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I ride a 1992 Suzuki GSX1100G. It is a big bike. It weighs in at 614 pounds without fluids. It has a drive shaft and the specs say it goes from zero to sixty in 3.2 seconds and tops out at 159 mphs. I have never taken it to its limits. It is not as agile as my previous Suzuki (a 750) or the old Triumph Bonneville 650 I owned when I was a youngster but for a big bike it leans pretty well. I have not yet hit its "pegs" (foot rests) but I think that is more me than the bike. I used to put by Triumph on its pegs all the time but I was a much younger man than. Knock on wood I have been very fortunate riding. I have only been down once and that was in my driveway when my Triumph's carburetors freaked on me and had me heading towards my garage at warp speed. Both the bike and I escaped uninjured. I have been "riding" for over 45 years. That means I started "riding" before, "Easy Rider," The Hell's Angels, Sport Bikes, a respectful Harley Davidson, The Americade, Sturgis , Captain America, Biker Chicks, Helmets, a motorcycling drivers license, or respectful ridding . If you rode a bike way back than you were thought to be bad. Was that the image I wanted to create for myself? Absolutely not! Why than did I ride? Why did I put myself up to such ridicule in the springtime of my life? Have you ever ridden a roller coaster, jumped off a high cliff into a river or lake, driven a high performance automobile, skied at 50+ miles per hour, bungie jumped, rock climbed, had great sex, sky dived, drank until you couldn't stand, dove off a 10 meter platform, drove your car over 100 miles per hour, told your "boss" to go f&#^ himself, sat in a planetarium, cried at a movie or a song, loved so much it hurt, and felt freedom was worth dying for? If so than you are a candidate for being a "biker", and that means just about all of us. How did I discover this way back over four decades ago?. What gave this "than young man" his first love for bikes? It was a motorcycle club that used to meet in my very small hometown. They met just two blocks from where I lived. I used to sneak down to their meetings and examine and admire their hogs. You bet, they all rode Harleys and these were machines made by a mystical, "Motorcycle God", especially to this skinny innocent little kid. I loved those motorcycles. I would hide in the dark and watch the meeting through a plate glass window waiting for a chance to mount one of these mechanical marvels. I would hangout and wait for the meeting to end so I could be close to the mystics that rode these beautiful creatures. The bikers would all leave their meeting, mount their steeds, see a little kid starring in awe at them and kindly acknowledge my existence. Despite their dangerous looking bikes and personal appearance they were friendly, kind and considerate to a young kid. I liked these people and I liked what they rode. First impressions being what they are I was bound to be a biker. But these people were largely outcasts. I was told time and time again that they were bad evil people. Yet everyone (I admit to a very limited view at this point of my life) in my small town actually liked this group of people that met every other Thursday evening. My town had a parade every Fourth of July and the "Club" would ride in it every year to the delight of everyone in the town. They always drew more envious looks than any other marching contingent. What is it about these machines and their riders that is so intriguing and loved? Bikers often represent the pioneering spirit that is America and such a spirit is beloved almost everywhere on this planet. There is an easier, safer, more comfortable way to get from point A to point B but bikers are not made that way. That is not the way "bikers" live their lives. Bikers take chances, risk everything, see the world, feel the world, concentrate on the world in front of them coming at them at 30, 60, 90, & 120+ mph. Bikers are in touch and focusing on their world, looking for grains of sand, stones, sticks, moisture, insects, animals, people, cars, trucks, curves in the road, driveways, intersections, odors, vibrations, clouds, breezes, temperature, everything that we have ever seen on the road and knowing that in the next instant we could encounter the unknown and have a split second to right it or die or be dismembered or maimed for life. Bikers all know the medical establishment calls motorcycles donorcyles. Yet they ride, risking everything, living and feeling the moment as if it was their last. Why ride? Now that's a silly question. Return home |