You've been dreaming of this day since you were a kid. Now you can't believe it's actually gonna happen. The moment is surreal. You try to play it cool and keep your hands from shaking. In your mind, you can already see the world blur past as you kick into high gear and zoom down the street. Sending women swooning and men nodding in respect. You are experiencing this ecstatic moment because you have just been handed the keys to your very own motorcycle.
Now please keep in mind that I'm just guessing this is how someone who is really into motorcycles would feel when they get their first one. Because that particular fantasy is not one I have ever had. I'm very fortunate in that stand up comedy allows me the opportunity to purge myself of any and all desire for thrill seeking. That being said, I can't knock someone for wanting a bike. Because here is a simple fact: Motorcycles are cool.
|Don't know a damn thing about this bike. I literally Googled "Cool motorcycle." Everyone agrees this is cool.|
Just riding one faster than 40mph automatically promotes you to bad ass status. Also, look at the stuff motorcycle riders wear. The leather jacket, the pads, the boots, it all comes together to make the wearer look like an effin action hero. Motorcycle gear almost looks bulletproof. No matter how nerdy the bike owner is in real life, when they gear up to ride, it's all eyes on them.
Which brings me to my point. Are you mature enough to handle this new found coolness? I submit that coolness is a responsibility, and not to be taken lightly. Boys will look up to you, women will want to bring your children into the world. By being cool, you set an example for those who are cool impaired. You give them hope. Something to strive for. So in a nutshell, it all boils down to one simple steadfast rule to keep in mind. If you have a motorcycle, don't be a douche.
What do I mean by that? Oh we've all seen or come across a motorcycle douche. How about the guy that feels the need to ride faster than necessary on a residential street. Making a shitload of noise at 10 am and assuring that everyone on the block knows he's around. Haven't met him? What about the guy who is lying on his stomach in the seat while going 90 mph on the freeway. It looks cool but one false move and he's a top story on the news. For what? No one was even following him with a camera.
|He's paid millions of dollars to risk his life on a closed road. See the difference?|
I made up my mind about motorcycles years ago, while hanging out with my brother. It was your average slightly drunken Saturday night, and we were debating on weather "Breaking 2: Electric Bugaloo" was better than it's predecessor. I was arguing that it was. The scenes where Ozone falls down the stairs and is later healed by the power of break-dancing, settle that argument. Case closed. My brother was just bout to admit that I was right when his phone went off. I could hear that the guy on the other end sounded stressed, and the seriousness of my brother's face confirmed my suspicions. This wasn't a casual call.
My brother simply says "OK", then darts to the back of the house and opens the garage door. After doing that, he notices my confusion and says,
"Rob crashed his bike on the freeway right around here. He was going too fast, had to swerve to avoid a piece of tire, fell off the bike and ended up skidding a few yards. Then, realizing he was in the middle lane, he walked his bike to the off ramp is on his way here."
My natural reaction was to ask my brother, "Umm does Rob know that our mothers' home hasn't turned into an urgent care center since last night? Shouldn't that be at the top of the list of places to visit right about now?"
My brother replied " His mom warned him that something like this would happen. If she knew he hurt himself, she'd make him sell it." He just needs somewhere to stash his bike until he can afford to fix it. "
When Rob arrived a few moments later, I noticed immediately that his priories were completely fucked up. He came into the garage, struggling to hold the bike upright. The source of the struggle came from the fact that he only had use of one arm. His bad arm had been completely dislocated by the fall. It was slung up in a t-shirt that served as a makeshift cast, and there was an empty space in his shoulder's socket signifying where his arm should have been. Because of this, the arm dangled sickeningly lower than normal. His clothes were tattered, torn and dingy. He looked like...well he looked like a guy who fell off a motorcycle going 80mph on the freeway. The pain that read on his face was undeniable. It seemed as if a strong gust of wind hitting that arm would send him crying out in agony. Turned out his master plan was to pull a Riggs from "Lethal Weapon 2" and have one of us pop his shoulder back in place like nothing ever happened. All this because he was going a little bit faster than he should have.
Luckily for him. My cousin, who's an RN, was visiting my mother and had overheard the conversation going on in the garage. And by conversation, I mean my brother's friend pleading for one of us to do him the honor of putting his shoulder back in place, and my brother and I taking turns telling him to go to hell.
My cousins' arrival in the garage taught me two things that night. One, it's actually pretty easy to pop a shoulder in place if you know what you're doing. And two, my cousin is a little bit of a sadist because she was more than happy to do the honors.What resulted next was almost unbearable to watch. My cousin had to get a good grip on the arm before she made her move, so each movement sent electric currents of agony through Rob's entire body. When my cousin found a firm grip on the arm, she counted to three, Rob closed his eyes, (along with every one else in the garage besides her) and with a swift move she jerked and shifted the dislocated arm into place. Causing Rob to yell out in pain, and me to completely sober up for the evening.
Even if you don't cause yourself or anyone else physical pain, you can still be a douche on a bike. l was with a buddy at a pretty crowded bar a few years back when he let motorcycle coolness get the best of him. He had got into the face of another bar patron whom he had wanted to fight because he felt the guy was looking at him the wrong way. ( Which inadvertently, always puts me in the bodyguard position.) Security eventually stepped in and proceeded to break up the commotion by kicking all of us out. While this situation is not the most optimal, things like this happen when you mix testosterone and alcohol, so it's not a big deal. Call it a night and go home. Only that wasn't enough for my friend. Being outraged that an establishment he visits regularly would have the audacity to make him leave, he decided to teach them a lesson. He put on his gear, rode his bike up to the main entrance of the bar, and smoked his tires right out front where people had to walk to leave. The look of justified satisfaction on his face afterwards told me that he had no idea how much of a douche move that was. He caused a problem that could be fixed with a fan and a bucket of soap, but you would have thought he threw a Molotov cocktail through the front window.
|Thought he looked like this...|
|really looked like this...|
Long story short, To my danger loving, caution to the wind throwing, two wheel riding friends, I say this. I get it. You're cool. Try not to let it go to your heads.