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An open letter to every person I meet who finds out I ride a motorcycle
Let me stop you right there, mmmm-kay? I can tell by that little intake of breath whatÔÇÖs coming next. Thank you in advance, but I already know that motorcycles are ÔÇ£dangerous.ÔÇØ After nearly twenty years of riding on the streets, I am aware; telling me now will not be a revelation. It is not an insight into my lifestyle that has remained hidden from me until this, the moment of epiphany when you shine the light of outsider wisdom on my foolhardy choices.
There are ways I can minimize the risk ÔÇö by riding defensively, riding sober, knowing my own and my machineÔÇÖs capabilities, etc. ÔÇö but I also know there are some risks that are simply beyond my control. But you know what? There a lots of risks that are within my control. WeÔÇÖve become so pathologically risk-averse that for most people it is inconceivable to assume any additional risk no matter how much joy you might get back in return. *
You want to know whatÔÇÖs truly dangerous?*Not taking any risks. Hanging out with like-minded middle-of-the-roaders. Absorbing the same brain-ossifying **** from media factories every day. Jogging. Putting helmets, flotation devices, and auto-deploy epi-pens on your kids every time they leave the house. Passivity. Not paying attention to where your car, or your life, or you country is going. *
If you donÔÇÖt get that, thatÔÇÖs OK. IÔÇÖm not trying to convert anybody, but here are a few tips to save us both a little aggravation:
You donÔÇÖt need to tell me the horror story about your uncleÔÇÖs buddy who wiped out his chopper while drag racing at some hooligan rally. That just makes me wish I were talking to your uncleÔÇÖs buddy instead of you. He sounds pretty cool.
Do not ÔÇö do NOT ÔÇö tell me about the time you almost Sausage Creatured a biker because you ÔÇ£couldnÔÇÖt see himÔÇØ or he ÔÇ£came out of nowhere.ÔÇØ I have never known a bike to come out of nowhere, but I have seen plenty of cars pull a Crazy Ivan and turn into a lane occupied by a biker or make an impromptu unsignalled left turn in front of an oncoming me. If youÔÇÖre expecting me to share your outrage at the temerity of bikers to be in the lane you want, youÔÇÖre more deluded than a goldfish with a passport. I canÔÇÖt make you see bikes.*I canÔÇÖt make you hang up your phone. They wonÔÇÖt let me mount a .50-caliber machine gun to my bike. So really, thereÔÇÖs not much I can do to change the outcome of your anecdote, so save it for your coreligionists who also have stick-figure families and giant softball stickers with the name ÔÇ£TailyrÔÇØ or ÔÇ£FlynnÔÇØ or ÔÇ£ShylyÔÇØ on their rear windows.
I do wear a helmet, as a matter of fact, along with other protective gear. But, the fact that you ÔÇ£certainly hopeÔÇØ I wear a helmet is so condescending it makes me want to ride a tricycle completely naked doing doughnuts in your front yard screaming Beastie Boys lyrics at midnight. Trust me, you do not want that. My buttocks are extremely pale and unsightly, especially in moonlight.
Please, do not complain about bikes parking in car parking spaces. Where are we supposed to park? If they let us park up on the curb like in Europe, we would totally do that, and precious few parking lots have motorcycle parking areas. Most cops already have a hard-on for bikes, so parking anywhere but in a designated spot is asking to be impounded.
Yes, I know, some bikes have very loud exhaust. Maybe itÔÇÖs obnoxious, but at least you knew they were there, didnÔÇÖt you? They say loud pipes save lives. I donÔÇÖt know if thatÔÇÖs true, because there hasnÔÇÖt been a serious comprehensive study of motorcycle safety since 1981, the poetically named Hurt Report. And yes, I know, at one point you probably saw some kid riding his 600cc sport bike at 100mph doing a wheelie down the freeway. HeÔÇÖs a squid, and heÔÇÖll either grow up or just take care of himself. Some bikers do crazy things. Anti-social things. Unsanctioned things. I donÔÇÖt represent him and he doesnÔÇÖt represent me ÔÇö thatÔÇÖs the great part of being a biker. *I could be a Lowbrow Weirdo or Antoine Predock or Lyle Lovett or just whatever I want to be.
If youÔÇÖre really so all-fire concerned about my safety, donÔÇÖt preach at me. Just do me this one favor: *pay attention when youÔÇÖre driving. Keep your greasy fingers off your touch-screen, put down your phone, use your turn signals and lay off the booze before you get on the road with me. You take care of your part and IÔÇÖll take care of mine.
But hang-gliding, man, that **** is crazy.
Carter Edman is an architect, writer, and rider in Cleveland, Ohio. He teaches ÔÇ£Motorcycles and American CultureÔÇØ and other courses at Case Western Reserve University.
Carter Edman. June 6th, 2012
An open letter to every person I meet who finds out I ride a motorcycle
Let me stop you right there, mmmm-kay? I can tell by that little intake of breath whatÔÇÖs coming next. Thank you in advance, but I already know that motorcycles are ÔÇ£dangerous.ÔÇØ After nearly twenty years of riding on the streets, I am aware; telling me now will not be a revelation. It is not an insight into my lifestyle that has remained hidden from me until this, the moment of epiphany when you shine the light of outsider wisdom on my foolhardy choices.
There are ways I can minimize the risk ÔÇö by riding defensively, riding sober, knowing my own and my machineÔÇÖs capabilities, etc. ÔÇö but I also know there are some risks that are simply beyond my control. But you know what? There a lots of risks that are within my control. WeÔÇÖve become so pathologically risk-averse that for most people it is inconceivable to assume any additional risk no matter how much joy you might get back in return. *
You want to know whatÔÇÖs truly dangerous?*Not taking any risks. Hanging out with like-minded middle-of-the-roaders. Absorbing the same brain-ossifying **** from media factories every day. Jogging. Putting helmets, flotation devices, and auto-deploy epi-pens on your kids every time they leave the house. Passivity. Not paying attention to where your car, or your life, or you country is going. *
If you donÔÇÖt get that, thatÔÇÖs OK. IÔÇÖm not trying to convert anybody, but here are a few tips to save us both a little aggravation:
You donÔÇÖt need to tell me the horror story about your uncleÔÇÖs buddy who wiped out his chopper while drag racing at some hooligan rally. That just makes me wish I were talking to your uncleÔÇÖs buddy instead of you. He sounds pretty cool.
Do not ÔÇö do NOT ÔÇö tell me about the time you almost Sausage Creatured a biker because you ÔÇ£couldnÔÇÖt see himÔÇØ or he ÔÇ£came out of nowhere.ÔÇØ I have never known a bike to come out of nowhere, but I have seen plenty of cars pull a Crazy Ivan and turn into a lane occupied by a biker or make an impromptu unsignalled left turn in front of an oncoming me. If youÔÇÖre expecting me to share your outrage at the temerity of bikers to be in the lane you want, youÔÇÖre more deluded than a goldfish with a passport. I canÔÇÖt make you see bikes.*I canÔÇÖt make you hang up your phone. They wonÔÇÖt let me mount a .50-caliber machine gun to my bike. So really, thereÔÇÖs not much I can do to change the outcome of your anecdote, so save it for your coreligionists who also have stick-figure families and giant softball stickers with the name ÔÇ£TailyrÔÇØ or ÔÇ£FlynnÔÇØ or ÔÇ£ShylyÔÇØ on their rear windows.
I do wear a helmet, as a matter of fact, along with other protective gear. But, the fact that you ÔÇ£certainly hopeÔÇØ I wear a helmet is so condescending it makes me want to ride a tricycle completely naked doing doughnuts in your front yard screaming Beastie Boys lyrics at midnight. Trust me, you do not want that. My buttocks are extremely pale and unsightly, especially in moonlight.
Please, do not complain about bikes parking in car parking spaces. Where are we supposed to park? If they let us park up on the curb like in Europe, we would totally do that, and precious few parking lots have motorcycle parking areas. Most cops already have a hard-on for bikes, so parking anywhere but in a designated spot is asking to be impounded.
Yes, I know, some bikes have very loud exhaust. Maybe itÔÇÖs obnoxious, but at least you knew they were there, didnÔÇÖt you? They say loud pipes save lives. I donÔÇÖt know if thatÔÇÖs true, because there hasnÔÇÖt been a serious comprehensive study of motorcycle safety since 1981, the poetically named Hurt Report. And yes, I know, at one point you probably saw some kid riding his 600cc sport bike at 100mph doing a wheelie down the freeway. HeÔÇÖs a squid, and heÔÇÖll either grow up or just take care of himself. Some bikers do crazy things. Anti-social things. Unsanctioned things. I donÔÇÖt represent him and he doesnÔÇÖt represent me ÔÇö thatÔÇÖs the great part of being a biker. *I could be a Lowbrow Weirdo or Antoine Predock or Lyle Lovett or just whatever I want to be.
If youÔÇÖre really so all-fire concerned about my safety, donÔÇÖt preach at me. Just do me this one favor: *pay attention when youÔÇÖre driving. Keep your greasy fingers off your touch-screen, put down your phone, use your turn signals and lay off the booze before you get on the road with me. You take care of your part and IÔÇÖll take care of mine.
But hang-gliding, man, that **** is crazy.
Carter Edman is an architect, writer, and rider in Cleveland, Ohio. He teaches ÔÇ£Motorcycles and American CultureÔÇØ and other courses at Case Western Reserve University.
Carter Edman. June 6th, 2012
