OK, full disclosure up front; I’m a bike nut. By saying ‘nut’, I don’t mean to imply that I’m reckless—I teach a couple dozen MSF motorcycle safety classes per year, and I try hard to practice what I preach. But I am compulsive about bikes; I live, and breathe, and dream motorcycles. I tell Sue that so long as it’s other bikes that catch my roving eye, as opposed to other women, then it’s OK.
Right? Well, yeah… so long as I don’t run up the debt.
I will never catch up with Jay Leno’s collection (not even close), but my next bike will make for a lifetime total of fifty (I’m aiming for one hundred, but don’t tell Sue). I suffer from MBS (Multiple Bike Syndrome), and it can be infectious. For those who know bikes, I currently own a Goldwing (Sue’s favorite), a Valkyrie Tourer, a Moto Guzzi 1200 Sport, and a Buell Ulysses.
Envious? You should be.
So, what is it about bikes? Why do some folk think that motorcyclists are crazy, while others (me, for one) cannot imagine why anyone would deprive themselves of such an exhilarating experience? As an aside, I have a cousin who once voiced the opinion that riding bikes was like riding a ‘murder-cycle’, and the kicker was that he’s a firefighter. That is a very admirable career and I laud him for it, but please—to chastise me for riding a motorcycle, while he voluntarily ventures into burning buildings!
But I digress. Back to the question: Why do some people so deeply love motorcycles? It’s no mystery to me, but when I try to describe the feeling to people who haven’t been there, it can be quite the challenge.
Sorta like trying to convince me of the allure of cauliflower.
I once read a statement by a fellow motorcycle fanatic, errr… aficionado, and he said something along the lines of ‘When you’re driving a car, it’s like sitting and watching a movie, but when you’re riding a bike, you are the movie.’ I think that sums it up pretty well.
Driving a car is not a simple thing (even though the people who text, or shave, or do whatever else while behind the wheel are in effect pretending that it is simple). But even so, riding a motorcycle requires a much higher level of participation.
My dear Mom is ninety and still drives her car. She’ll occasionally ride on the back of my Goldwing (a Barcalounger on wheels, as far as passenger accommodations go), but there is no way she could actually pilot a bike. On a bike the rider is very physically engaged, especially on twisty roads (the best kind), where the rider leans with the bike and shifts his body weight, rotating his focus through the curve while pressing through the corner, all while coordinating throttle, front and rear brakes and perhaps clutch control. And trying to ignore the giggling. Ooops, I guess that’s me…
It’s an invigorating experience; I feel very alive, and absorbed, when I ride. And all I have to do to live the thrill is roll the bike out of the garage and fire it up.
A common bit of advice is to write what you know, but how to incorporate motorcycles into a science fiction/fantasy novel? I compromised by deploying a purpose-built biped in ‘Guild of the Viizar’, where a conventional motorcycle would have been sorely out of place in the minimal-gravity lunar environment. Here’s a blurb.
The handlebar yanked violently in his white-knuckled grip, nearly wrenching itself free, and Airen found himself fighting to stay astride the vehicle as it skewed wildly to the left. He yelped—loud inside a suited helmet—and the front wheel was caught up in a diverging rut in the rocky formation concealed just below the loose, chalk-colored surface. Airen twisted the throttle open to lighten a front wheel that was digging in, and he wrenched the bars to free the wheel from its rutted diversion. Surface matter arced out in a lazily floating plume behind the paddle-treaded tire, lending the illusion of a sedate cruise. The rear end abruptly came back around, whipping nearly 180 degrees the opposite direction, and with little traction the biped slewed from side to side, threatening to suddenly catch and fling him headlong from the saddle.
Sound like fun?
On rare occasion a driver (‘cager’, in bike-speak) who pulls up beside me at a traffic light might scowl in disapproval, but more common is the melancholy smile and nod of the head from someone who is likely thinking something along the lines of ‘What an adventure! I wish that was me…’
If that has ever been you, encased in the boxed-in, sterile environs of your car and casting that wistful smile, I would suggest that you give motorcycling a try. What the heck, you’ve only got one run around the circuit, right? I could dredge up other clichés, like ‘grab the golden ring’, or ‘it’s on the bucket list’, but the truth is that there will come the day for each of us when such adventures are no longer an option.
Two scenarios, as best I can figure: we get old and die, or we die young, and in the meantime we have either taken those adventures we someday thought we might, or we haven’t. My brother (another bike nut, especially over BMW’s) recently sent me this link to a video that makes me think of that person eying my bike with envy. Check it out: Out of the Rut
So if you’re tempted by that vision of personal freedom, sign up for one of the MSF beginner’s courses, often offered at places like Vocational Colleges (google it—you’ll get results). You don’t need to own a bike, the class provides small, un-intimidating machines to learn on. When I started coaching I thought the students would be mostly young males, like when I started out long ago, but in reality the students span a wide spectrum, where it’s not unusual for middle-agers and seniors to outnumber the young, or for female students to outnumber the males.
Maybe the bug will bite, and you’ll get that seriously cool Triumph 1200 Explorer before I add it to my stable. Or maybe you’ll enjoy the bike class, but decide that it’s not for you, and you’ll try something else adventurous, like piloting a gyrocopter over the cane-fields of south Florida.
Hmmmm—I used to do that, but that’s another blog.