There is something primal about riding a motorcycle. Man and machine and nature collide head-on. There are different rules on the road. Society comes with manners and norms and political correctness. But on the road all that is stripped away. When you rocket out of town on six hundred pounds of roaring steel there are no expectations. There is only the static crackle of the wind in your ears and the thump of each cylinder firing below you so loud it's almost deafening--and yet, you'll never hear something so serene. There is no judgment. There are no problems. There are no appointments. There are no urgent phone calls. There are no pressing duties. There is only gravity.
It's as if man has conquered those things that would hold him back. Nature has had its own laws turned on itself. Combustion is made possible by nature, and the only thing it can do to resist is pull at your clothes. But like a beaten man who owes a debt, paved-over nature becomes your greatest ally. With every tree and rock and mountain that streaks by, it rewards the rider by storing an ounce of stress; it keeps that stress in trust. For nature can't solve your problems all by itself, but it can hold them, even if for a moment. You can be sure they'll be waiting for you when you turn the key at the end of a ride, but when you do, you'll be ready to take up your cross again.
Something no one told me about buying a motorcycle was that it allows you entrance into a brotherhood. With each passing biker comes a little left-handed wave and a smirk of acknowledgment. There is someone else who knows what I know. And it might be modern man's greatest kept secret. Yet I'm not afraid to share it because most who read this will still never know what I know. They will make every excuse as to why they can't ride. And I'm sorry, but that is what makes riding even better. I like that I "get it."
Time or distance. Truckers have the time. They have spent days and weeks and months and years with the road. They know it like an old friend. It is there, a familiar companion that gives them financial support. But riding a motorcycle gets you acquainted with the road like a lover. Instead of feet above the ground in a truck, or separated by "quiet control" technology and an artificial atmosphere, on a bike it's just you and the naked asphalt--bare, no pretense, no boundaries. Just inches between you and death. For riders, the road isn't financial support, it's life support.
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