Norm
Senior FZ6 Advisor
What’s that word we keep hearing when our new riders tell us about how they feel when they ride? Freedom! “I feel free”, is what I’ve read a thousand times. I’ve said it myself. A friend of mine from another forum has challenged new members: “Free? Free to roam around your lane? Free to have cars push you around and choke you with fumes? Free to leave your job or your family? Were you granted an exemption from paying income taxes, groceries, or speeding. How are you more free now than when you drove your car?” No one has risen to his challenge. No one has been able to explain why they suddenly feel free now that they ride. When so many people have used the same word to describe how they feel there simply must be a reason. So on their behalf I’ll take up the gauntlet.
Let us examine what happens when we decide to ride and not drive. Well first, of course, we’re riding and not driving. Riding a horse or a bike means we’re on top, not inside. Inside my hermetically sealed bigass SUV I listen to my radio, talk on the cell, curse out other drivers that are somehow bereft of the massive driving talent I was born with, and calculate the minutes to my destination. Brooklyn born and raised, I’m reticent to yield to any vehicle when I believe I’ve got the right of way. On my motorcycle I smile, talk to no one, avoid confrontation with wile and wits, and will yield to a 90 pound 16 year old in a Smart car. I don’t care so much about the destination as I do the journey. Didn’t some philosopher tell us to do that a long time ago?
On my bike, I am indeed exempt from many laws. “Fasten your seat belt. Click it or ticket”, and all that jazz. No seat belt for me Mr. lawman. No frontal airbag, side curtain airbags, no reinforced metal, crumple zones, engine in front of me, trunk in the back. I’m “out there” baby and it’s all legal. “No standing. Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.” Yea, that’s the sign at the roller coaster. I’ve ridden with no hands, stood on my pegs, and kicked my feet out over the frame sliders. Oh, and I have roamed about my lane when nobody’s looking.
“That’s all very interesting Norm. What’s your point?”
My point is a 51 year old physician, responsible dad and husband is acting like…a kid. And amazingly enough it’s legal. The cops won’t stop me. My friends have tried. They’ve hit me with statistics. “Riding a motorcycle is dangerous” they say. They talk about me amongst each other. They say I’ve got a screw loose. They’ve probably said worse. But I’ve noticed something else that differentiates us, something very important. I’m happy, very happy. They’re not. I haven’t felt this happy since I was in high school. I’ve thrown caution to the wind, traded down on safety and up on thrills. I’ve left airbags behind to feel the air. I’ve cancelled my subscription to air conditioning, leather wrapped steering wheel and seats for a handle bar and a saddle and I gave away 2 wheels and a spare for the only two that I need. Handle bars, two wheels, and wind in my face? Sounds like 15 years old to me.
“But how are you free Norm”
Let me ask you something. When you were 15 did you have a house or a mortgage? Did you worry how you were going to put the kids through college, get your increasingly confused and blind dad to give up his license, or how to get your pig of a boss off your back? Did you wonder when your life became “Groundhog Day”, day after day of smothering, unalterable, and excruciating sameness? I’ll answer this for you. No, you did not. When you rode your bike you were more free than anytime that followed. But all we wanted back then was to be older. We wanted to get our license and drive because driving would give us our freedom. What we did not know is that we were free when we were riding. Back then we wanted to drive and grow up and be married and have kids and a job and a paycheck. We did not know these wants would take away our freedom. We did not anticipate a beeper, a Blackberry, and a job would enslave us. It made us more and more a part of the machine we call civilized society. And we would feel anything but free.
Even with an abusive dad and distant mom I have never felt as free as I did as a kid. Other than keeping out of my dad’s hair and scavenging for a meal here and there I was happy most every day. I only cared to ride my bike to my friend’s house or sit on a tree stump and dream my dreams. I can’t pedal my bike like I used to. But I can ride my motorcycle. And I’ll take my chances, free of my safe car, to feel like I did back then. I had no safety net then. No net worth. No influential friends. And precious little responsibilities. And on my bike, where anyone, from any walk of life, can take me out in an instant, I somehow feel the way I did back then…alive…and free.
I haven’t lost my mind. At this point in my life I wear a lot of hats. I won’t walk away from my responsibilities as a dad, a husband, or a doctor. But when I’m on my bike, I only think about the ride, the smells and the scenery, good or bad, and the journey. The winds, the cars, and the pot holes challenge my otherwise routine life. At 15, it was all new. At 51, it all became old. But not on the bike. On my bike it’s new again. And I throw my hats away for a helmet. I trade my suit for a leather jacket. And whether I am really more free than I was before I cannot say. But it sure feels that way. I feel like a kid, and at least some of the rules just don’t apply to me.
Let us examine what happens when we decide to ride and not drive. Well first, of course, we’re riding and not driving. Riding a horse or a bike means we’re on top, not inside. Inside my hermetically sealed bigass SUV I listen to my radio, talk on the cell, curse out other drivers that are somehow bereft of the massive driving talent I was born with, and calculate the minutes to my destination. Brooklyn born and raised, I’m reticent to yield to any vehicle when I believe I’ve got the right of way. On my motorcycle I smile, talk to no one, avoid confrontation with wile and wits, and will yield to a 90 pound 16 year old in a Smart car. I don’t care so much about the destination as I do the journey. Didn’t some philosopher tell us to do that a long time ago?
On my bike, I am indeed exempt from many laws. “Fasten your seat belt. Click it or ticket”, and all that jazz. No seat belt for me Mr. lawman. No frontal airbag, side curtain airbags, no reinforced metal, crumple zones, engine in front of me, trunk in the back. I’m “out there” baby and it’s all legal. “No standing. Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.” Yea, that’s the sign at the roller coaster. I’ve ridden with no hands, stood on my pegs, and kicked my feet out over the frame sliders. Oh, and I have roamed about my lane when nobody’s looking.
“That’s all very interesting Norm. What’s your point?”
My point is a 51 year old physician, responsible dad and husband is acting like…a kid. And amazingly enough it’s legal. The cops won’t stop me. My friends have tried. They’ve hit me with statistics. “Riding a motorcycle is dangerous” they say. They talk about me amongst each other. They say I’ve got a screw loose. They’ve probably said worse. But I’ve noticed something else that differentiates us, something very important. I’m happy, very happy. They’re not. I haven’t felt this happy since I was in high school. I’ve thrown caution to the wind, traded down on safety and up on thrills. I’ve left airbags behind to feel the air. I’ve cancelled my subscription to air conditioning, leather wrapped steering wheel and seats for a handle bar and a saddle and I gave away 2 wheels and a spare for the only two that I need. Handle bars, two wheels, and wind in my face? Sounds like 15 years old to me.
“But how are you free Norm”
Let me ask you something. When you were 15 did you have a house or a mortgage? Did you worry how you were going to put the kids through college, get your increasingly confused and blind dad to give up his license, or how to get your pig of a boss off your back? Did you wonder when your life became “Groundhog Day”, day after day of smothering, unalterable, and excruciating sameness? I’ll answer this for you. No, you did not. When you rode your bike you were more free than anytime that followed. But all we wanted back then was to be older. We wanted to get our license and drive because driving would give us our freedom. What we did not know is that we were free when we were riding. Back then we wanted to drive and grow up and be married and have kids and a job and a paycheck. We did not know these wants would take away our freedom. We did not anticipate a beeper, a Blackberry, and a job would enslave us. It made us more and more a part of the machine we call civilized society. And we would feel anything but free.
Even with an abusive dad and distant mom I have never felt as free as I did as a kid. Other than keeping out of my dad’s hair and scavenging for a meal here and there I was happy most every day. I only cared to ride my bike to my friend’s house or sit on a tree stump and dream my dreams. I can’t pedal my bike like I used to. But I can ride my motorcycle. And I’ll take my chances, free of my safe car, to feel like I did back then. I had no safety net then. No net worth. No influential friends. And precious little responsibilities. And on my bike, where anyone, from any walk of life, can take me out in an instant, I somehow feel the way I did back then…alive…and free.
I haven’t lost my mind. At this point in my life I wear a lot of hats. I won’t walk away from my responsibilities as a dad, a husband, or a doctor. But when I’m on my bike, I only think about the ride, the smells and the scenery, good or bad, and the journey. The winds, the cars, and the pot holes challenge my otherwise routine life. At 15, it was all new. At 51, it all became old. But not on the bike. On my bike it’s new again. And I throw my hats away for a helmet. I trade my suit for a leather jacket. And whether I am really more free than I was before I cannot say. But it sure feels that way. I feel like a kid, and at least some of the rules just don’t apply to me.
Last edited:
opcorn: agreed....well put Norm!
