Leaving a You-Sized Scar
This week was and has been….strange.
And I’ve found myself going back and forth between what I wanted to write about and what I should write about and, “Does anyone even read this?” and “Does it matter if anyone reads this?” because over the past few years, I’ve learned that writing down what you’re thinking and feeling is important. A “Get it out there,” kind of thing. It’s therapeutic. Whatever. Hopefully you’re reading this and it helps you. Or you know…something.
A few months ago, I wrote a blog called, “Bible Studies and Talks of Death.” If you have extra time, scroll back a bit and take a little gander. And at first it really bummed my mom out and a lot of people thought I was depressed and needed help. Sorry. The article was initially framed to talk about how everyone is eventually going to go. We are people. We aren’t built to last forever. But it was really about taking a look at your own life. And how you want to ask yourself what kind of legacy you wanted to leave behind when your life’s number gets called and it’s time for you to go.
About 5 days ago, an absolute legend was called up. Someone that I really didn’t know well and that I hoped one day I would be able to meet and thank in person.
As I’m writing this, I am praying that I haven’t over stepped any boundaries.
See, I haven’t been riding motorcycles very long. I mean, I love motorcycles and I love the community that I have had a chance to experience and the people that I still can’t believe respond to my text messages or Instagram posts. But when I first started actually riding, I never really knew how tight knit things could be between motorcyclists and how motorcycles and photography, and film, and friendship brought people together even across the globe.
And then in January of 2018, I saw this photo:
This is a still from a film called Halfway to Nowhere. A film that completely changed the way that I thought about motorcycles. And that might be kind of extreme to say, but I never thought of a bike as something more than getting you from A to B everyday, splitting traffic, saving gas, and you know….they look super cool.
And as soon as I found out what this actually was, I had to buy it. There was something so…perfect about it. Friends riding 2000km together. Through some of the most beautiful terrain that I could ever hope to see. And through all of the breakdowns and spills and hiccups, it was all smiles. Living the dream.
The entirety of this film started a fire in me. To create. To build. To connect with people and if I could have some sort of impact on something the way that this film did on me, I would be beside myself.
This film was made possible by Tim Caraco and Dice Magazine. And you couldn’t NOT see clips of it sprayed all over Instagram, Dice Magazine, Biltwell, and probably a million other blogs I didn't even get a chance to read about.
And I felt like I had to reach out and thank him. And I did. And he responded. I mean it was really simple, but the fact that the dude has 21 thousand followers took the time to say, “Cheers mate! Thanks for watching!” and allowed me to ask him questions about everything he did and what he was up to next meant alot. We would chat here and there, I’d comment on something, he’d respond. And I hoped that one day, I would be able to actually meet him and shake his hand.
And five days ago, I saw a picture of Tim Caraco, or as alot of people knew him on Insta, @Timo_Tigerblood. that had me completely gutted.
Tim Caraco passed away the morning of November 30th, 2018. Riding his bike. He was gone.
And I just sat there.
We were not friends. That’s okay to say, I think. We never hung out. I never gave the guy a high five, met up with him and his crew, gave him coffee (He actually told me he didn’t even drink coffee. Yes I asked.), never bought him a beer, nothing. And here I was, just upside down, because this person that inspired me to get out and ride and make memories with my friends is….gone.
The photos and memories and videos and things about Tim are still flowing in. I mean, I could almost guarantee you that you will probably be able to see something about him today after reading this and I would encourage you to really think about something that’s still beating me over the head:
People from all over are talking about how one person changed their life. That there is now a gap where Tim used to be.
The things you do here while we’re alive, grinding it out, and kicking it resonates with the people around you. It leaves an impact. And whether it was an incredible life changing exchange, or one of those, “I remember that person. They always made time,” it is important. It’s crazy to think that someone you’ve never actually meant could affect you in a way, even after they’re gone.
I’m pretty sure Timo was never like, “I hope a kid named Nick watches this movie and gets stoked and wants to ride a place like Gold Coast with his friends and camp on the beach.” But I’d like to think that maybe he did a little bit.
And if you can, find Halfway to Nowhere. It’s on Vimeo. I’ve watched it almost every night since last Friday.
And then go out and change peoples lives a bit.
Know that when you’re gone, there’s going to be a you-sized scar.
And people are going to remember you for what you were to them.
Thank you for everything, Timo. Happy Wednesday. — Nick