Where to go this morning?
Well, this forenoon, as my Grandma Lou used to say.
Because it's fucking late. It's 10:30 in the morning, and I'm just now sitting down for breakfast. For those of you who know me, you know that's practically the middle of the fucking afternoon.
But my tardiness is for a good reason. I got to talk to my baby this morning. For a long time. We chatted on Messenger for most of the night, and then I finally dragged my ass into the shower because, quite frankly, I fucking stank. Afterward, I decided to throw caution right into the fucking wind and call her, even though it was early.
And she answered.
And we talked.
And God, I fucking miss her.
I wish I could be there with her right now, to be the rock she can lean on when she needs one. But I'm not there, and I can't be right now. So I do what I can from a distance, and I treasure every minute I get to hear her voice.
Anyway, it's raining outside, and naturally, I took the motorcycle. Because you know what I always say about riding in the rain: If you want to be good at riding in the fucking rain, you have to fucking ride in the rain.
And no, I don't need some fancy fucking rain mode to do it. Neither do you, in my not-so-humble fucking opinion. I think riding modes are one of the worst things to happen to motorcycling, not because technology is inherently bad, but because I'm increasingly convinced people are allowing technology to replace the skills they ought to be developing themselves.
If you need a computer to do all your thinking for you on a motorcycle, you're a walking fucking time bomb. An accident waiting to happen.
Here's a thought. It's fucking wet outside. That means visibility might suck, traction isn't going to be what you're accustomed to, and all that shit you learned about throttle control and braking suddenly becomes a whole lot more important. Things get slippery when wet. I think I've heard that somewhere in popular culture before.
So don't grab a fistful of throttle like you're trying to launch yourself into orbit. Don't slam on the fucking brakes. Pay attention to the road surface, because painted lines, metal covers, and all kinds of other seemingly innocent shit can become surprisingly entertaining when they're wet.
And personally, I plant both feet when I stop in the rain.
I learned that one the fucking hard way.
Now, if you're reading this, you have an opportunity to learn from my experience instead of collecting your own bruises. Unless, of course, you're one of those people who can only learn something by fucking it up yourself. In which case, have at it.
And that got me thinking about something I saw yesterday.
I was scrolling through Instagram or Facebook, one of those places where people go to waste perfectly good portions of their lives, and I came across a video of an older gentleman with a long, flowing white beard. He was talking about motorcycling, specifically about friends of his who were over fifty asking whether they should take up riding.
His answer?
No.
Don't do it.
His reasoning was that older riders are more vulnerable to serious injuries, and that age can bring physical limitations that make riding more dangerous. And you know what? He's not entirely fucking wrong.
But he's not entirely right, either.
Interestingly enough, I'm going to arrive at pretty much the same conclusion he did, but for an entirely different fucking reason.
If you're sitting around asking other people whether you should become a motorcyclist, my answer is probably going to be no.
Don't.
Because if you need somebody else's permission to answer that question, I have to wonder whether riding is really something you want to do in the first place.
To me, motorcycling isn't something you take up because somebody talked you into it. It's something you feel compelled to do. There's something about the machine, the road, the freedom, and the experience that gets under your fucking skin. You hear that call, and you answer it.
You don't need a committee to approve the decision.
You don't conduct a fucking opinion poll.
You decide you want to ride, you learn how to do it, and you fucking ride.
And I don't think that changes when you turn fifty, sixty, or seventy. Age matters when you're assessing your physical abilities, your health, and the risks you're willing to accept. Of course it does. But the desire to ride? That doesn't have some magical expiration date.
I've known people who started riding later in life and absolutely loved it. I've also known people who bought motorcycles because they liked the idea of being a biker a whole lot more than they liked actually riding one.
And that brings me to the real point of this little rant.
Because, despite everything I've just said, if you come to me and ask whether you should buy a motorcycle, I'm going to tell you something entirely different.
Yes. Absolutely. You should buy a motorcycle.
In fact, I enthusiastically encourage you to do so.
And here's why.
We need fair-weather riders to keep the rest of us supplied with beautiful, low-mileage used fucking motorcycles.
It's practically a public service.
So please, by all means, sign up for the Motorcycle Safety Foundation course. Get your endorsement. Go down to the dealership and find yourself a gorgeous new motorcycle. Spend a ridiculous amount of money on it. Get the upgraded exhaust, the fancy seat, the custom paint, the premium sound system, and every other accessory the dealership can convince you that you absolutely fucking need.
Make that motorcycle the pride and joy of your garage.
And then leave it there.
Seriously. Keep it nice and clean. Polish the chrome. Wipe the dust off the paint. Make sure the battery stays charged. Maybe take a few pictures of it to post on Facebook so everybody knows you're a biker now.
Then, on a couple of particularly beautiful weekends in July, when the temperature is just right, the sky is perfectly clear, and there's absolutely no chance of encountering anything resembling weather, take that gorgeous machine out for a ride.
Ride downtown. Park it somewhere conspicuous. Have lunch. Admire it from the restaurant patio. Maybe strike up a conversation with somebody about how much you love the freedom of the open road.
Then ride it home.
And put it back in the fucking garage.
Do that two or three times a year, and you'll be doing your part to support the motorcycling community in a way you probably never imagined.
Because in two or three years, you're going to realize that the motorcycle is taking up valuable garage space, the insurance is costing you money, and you really don't ride it nearly as much as you thought you would.
So you'll decide to sell it.
And that's where I come in.
I'll fucking buy it.
Hell, I'll probably need another motorcycle by then.
And I'll be delighted to take that gorgeous, meticulously maintained, barely broken-in machine off your hands for considerably less than you paid for it.
Think of it as recycling.
Now, on those two or three days a year when you actually take your motorcycle out, there's a pretty good chance I'll encounter you somewhere on the road. You'll be riding along at a pace that makes me wonder whether your motorcycle has a fucking parking brake engaged, and I'll probably shake my head as I pass you.
But I'll still wave.
Of course I'll wave.
Because I know something you don't.
In three years, that motorcycle is going to be mine.
So yes, I agree with the old gentleman in the video. If you're over fifty and you're thinking about getting into motorcycling, you should give the decision some serious consideration.
And if you decide to do it, I wholeheartedly support you.
Buy the bike. Buy the accessories. Keep it spotless. Put as few miles on it as humanly possible.
Just do me one favor.
Be fucking careful out there.
Because the last thing I need is for you to get into an accident and fuck up my next motorcycle.
