Ticket to ride

My family and friends are expecting this post. That, my dear reader, is how predictable I am. But that’s no reason to keep them waiting, is it?

Nine days ago I was involved in a low speed collision with another vehicle. I was on my motorbike. I did not win that encounter.

Of course, the win/lose paradigm is not very helpful here, and already I find myself on a very different side of that divide to the majority of my loved ones. From their perspective, the outcome could have been much worse. The injuries may have been devastating and, if we are to follow this train of thought with any degree of integrity, perhaps even fatal. So, whilst I may have ‘won’ this battle, what if I had lost?

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From my perspective, it was simply one of those freakish and unfortunate incidents. It may have happened to anyone, but it happened to me. What did I lose? Perhaps my bike, but that’s insured (And even it it weren’t, it’s just a thing). The use of my left knee for a little while? Yes, but I’m expecting it to eventually heal. An object lesson in better riding and braking techniques? Duly, and seriously, noted.

My friends and family are right, of course. It could have been worse. But, fortunately, it wasn’t.

The real issue for anyone with skin in this win/lose conversation is not so much what it was, but what it could have been; or what it might be should this ever happen again. As I contemplate my riding future, assuming I still have one, I realise that, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, everyone is right.

What people are alluding to most in these conversations is the issue of risk, their general discomfort with differing levels of risk and what they might do should that discomfort threaten to jeopardise any or all attempts at individual self-preservation.

I can only assume this is the place where well-meaning advice comes from. It’s no wonder, then, those offering this advice may feel somewhat put out or perplexed should anyone entertain a different course of action to what they are suggesting.

“Can’t you see what the risks are?” They might vehemently argue. “What you are considering is not logical,” stated, perhaps, with a slight tremor of frustration in their tone and a not too sympathetic shaking of the head, “In fact it’s pretty stupid.”

Well, except maybe for the rare exception, there haven’t been too many overtly negative assessments of my intelligence. Yet.

What I’m grappling with here is perhaps a textbook example of the age-old battle between ‘heart and mind.’ No matter how reasonable your argument against, no matter how many statistics you throw at me, no matter how many YouTube videos of unfortunate motorcyclists flicker before my glazed-over eyes, I still want to ride. I just haven’t finished with it yet. Living proof that, just because I’m a rational being doesn’t make me a reasonable one.

And perhaps that’s the point. My insatiable need to ride again is not simply explained within the realm of reason. It is very much shaped by unwieldy passion, an energy that tolerates reason but is not driven by it, being largely guided (certainly in my case) by action and desire.

This does not mean that the apparent risks are ignored nor that they fall on deaf ears. It means, however, that there are other voices, other energies in the mix that should also be considered. And it would come as no surprise to those who know me which of those energies are most likely to sway me.

I’m just not done yet.

(I shot this video, back in June 2014 along The Bells Line of Road)

I’m a man, I’m a man. I’m a maintenance man.

Today I cleaned and lubed my chain. No, it’s not a euphemism. I’m talking about the drive chain on my motorbike. Now get your mind out of the gutter.

Why am I telling you this? Obviously because, in the face of motorcycle maintenance (Zen or otherwise), I am yet again confronted with the question of my own identification as a man.

There’s something about owning a motorbike, much more so than when one owns a car, that seems to inadvertently thrust its owner into the realm of engineering aficionados, weekend tinkerers and would-be Moto GP pit-stop mechanics.

I’ve been stopped in the streets countless times already by fellow riders, in a show of mutual motorbike admiration, where they proceed to tell me, in amazing detail, their rides’ specifications – acceleration, torque, handling, suspension – before proceeding to take me on a tour of all the modifications and customisations they have made to their own bikes to improve the ride, the comfort, the fuel consumption, the power, the look, the sound. You name it. They proudly (not boastfully, mind you) declare how they did this themselves.

For my part, I keenly respond by inserting well-timed exhalation sounds and raising my incredulous, yet admiring, eyebrows at just the right moments. But all I’m hearing, just like Gary Larson’s dog, is “Blah blah blah blah blah.”

Try as I might, I’m just not that guy. Not that I’d want to be but, whilst it shouldn’t really surprise me, it’s still quite unsettling when I am approached to ‘talk shop’ only to see the approaching party eventually ease themselves out of what will invariably become a one-sided, and rather awkward, conversation. Is that pity I see in their eyes? Or merely disappointment?

And so, as I kneel next to my bike, scrubbing away the grime from its chain with a brush and some kerosene, it feels as if I should be considering the next process in my maintenance regime – tightening the thingamajig on the whatsit so that the doovalakky can do its thing. Instead I’m thinking… well, this!

To each their own. And peace to all.