, identity, and compassion through a lens grounded in nature’s own self-correcting wisdom.

Roshan Jayasinghe

Rooted in the belief that humanity can realign with the natural order where balance, regeneration, and interdependence are inherent. Roshan’s reflections invite readers to pause, question, and reimagine the systems we live within. His writing seeks not to impose answers, but to spark thought and awaken a deeper awareness of our shared human journey. Roshan will be sharing weekly articles that gently challenge, inspire, and reconnect us to what matters most.