Aggressive Isn't Reckless

The other day I stopped by a friend's cubicle at work to get caught up. Somewhere in the conversation he mentioned that he'd been hearing stories about my riding. Apparently word has gotten around that I ride aggressively in traffic, that I ride fast, and hell, he'd even heard that I'd passed someone on the shoulder.

Well... he's not exactly wrong. On any count. But that shoulder story kind of pissed me off because, like most stories, it lost all of its context along the way.

I don't routinely ride on the shoulder. Most shoulders are full of gravel, broken glass, shredded truck tires, bits of bumpers, and all kinds of other shit that can put a motorcycle on its side in the blink of an eye. At highway speeds, I avoid shoulders like the plague.

The one people are talking about happened on Rabbit Road here in Santa Fe. It's a frontage road alongside I-25, one lane in each direction. There's a set of railroad tracks and a left turn where people constantly stop waiting for traffic, except there's no damn turn lane. On this particular afternoon I found myself sitting behind someone who wanted to turn left while an endless stream of cars kept coming the other direction. We weren't moving, and I had absolutely no interest in sitting there hoping the person behind me was paying attention.

The shoulder at that spot happens to be paved. So I dropped Nyx into first, rolled around the right side of the stopped car, and continued on my way.

The driver leaned on the horn like I'd somehow committed a personal offense by refusing to sit behind them while they waited for an opening in traffic.

Sorry not sorry.

Here's the problem. Most people judge motorcycles from the perspective of someone sitting inside a car. That's like judging a sailboat using the rules for an airplane. The vehicles are different. The dynamics are different. The risks are different. And the strategies for staying alive are different.

People hear that I ride aggressively and immediately assume I'm reckless.

Those aren't the same thing.

Since my accident, I ride with one overriding goal: I refuse to let myself get trapped.

The absolute worst place to be on a motorcycle is buried in the middle of a pack of cars. You've got someone in front of you, someone behind you, someone beside you, and very few escape routes if something goes sideways. If the driver behind you is texting, if someone decides your lane looks better than theirs, if somebody panic brakes, you're suddenly depending on complete strangers to keep you alive.

Fuck that.

When I find myself in a pack of cars, I'm getting out of it.

I'm accelerating.

I'm passing.

I'm finding open pavement.

I'm putting clean air between me and everyone else because that open space is the safest place I can possibly be.

People think I'm trying to get to the front because I'm impatient.

No. I'm getting to the front because that's where my odds improve. My life literally depends on creating space around me.

October 27, 2025 changed the way I ride forever. A driver making an illegal U-turn nearly killed me because they "didn't see" a brightly lit Harley-Davidson coming down the road. I spent months learning how to walk again because somebody else wasn't paying attention.

I'm not volunteering to put myself back into that position.

So yes, I ride differently than I did before the accident.

I ride differently than most people drive.

I don't sit boxed into packs of traffic. I don't assume the person behind me is paying attention. I don't assume people see motorcycles just because they should.

I create my own safety.

If that looks aggressive to someone watching from behind a windshield, I'm okay with that. I'd rather have someone think I'm an asshole than have them standing around talking about what a careful rider I was at my funeral.

Motorcycles aren't cars. Stop judging them like they are.

And if you ever see me accelerate away from a pack of traffic, understand something: I'm not racing you. I'm trying to stay alive.