I like to think of myself as an author, or at least a writer. Published authors tend to sneer at that; because if you’re not published, you’re not an author. In any case, I like to think that I can take a nebulous concept or experience and articulate it well enough that anyone who reads it understands the concept or is transported to that experience. But one experience I’ve always had trouble conveying is riding a motorcycle. How do you concisely explain such a visceral experience? How do you make the reader feel the same things you did? I’m not alone in this, I know; many others before me have tried with varying results. The word “freedom” gets tossed about a lot, itself a rather vague and nebulous word. And “freedom” in some senses is the wrong word- I can hop in a car in a split second and get to the same places. If I want to hop on the bike, in involves a pre-flight list. Cold out- thermal undies? Check. Long pants? Check. High-top boots? Check. Leather jacket? Check. Helmet? Check. Winter gloves? Check. I ride a carbureted bike, so starting it in this weather involves a bit of choke tweaking and a warm-up period. Riding itself involves a lot more concentration that the average car driver gives to their driving- There is no protection on a bike, therefore all the clothing. Everyone else on the road is out to kill you; and sometimes, the road itself is too. You’re going to hit the pavement in a wreck, usually at a decent speed; and with two wheels, it doesn’t take much to end up in a wreck. So why the hell does anyone ride a motorcycle?
As you’ve probably guessed, I went for a short ride today, despite the fact that the high was somehwere just over 40. Those of you from cooler climes are probably scoffing right now; but I’m a Georgia boy. 40 is downright cold. We only see temperatures below freezing for a few weeks out of the year, and then usually only at night. But, I try to ride the bike at least once a week in the winter to keep from having to winterize it and put it away; as it’s supposed to snow/rain tonight, I figured this would be the only chance I’d get this week. So I shrugged into all the clothes, put on the helmet, and rode one of the shorter loops around the county.
The same drawbacks I mentioned above- the preparation, the lack of protection- are probably the very same reasons I ride. It is something more than just hopping in the car and going to the store- it’s a process, a ritual almost. While there are some that will hop on a bike in shorts and flip-flops (squids), their life expectancy is usually low. (and yes, I’ve done it before myself) “Pre-flight” was an altogether apt description of what’s going on. It turns the ride into something more than just routine. The lack of protection means that your life really is in your hands… the only thing that will keep you from becoming a skidmark is your own skill in handling the bike in any condition, no matter what the other drivers on the road are doing. You can’t trust in the airbag, the seatbelt, or the crumple zones to save your life if something happens, because their aren’t any.
Where my description breaks down is in describing the sensation of riding. You’re zipping down the road at 60; if you take your foot off the peg and drop it a foot or so, you’re touching pavement. There it is, rushing under your boot, a hard reality that modern cars make a distant notion. “Becoming one with the vehicle” is another oft-used phrase that’s so much cliche; but that’s what it is. If it wouldn’t screw up the center of gravity, I’d like to see a bike that doesn’t put anything in front of you- no gauges, no windscreen, nothing in front of you but the road. It’s the closest sensation to flying you’ll get in a land vehicle. On a good bike, every move you make is translated into the bike- you want to zip through this tight right-hand curve, you move the bike with your body. If you do it right, it’s not just a curve; it’s your own personal roller-coaster ride that you control. Riding the line through a good set of sweeping curves is a tremendous sense of accomplishment; akin, I would guess, to the feeling jet pilots have executing a tricky aerobatic maneuver; just with less chance of ending up as a fireball.
That’s probably why I’ll never own a cruiser or huge Goldwing-ish touring bike. I haven’t ridden one yet that didn’t remove you even further from the road, which is why I’m riding in the first place. Too much bike and you might as well be driving a car.
In other news this past week, I completed Field Sobriety Instructor. Another buy-bust that ended up in a car chase… Our Heroes were supposed to be selling 25 pounds of weed, but instead were aiming to rob the sellers- us. They ended up ditching their car in a neighboring county and I got my good shoes covered in mud searching for them in a field. We caught the driver that day, and the bag they ditched… which contained 40 pounds of primo, high-grade pine straw. That’s right, pine straw. Well, it’s still conspiracy to traffic; and at least they didn’t go further with the plans to rob the buyers; that could have turned out very ugly for all involved. Heh… the biggest grass bust in the county’s history… literally. Tomorrow I teach a basic RADAR class, provided the weather isn’t too ugly to scare off the students.
Actually, I hate this stereotype… the donut-eating cop. You can see the donut shop is closed, and they’re actually eating at the restaurant next door to it. But… I do still have a sense of humor, and this is a funny picture. I can still laugh at myself.