Joys of Motorcycling
I am a buttoned-up type guy, and people who know me are often curious as to what possessed me to ride motorcycles. There is nothing in my past that would suggest any interest in motorcycles, an inherently dangerous activity with its rebellious, bad boy and anti-establishment images. I do not expect naysayers to be convinced by my story. Bikers, on the other hand, will recognize similar feelings, thoughts and experiences.
My Story
I recall watching a television program about a guy and his obsession with a Jaguar XJS V12 Coupe. It was Jaguar green, tan leather interior, with a hood that seemed to go on forever. Not something that I ever fancied, but it was beautiful. The guy was just completely enamored with the car, shining, wiping it down every day, and standing back admiring it. He only drove it on Sundays. I envied that guy and wondered what it would be like to be so passionate about something.
My brother has ridden motorcycles most of his life and rides a Harley Street Glide. As a youngster, I never quite understood the motorcycle thing. I noticed how my brother’s persona changed completely when he was on the “Hog,” sitting back, enjoying the wind in his face, and controlling the beast, with its menacing look and “potato, potato, potato” sound. He says it makes him feel young. When he is on the bike, the sense of joy is evident. I wanted to experience that joy.
I was a bicyclist, my passion at the time. I spent a great deal of time riding the back roads in Northern Henrico County and Ashland, Virginia. I figured riding a motorcycle would not be a lot different from riding a road bicycle on the local roads. I faced the same risk factors: not being seen by distracted drivers, cars at intersections, animals running in front of you; and, except for a helmet, I was pretty much naked on the bicycle. With a motorcycle, I could go faster and further.
The above factors plus one final factor sealed the deal and started me on the way to pursuing a new passion. I was three years from early retirement, and I was looking for something to do that would be adventurous, exciting, and cool. Why buy a rocking chair and rock my way to boredom and old age when I could rock the throttle?
My becoming a biker was a managed risk. I first took the requisite motorcycle safety training course. One of the things I learned in safety training was the importance of motorcycle-specific safety gear. While wearing the gear reduces the “cool” factor, safety and protection are more important than style for me.
My first motorcycle was a Yamaha 750 V Star. However, my dream motorcycle at the time was a Kawasaki Concours. I recall being on a bicycle ride and seeing what I later determined to be a Concours. I liked the Concours because it was different from the run-of-the-mill cruiser, the motorcycle of choice for most bikers. I like being different. However, I knew I was not ready for the Concours because it was for experienced riders.
For the first six months or so, I rode the Yamaha on the same roads I had ridden my bicycle. I kept the Yamaha for a year, putting 10,000 miles on it. I enjoyed the bike, but I was crushed when my sister called it “cute,” not exactly befitting my new biker image.
I next moved up to a red Suzuki M90, a 1500 cc power-cruiser, a heavier, more powerful and interstate-worthy motorcycle. The transition from the smaller Yamaha was smooth. The M90 was very torquey and had a guttural exhaust note.
If I “cut-my-teeth” on the Yamaha, I “earned my wings” on the Suzuki.
I enjoyed the M90 but still coveted the Concours. I kept the M90 for slightly over a year, putting 19,000 miles on it — I was retired at the time. The shortcoming to the M90 was it was known as the little brother to the bigger Suzuki M109, and I did not want to settle for anything less than the real thing.
I test rode a Concours equipped with an aftermarket exhaust. It sounded menacing, like a high-performance super sports car. Riding the Concours was exhilarating. I had to have it. No need to prolong the pain.
I purchased a Concours in February and rode it home from Manassas, Virginia to Richmond, Virginia in snowy weather.
The Concours was everything I imagined. It was powerful, fast and easy to handle. It was great on the interstate and the curves. I would later add an aftermarket Two Brothers exhaust, giving the bike a sound that matched its looks. I kept the Concours for over six years and put 39,000 miles on her.
I replaced the Concours with a Honda Goldwing F6B. The Goldwing is often referred to as an old man’s bike; I prefer to think of it as a grown man’s bike. It is the ultimate riding machine — big, over 900 pounds, smooth and controlled power with its flat six-cylinder. Unlike my first bike, a Yamaha 750 (remember Cute), there is nothing cute about the F6B. It is intimidating to most and arguably the best touring bike one can buy.
With motorcycling, I found the passion and fun that I sought. It gives me joy, excitement and a sense of adventure. It’s the same thrill and adrenalin rush that I imagine one gets when sailing, hang gliding, sky diving, skiing, or flying a plane. Or, the experience I imagine a dog has when its head is out of a car window with jaws and ears flapping. Nothing but pure joy.
I enjoy the fellowship with other bikers, each with his/her own story. I enjoy the attention that motorcycling draws — much like one gets when holding or walking with a puppy. Haters look away or tell stories about someone they know who was killed or injured. Old men reminisce about the motorcycle they wish they had not sold. Young men look with admiration. Kids wave in excitement.
Motorcycling is cool. It adds another dimension to my personality, adding intrigue and freeing me from the box acquaintances want to put me in. It is cool to be cruising down the road and throwing the motorcycle wave at an oncoming motorcyclist. While the motorcycle is likely the only thing we have in common; for a moment, I have met a kindred spirit, someone who gets it.
Motorcycling is therapeutic, re-centering me and providing a temporary sanctuary away from whatever is troubling me — COVID-19 these days. For a few hours, I can “live life loud,” forget my troubles and feel free from life’s storms. There is nothing more uplifting than an early morning or dusk ride, 70-degree temperature, a long tree-lined curvy road or empty interstate highway, with the wind in my face, engine purring and Charlie Wilson’s “I’m Blessed” blaring through the speakers.
Find your Joy!
Ride On!
