There has always been a bit of a "conflict" between young and old... there always will be. The fortunate are those that survive long enough to learn.
I once was a wild young Bronc Rider... one of the few that had the sense kicked IN to him rather than OUT! ;)
Just like Bronc Riders... out on that Ribbon of Asphalt, there are wild young riders and there are Old riders... but very few Wild Old riders. There are exceptions... but in the whole scheme of things... they are just that... exceptions.
The road has little patience with young riders. It offers few second chances. It responds poorly to those whose testosterone leads them to defy its risks and dangers. Those who ride with disrespect for the road rarely survive long enough to become old riders.
For a time the young demon may impress with their feats and daring... but in the end... they most often live only in memory, for the way they passed... not sat with, sharing a fire.
The old rider has lasted long enough to realize that to be in a frantic hurry to get where he's going is to deprive himself of much of the pleasure of the going in the first place. He's learned the trip is over when you get there... and his desire is to extend the run... not foreshorten it.
The old rider travels at a pace, and stops more often along the way, to allow him to see what he's riding through... the impatient young pushes on with his eyes on the odometer.
The old biker savors the warmth of a cup of coffee, and quiet conversation in a roadside cafe' along the way of a chilly morning ride... the young chokes down gas station joe and scrambles back onto his bike to hammer down the road.
The old rider has found that putting his knees in the wind in the mountains; riding not slow... but not face tightening fast; the bike swinging back and forth in a graceful dance from turn to turn, its engine throbbing under him as it pulls down into a bend, then surging back up into a straight, a relaxed, rhythmic pace that produces a serenity in the spirit...
... is far superior to the frenzied almost manic thrashing of a machine through the twisties.
The old rider has found that if he does want miles under his tires... wild eyed speed is not the ticket... but a measured, quiet, sustainable momentum. Push too hard and you ride past the point where you physically can't keep up... and the old timer waves with a smile as he cruises on by...
... the wild youngster laying exhausted on the shoulder.
Most important; The Old Biker has found that the ride is for him, and him alone. He doesn't ride to impress the cagers with his masculinity, or his pards with his daring do...
He rides for his own mind, his own heart... and for the serenity of his own soul...
... and he leaves the wild rides... to the Young Riders.
Grab Your Handles and Ride