We Are the Same

People think becoming a rider happens the day you buy your first motorcycle.

It doesn't.

The motorcycle is just paperwork. The rider was already there.

This weekend, Dawna is getting her first bike. A 1999 Honda Shadow 750 that she found all by herself.

I'm ridiculously excited for her.

Not because she's buying a motorcycle. But because I already know what's about to happen.

I know she's going to pick it up quickly. I know she's going to fall in love with it. I know she's going to discover that strange little place every rider eventually finds, that place where the wind gets loud enough to quiet your mind. I know she's going to find peace out there. I know she's going to understand why some of us build our entire lives around two wheels.

People ask me how I know.

Simple. Because she's already a rider. She just doesn't own a motorcycle yet.

We're driving to Amarillo this weekend to pick up her bike. The plan is simple. I'll drive my truck from Santa Fe to Colorado, pick her up, then we'll drive together to Texas. We'll load her motorcycle into the truck and head back through New Mexico.

Then...

I'm going to stop at my house. I'm going to pull Aurora out of the garage. And I'm going to ride behind her all the way back to Colorado while she drives the truck with her bike in tow.

When she mentioned that plan to some of her friends, they questioned it: "Why wouldn't you just keep driving?"

Because riders already know the answer.

She didn't call me. She didn't ask. She didn't spend an hour trying to figure out why. She simply smiled and told them, "Because Kate will have been away from her bike for several days." Then she said something that absolutely melted my heart: "She'll need to ride."

Need.

Not want. Need.

She already understands the difference. That's how I know she's one of us.

Because people who don't ride think motorcycles are transportation.

People who ride know they're something else entirely.

They're therapy. They're church. They're meditation. They're freedom. They're the place where the noise finally stops.

She already understands that. She hasn't even ridden her own motorcycle yet.

You can spot riders before they ever throw a leg over a bike. It's something in the way they talk. Something in the way they look at motorcycles. Something in the way they understand people like us.

They recognize the call long before they answer it.

That's why I'm so excited this weekend. I'm not introducing Dawna to motorcycling. I'm introducing a rider to her motorcycle. There's a difference.

A big one.

I've known for a while now that we're the same. This weekend... She gets to prove it to herself.