A couple weeks ago, on a warm Wednesday evening, I drove east to Whitby for the weekly car meet on Baldwin St. It’s always hit and miss at that show. You might see a Lamborghini Gallardo with yellow underglow, or a parking lot full of riced-out Hondas.
What I didn’t know was that week’s meet was a tribute—a memorial meet—for a young man in the local car scene who had died in a highway accident only four days earlier.
He was a 22-year-old motorcyclist from Scarborough, and at 2:30 am on Saturday, August 15th 2026, he took his last ride. While travelling at a highrate of speed westbound on Hwy 401 near Brock Rd in Pickering, police said he entered a construction closure, struck an electronic sign board, was ejected from his Honda CBR1000 and died at the scene.
Several hundred from the car community came to say goodbye, to pay their respects. The motorcycle boys were out in full force, paying respect to one of their own.
The assembled family members were dressed in matching purple T-shirts carrying the deceased’s name and a heartfelt message. They also brought purple helium balloons to decorate cars at the meet. Not sure if purple was a colour of mourning in their culture, or if it was the young man’s favourite colour. Didn’t want to ask either.
The family were gathered next to the Tim Horton’s. On the hood of an old RX-7 someone had placed large, framed photo of the deceased young man. Messages of sympathy were written on the hood of the car, but also statements like ‘He died doing what he loved.’ and ‘Ride on in heaven, bro!‘ which I found kind of shocking.
We try to make sense of tragedy, and tell ourselves something to make us feel better. But I just felt bad. This was just a young man, not even married, not yet a father, with his whole life ahead of him. But that life was cut short by a poor decision on the highway—simply tragic.
I quietly approached what I assumed was a sister or cousin, dressed in a purple T-shirt. I wanted to express my condolences for her loss. But the look in her eyes was so sad, it stopped me right there. I couldn’t even approach—I could feel the sadness radiating off her. I had to stifle tears for a young gearhead I had probably never met, but won’t soon forget.
My final thought was a message I saw silk-screened on the back of one motorcyclist’s hoodie.
It read ‘DRIVE SAFE. SOMEBODY LOVES YOU.”