I love motorcycles. Always have and always will. I grew up in the 60’s, when Honda pretty much cornered the light motorcycle market in the U.S. To own a Honda 50 was the coolest thing in the world, and a 300 Dream was, well, a Dream! However, I was not allowed to get anywhere near a motorcycle. This was due to the fact that when my father was 13, he pulled out in front of a car on a 1937 Indian and was hit broadside. So, motorcycles were off limits. I could fly with him in airplanes, though, but that’s another subject for another day.
As I grew up, I loved riding bikes when I could, and when I turned 21 I acquired a Honda 550 Four and rode it for one glorious summer. To me, there is nothing more beautiful than the gleaming chrome, paint and iron of a fine motorcycle, and the freedom of the wind and the road. I love ’em. Always have and always will.
What I can’t stand are the knuckleheads who ride them. Now, before you tie me down with a saddle strap and beat me with a pair of ape hangers, hear me out. I am not referring to the cyclists who ride for both pleasure and transportation, the enthusiasts and aficionados who obey the traffic laws and ride alone or in groups, from the mountains to the sea. I certainly am not referring to those who may be retired, exploring America on a fine road bike pulling a travel trailer. Quite the opposite, of you I am fairly envious. Nor am I referring to groups (I refuse to call them gangs) of bikers, for whom riding and the open road is a way of life. I have always observed these groups to be nothing but courteous and considerate on the road, wanting nothing more than to be left alone and to ride.
What I’m referring to are the knuckleheads, usually on crotch rockets but on road bikes as well, who insist on running 150+ mph on the expressways, usually in groups of two to twenty and always in traffic. You know who you are. And, if you are one of those and are reading this, shame on you. If it offends you, I don’t give a damn. It’s idiots like you who give all motorcyclists a bad name. All it takes is one false move from you or a car you are terrorizing, one loose rock on the asphalt, a slung retread in the road, and your ass is airborne, most probably to The Great Beyond. If you have a death wish, fine, go find an empty road and test God and Luck there. But don’t put the lives of innocent people who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time in danger. At 150 miles per hour with your dumb ass at the controls, a motorcycle is no longer a motorcycle but an extremely dangerous weapon. And if you happen to be riding on the back with one of these cowboys, congratulations. You’re even stupider than they are.
One Sunday Jackie and I were on the way home from The Varsity with our 9 year old nephew. I saw the swarm coming in the rear view mirror, at least 30 crotch rockets running way over 100. Weaving in and out of traffic and amongst themselves, all I could do was slow down and pray none of them hit us, someone around us, or one another. You may think it’s cool. It’s not. You may think it proves you are a great rider. It doesn’t. If you were a great rider, you would be on a racetrack, not I-20. All it proves is that you’re a knucklehead with no regard for your life or anyone else’s.
Forgive me for my soapbox rant, but this is something I feel very strongly about. And, the sad thing is, there is really not much that can be done about it. I have a good friend who is a police officer. I asked him about it once, and he said, “by the time we get the call and get after them, they’re probably halfway to South Carolina. All we can do is show up when they crash and scrape ’em off the road or the wall.” Notice he said ‘when’ and not ‘if’.
But, cops are all idiots, so go ahead. Lean forward and crack down on it. They’ll never catch you. At least not until they show up with the shovels and the bags… Still Cruisin’! –J.
Well said, brother. Ditto on everything.