The Joy and Brotherhood of Motorcycling

Some things defy defining. They are clearly evident, like class, you know it when you see it, but you can't quite explicate it. Motorcycle riding is one such  phenomenon.

This past summer my brother-from-another-mother-and-father made me a deal that I could not refuse: Art made me the new owner of his 1982 Honda motorcycle--sweet. In my younger years, I bought a Whizzer motorbike that had been in a wreck; and I rode that when I could keep it running. My brother Ron had an American Moto Scoot  that he let me ride quite a bit. I took a  spill from that once when I hit a large chuckhole in the road. I went face-first down the blacktop. I had a Cushman motor scooter that I rode and rode until I got a car. I have always liked two-wheelers with motors on them. 

Dan bought a motorcycle when we lived out on the farm, and I rode that some, but I had never really owned a motorcycle. When Art said to me, “Hey! I want you to have my Honda.” I was ecstatic. (I tried not to let it show too much.) I had  kept up the cycle endorsement on my driver's license, (that had to have been providential) so I was ready to ride. A trip to southern Illinois to bring the Honda home, a title and oil change, and a new set of tires put me  on the road every once in awhile.

Motorcycling is somewhat akin to horseback riding: there is just something about straddling all that power and feeling the wind in your face that goes down to your very core. There's something exhilarating  about twisting that throttle and creating your own wind--you have to experience it to discover its joy.

And, there is a bonus to motorcycling--you are a part of an unidentified brotherhood that is as real as any club with  defined membership criteria. Every other motorcyclist is your brother-biker.  You never meet a fellow rider, but out comes the left hand and arm, not very high, and you do the same thing back. Where did that come from? I don't know, but it is real, and I enjoy it.

People who ride motorcycles often look like some of the roughest and toughest, and undoubtedly some of them are. My experience, however, is that in spite of outward appearance, bikers are some of the friendliest people.

Today there is snow on the ground, and I am sure that means no more motorcycle riding for me this year. So, I will push the Honda in the corner of the garage, cover it  and look forward to next spring--grateful for this new dimension in my life. My cup runneth over. And, yes, I will be careful, thank you.