I plan to attend a motorcycle rally tomorrow. A reasonable person might expect a motorcycle rally to be filled with eccentrics in Harley shirts and leathers, with long beards, shaved heads, handlebar mustaches, and tattoos. And, sure, you get some of that. But most folks that go to these things are nerds. Like me. In fact, there are so many geeks, nerds, dweebs, and wierdos that show up that if not for the presence of the bikes, one could mistake the event for a Star Trek convention.
The truth is, the typical Hell’s Angel ain’t so typical anymore. We’re talking doctors, lawyers, and folks like that. At one time, four pharmacists I worked with rode their bikes to work. We’d park all five bikes together, making our little drug store look like a biker bar.
It doesn’t matter who is riding. There is an unspoken camaraderie between motorcyclists. We watch out for each other. For instance, we always stick our left hand out in greeting to other bikes on the road. If a group is riding formation, they’ll typically allow others to join. Riding bikes is dangerous—not usually because bikers don’t know what they’re doing (though there is some of that), but because other motorists don’t watch out for bikers. So we have to watch out for each other.
Thus the motorcycle rally tomorrow. It’s an awareness rally—an annual reminder to folks to watch out for bikes; we share the road. A couple of years ago, my parents were hit by a carload of teenagers playing game called, “how many stop signs can we run without hitting someone.” My parents were the unlucky answer to that question. The Valkyrie they were riding was knocked into the oncoming lane of traffic, and they ended up underneath a truck that hit them.
By all accounts, they should be dead. In fact, Dad’s hearts stopped 3 or 4 times on the way to the ER. He had over 20 broken bones, if I remember right. His has been a long, hard recovery. At least he’s alive. The bike wasn’t so lucky. However, I spoke to Dad this morning and he’s ready to buy a new bike. He gets knocked down, but he gets up again. That’s the true biker spirit. I guess if riding kills you, you die living. Personally, I can’t think of a better way to go.
I ride a Kawasaki Vulcan Classic 1500. It’s very cool, not to mention the first vehicle I’ve ever owned that wasn’t entirely embarrassing. When the weather cooperates, I ride it just about everyday to and from work—and just about everywhere else. I even ride in the cold. There’s nothing like the easyrider feeling of being free on two wheels. It’s even better with my sweetheart’s arms wrapped around my waist. Also, I love to ride with my riding partners, my dad and brother. We share the passion.
Well, I guess I’d better get some sleep so I can be refreshed and ready for tomorrow. I’d hate to miss the Star Trek convention…I mean motorcycle rally.
The truth is, the typical Hell’s Angel ain’t so typical anymore. We’re talking doctors, lawyers, and folks like that. At one time, four pharmacists I worked with rode their bikes to work. We’d park all five bikes together, making our little drug store look like a biker bar.
It doesn’t matter who is riding. There is an unspoken camaraderie between motorcyclists. We watch out for each other. For instance, we always stick our left hand out in greeting to other bikes on the road. If a group is riding formation, they’ll typically allow others to join. Riding bikes is dangerous—not usually because bikers don’t know what they’re doing (though there is some of that), but because other motorists don’t watch out for bikers. So we have to watch out for each other.
Thus the motorcycle rally tomorrow. It’s an awareness rally—an annual reminder to folks to watch out for bikes; we share the road. A couple of years ago, my parents were hit by a carload of teenagers playing game called, “how many stop signs can we run without hitting someone.” My parents were the unlucky answer to that question. The Valkyrie they were riding was knocked into the oncoming lane of traffic, and they ended up underneath a truck that hit them.
By all accounts, they should be dead. In fact, Dad’s hearts stopped 3 or 4 times on the way to the ER. He had over 20 broken bones, if I remember right. His has been a long, hard recovery. At least he’s alive. The bike wasn’t so lucky. However, I spoke to Dad this morning and he’s ready to buy a new bike. He gets knocked down, but he gets up again. That’s the true biker spirit. I guess if riding kills you, you die living. Personally, I can’t think of a better way to go.
I ride a Kawasaki Vulcan Classic 1500. It’s very cool, not to mention the first vehicle I’ve ever owned that wasn’t entirely embarrassing. When the weather cooperates, I ride it just about everyday to and from work—and just about everywhere else. I even ride in the cold. There’s nothing like the easyrider feeling of being free on two wheels. It’s even better with my sweetheart’s arms wrapped around my waist. Also, I love to ride with my riding partners, my dad and brother. We share the passion.
Well, I guess I’d better get some sleep so I can be refreshed and ready for tomorrow. I’d hate to miss the Star Trek convention…I mean motorcycle rally.
1 comment:
So I went to the rally. Nerds, geeks, dweebs, and wierdos aside, it was really fun. I rode beside my dad with my niece on the back of his bike, and my brother on his bike. We paraded throughout the city with 200-300 other folks and a police escort. I really had a great time. I had to take off early to go to work, but the ride was nice.
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