Am I a biker?
I had a great day on my motorcycle yesterday. My lovely wife, Dellis, needed my truck for a work related function that she was in charge of organizing. I’d be joining her later, but I had my own function to attend a little earlier in the day. My good friend, the writer William “Buzz” Snyder, was in town to promote his latest book, “The Spirit Guide Bar” and I’d made the commitment to attend his book signing (at the Book Frog in Palos Verdes).
There was a couple of clear options for me. I could either take my wife’s car (which is okay, but, you know, just kind of routine) or I could take my motorcycle (and that would be the perfectly awesome alternative to routine).
Let me explain where I am with riding.
I’ve had my license for just a year (and a coupe of weeks) and I bought my Kawasaki Vulcan 900 last October. The whole motorcycling experience is very new to me. Heck, I’d never even ridden before I took the Basic Rider Course in order to get my license.
There are people who ride that probably don’t even think about being on a bike. It’s just a natural thing for them. I’m like that with driving a car, so I know how routine it might be. That’s not the case for me in riding a motorcycle. Since my life never involved being on a motorcycle before and since it’s still such a new experience, I really feel the difference whenever I’m riding somewhere on the bike. Just about everybody I know has the same basic advice for me.
Be careful.
Mostly I am. (whoa, what do you mean, mostly?) Well, I’m very careful when I ride. Nearly everyone I’ve talked to has a story of witnessing or knowing of someone who has been in a terrible motorcycle accident. It’s not inherently safe to sit on an engine with two wheels and handlebars while traveling at freeway speeds (on the actual freeway). I really just don’t want people to say things to each other after I’m gone.
“Well, he probably would have died comfortably in bed if he hadn’t taken up motorcycle riding. Who wants more pie?”
I chose the bike instead of the car.
It was time to go. I already had my helmet and jacket and gloves on; I’d also checked my tires and inspected the bike, so I rolled it in neutral out of the garage down to the end of my driveway. I turned the key, gave it some gas and hit the starter. VRROOOOM. I there and let the bike warm up. The visor on my helmet was up and I had sunglasses on. The street was empty. I squeezed the clutch and stepped down into first. Gave it a little gas, slowly released the clutch and moved forward. I own a corner house, so I rolled maybe twenty feet to the stop sign at the end of my street, stopped and looked both ways. Nothing was coming. I shut my visor. VRROOOOOOOM.
It is exciting for me.
I have neighbors who ride. There’s one who buys and sells motorcycles and I’ve seen him have twenty or more lined up in front of his house. Just taking off for a ride is just simply taking off for a ride, I’m sure. Still, I always kind of hope my neighbors see me when I leave. I also hope I don’t do something stupid. It still always seems like that might be a possibility.
I could go on and describe every part of my ride. I always drive the long ways around my neighborhood, just in case something is wrong (I’d rather know before I get on the freeway). I’m pretty comfortable in traffic, but I’m not comfortable splitting lanes. I thought I’d need to add a windshield to my bike, but I’m actually getting used to not having one. I like giving the bike some gas when I’m riding next to a car. Not for any reason other than to make sure the car knows I’m there. It’s all interesting to me, but I believe that’s because I’m still new to it all.
I rode to Palos Verdes. After the book signing,I went had pizza with Bill Snyder, his family and fans. Rode the bike over to Carson for Dellis’ event just as the sun was starting to go down.
It was funny, nobody knew I was on a motorcycle until a security guard needed it (and another vehicle) moved out of the loading zone where I’d parked.
That seemed to cause a little bit of buzzing. Dellis’ husband rides a motorcycle.
After the event was over, I helped Dellis load up the truck and we drove home. She drove the truck. I was on the motorcycle. My main thoughts were, of course, don’t let me die on this motorcycle while my wife is watching. She would probably not like seeing that happen.
“I always worried that he was going to get killed riding that motorcycle. Is there any more pie?”
We made it safely home. I put the bike away and just felt that the day was pretty perfect. I got to eat drink and have fun with a lot of people who mean a lot to me. I got to ride, maybe not as much as most have ridden in a day, but certainly as much as I’ve ridden.
Does that make me a biker?
I don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need any sort of label at all. Just let me get on my bike and ride.
VRRROOOOOOOOOMMMM!
“Let’s go get more pie!”
