While in Yosemite during my summer ride this year, I plopped down on a curb at El Capitan for a ten minute rest. Long rides are tiring and I was exhausted. Probably my favorite thing to do during a motorcycle rest is sit down, take off my helmet, and stare into space for a while. I have to get all my brain gears engaged before I can do anything, even take a drink of water or realize that I’ve had to find a bathroom for three solid hours. After a long ride, things just take a minute.
While sitting on the curb I heard a distant rumble, and since the skies were clear it became apparent that Harley riders were approaching. How people can ride those loud things for hours on end without earplugs boggles my mind. They must be as tough as they look. I saw them as they came around the bend, wearing black leather and angry scowls, and most had a scowling woman on the back. Out on the road, lots of fellow motorcyclists wave to me as they pass, but I’ve learned with Harley riders to wait until they wave first. These riders did not wave.
A few moments passed and a nice looking family walked past my motorcycle and me. The mother paused and asked me, “What, did your gang leave you behind?” Perplexed, I looked at my bike, which is an ugly, tall, bright blue adventure bike without a single piece of chrome, and then looked at myself in my dopey colorful riding gear, and I wondered how anyone on earth could associate me with that Harley group. Afterward I wished I had come up with something clever to say like, “Well, my bike wasn’t loud enough so they kicked me out” or something like that. I wanted to find some way to make this woman understand that not all motorcyclists are the same, and we’re usually just regular folks.
But it was more than that, I think. It’s not that I didn’t like being associated with the Harley riders. As a motorcycle rider I consider myself to be a part of the larger community, whatever the riding style may be. The Harley riders didn’t wave to me but part of being a Harley rider, sometimes at least, is not waving at adventure riders. There are different families within the motorcycle community and none of it bothers me much.
Perhaps suggesting I might be part of a “gang” is what got me thinking. Groups of motorcyclists usually aren’t gangs and these Harley riders weren’t a gang either. I could tell because not all of them looked too mean, and there were a couple of Honda Gold Wings riding in their group. In all likelihood it was just a group of friends out for a touring ride, like me. Motorcyclists generally aren’t scary people. In fact they’re usually friendly people, especially when they’re out for a ride. But apparently some people see us only as members of one biker gang or another.
This isn’t true because I ride a V-Strom by myself, sans gang. Sans anyone, really. My dad has a Honda VTX1300 which looks like a Harley but isn’t one. He doesn’t wear leathers or skulls. He rides alone too, most of the time. But riding as a motorcycle group doesn’t make you a gang either. There are tons of people on BMW GS bikes that ride together and there are lots of Gold Wing groups too. I see sport bikers riding together a lot. The motorcycle community is diverse.
Despite the diversity, and despite the fact that some BMW riders wouldn’t be seen dead on a Harley-Davidson (and vice-versa), we’re all on two wheels enjoying the the ride. This commonality is no small thing. There’s a certain freedom that comes from riding a motorcycle, whatever the style. Looking over a set of handlebars and seeing only your hands and the road is a very stark, liberating feeling. The scenery isn’t bound by a windshield frame. It’s all right there, real. Motorcycles all lean and flow. Every rider enjoys this. This is why motorcyclists of all types wave to passing bikes. Even I do it and I’m not generally a friendly person. We even share common risk by participating in a dangerous activity. There are common bonds that we all share and we all enjoy together as a community.
After thinking about it, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so confused by being a V-Strom rider who was associated with a column of Harley-Davidson riders. I guess to some people I’m simply a biker, whatever that means to them. It’s fine because biking is what I do. Just don’t expect to see me wearing studded black leathers anytime soon. I mean, come on.
