Cycle-wary
Why I Love/Hate Motorcycles
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
An old biker adage says there are two kinds of motorcycle riders: those who have been down, and those who are going down.
Bikers court danger; it’s part of the thrill of riding. And the axiom is their way of acknowledging the inevitable.
Spend enough time in the World of Two Wheels, though, and you become forcibly acquainted with a third category: Riders who have been down and down and down again. Knocked down and plowed down. Dragged behind trucks. Pinched between fenders. Raked across loose gravel.
Starshine Roshell
My dad falls into this category—tumbles into it regularly, in fact. Dad loves biking for its “illusion of flying” but too often experiences the “actuality of flying” while hurtling through an intersection face-first. The details of his many hospital-requiring collisions congeal in my memory; sutures blend into slings blend into surgeries. But I can recall with startling accuracy the sickening feeling of hearing him say, each time, “I’m really lucky. I should have been dead.”
Last week, two days after Dad’s 65th birthday, an SUV plowed through a red light, busting his clavicle in two. It wasn’t the first time he’d broken a clavicle. It wasn’t even the first time he’d broken that clavicle. But it was the first time I resented him for making me worry so much.
The thing is, I get it. I understand the allure. I grew up on a motorcycle. Dad had me riding his 1937 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead before I could walk, my car seat strapped to the sissy bar with bungee cords. When he picked me up from grade school on his chopper, my classmates stood at the fence and watched me climb on, start the engine, and gun the accelerator before we howled off.
He adapts his bikes with a “suicide” foot clutch and jockey shift lever made from a chrome sword handle. In a word, they’re bitchin’.
In college, I got a Class M license and piloted a Honda scooter around L.A. I had some near misses, frequently froze my throttle off, and could scarcely get to class when it rained. But I loved the bike’s alchemic ability to turn still air into bracing, skin-whipping wind. I loved zig-zagging between clunky sedans on clogged urban arteries and parking any-flipping-where I wanted. I loved leaning my body into the bends of the road and having a roller coaster at my fingertips.
Riding a motorcycle isn’t just exhilarating. It’s life-affirming, like riding a bullet. With the street a menacing black blur streaming just inches beneath your feet, you’re so close to danger it’s intoxicating. And like any good drug, it clouds your judgment.
Once, Dad took my young son for a ride. Outfitted in a leather jacket, skull-cap helmet, and the widest smile of his life thus far, my kid cruised Santa Barbara with his bugs-in-the-teeth granddad. Days later, alone in the saddle again, Dad was clipped by a truck and dragged across pavement for a dozen feet on the mangled hog.
He was really lucky. He should have been dead. The more he wrecks, the more I fret, but I can’t ask him to stop. Because the more he climbs back on, the more I realize how much he loves it.
Dad’s given up other vices: drinking, smoking. He’s trying to quit donuts. And this last wreck may have finally convinced him to hang up his helmet. “When it’s doing more to you than it does for you, it’s time to quit,” he told me recently, to my shock.
Hard to imagine Dad trading the illusion of flying for the reality of living. But I sure love the image of him zooming freely into a fourth category of biker: Those who are done going down.
Related Links
Starshine Roshell is the author of Keep Your Skirt On.
Comments
Great article.
DougL (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 6:04 a.m. (Suggest removal)
Yeah it is too bad these particular machines are allowed on the public street system. I could not drive my highly regulated and much safer, seat belted, air-bagged four wheeled car around with a big hole in it's muffler while spewing excessively toxic fumes but yet these addicted riders are allowed these special freedoms.
DonMcDermott (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 7:54 a.m. (Suggest removal)
There comes a time in every sane rider's life when they realize: 1) the odds of a seriously debilitating or life-ending mishap are stacked horribly against them; 2) they are not immune to the laws of physics, weather, or random acts of stupidity commited by inattentive drivers; and 3) giving up the two-wheeled life is an altogether better choice than expecting those you care about to continue reliving your senseless death in a bike crash. For me, that realization came at age 28, after several close calls.
niceFLguy (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 9:40 a.m. (Suggest removal)
I chickened out at about 24, after laying down my bike after making a simple turn in perfect conditions.
Chester_Arthur_Burnett (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 9:52 a.m. (Suggest removal)
So, Don, how is the gas mileage on your car??
Are you aware of the typical gas mileage a motorcycle gets?
loonpt (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 10:08 a.m. (Suggest removal)
aside from a BSA twin with flames painted on the gas tank decades ago, i confess to riding rice burners. one was a honda 500cc vee twin, shaft drive, liquid cooled, red-lined at 10,000 rpm, shift out of second at 50 mph. i raced once with a young harley rider on hwy 33 below casitas springs. he had the costume on, sleeveless levi shirt, keychain on belt loop, tattoos and bandana. we got near a hundred and had to slow down. he laughed and shook his hands, the vibration tingled them, fun but illegal.
another nice bike was the yamaha 500cc single, a thumper, plenty of torque, leap across the intersection before the driver on the right remembered where the accelerator pedal was, throw it around bends on casitas pass, only weighed 264lb!
i liked your dad's words, "if it does more to you than for you....." now if i could just apply that to my vodka intake. nothing like grabbing a handful of throttle and having enough power to straighten one's arms. hang on!
richardsinclair (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 4:06 p.m. (Suggest removal)
one last comment; a friend in ojai restored a knucklehead. when i entered his tiny house the entire motorcycle was in pieces on the floor in his living room. he brought it back to life and it was a dramatic day when he first cranked her up. it had the suicide clutch and shift lever. pat faughnan was his name, now lives in SB i think. there was a very good article on motorcycling in harper's of all places. i can't transfer it from my email to here.
richardsinclair (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 4:23 p.m. (Suggest removal)
"Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone" -John Mellencamp- (From "Jack and Diane")
Your dad hasn't lost the thrill of living, which ironically, despite it's dangers, will probably add many years onto his life. Either way, he's gotten more out of 65 years than many get out of 90 years.
billclausen (anonymous profile)
May 19, 2010 at 6:58 p.m. (Suggest removal)
loonpt; 30 mpg. But I hope you don't want to get into a silly discussion about mpg; unless you want to crunch the differing mpgs of a dead or paralyzed 2 wheeler. I'd calculate the mpg for the deceased at zero. But depending on the vehicle of an LVN for a surviving acutely injured you could calculate a rather high mpg. I admit I don't even know how to calculate the mpg if you forego an LVN and instead a relative stays at home 24/7/ 365 as a caregiver to rotate every 2 hours around the clock and wipe twice a day. It is your choice but my discussion here is for concern is for safety and impacts to the environment we all share and live in, regardless of all these thrilling and invigorating options promoted by profiteers.
DonMcDermott (anonymous profile)
May 20, 2010 at 8:06 a.m. (Suggest removal)
It's life--you get to pick your own damage, be it motorcycles, vodka, pot, and even meth (although too many blindly get into seriously addictive drugs, and then are stuck).
@DonMcDermott
Do you realize that no matter how much "safety" equipment is mandated to be in/on cars, the U.S. will never be able to fix the one part that would make a difference: the driver. Mechanically, it's a spiral, where cars get more powerful and go faster, which causes more damage in a crash, which leads to more safety equipment, and more weight, which requires more horsepower (to get the same--or better--performance), which makes the car go faster, and so on, and so on. . . .
Sure, modern bikes are crazy-fast, but cycling also falls into the baliwick of Darwinism.
Disclaimer: I started riding at 15, and am almost 40 now. Recently, I just got a new bike after a layoff of about a decade.
equus_posteriori (anonymous profile)
May 20, 2010 at 8:39 a.m. (Suggest removal)
It amazes me that I never, ever hear about the inadequacies of the two-wheeler driver? Are they 100% idiot-free? Hmmmm. My experience(s) on the highway (I commute about 500 miles a week through LA and IE traffic) offers a different take. There are just as many idiots on two-wheels as there are sittin' on four and 18.
brimo7272 (anonymous profile)
May 20, 2010 at 1:20 p.m. (Suggest removal)
@brimo7272
A good point. However, there are a LOT more cars to bikes on the road, and therefore a lot more idiots in "cages". [Counter-counterpoint: It's possible that a larger percentage of motorcyclists are "squids", which backs your original point, an might be seen as a simple off-set.]
In any case, there is far more at risk to a motorcyclist by "cagers", than there is the other way 'round. And, on top of that, I've already mentioned the Darwinism inherent in the motorcycle lifestyle.
Lastly, the part of my previous post about having better drivers was more of a general rant, rather than a bike vs. car one.
equus_posteriori (anonymous profile)
May 27, 2010 at 10:13 a.m. (Suggest removal)