My Pace, My Path, My Objectives

For more than 60 years, the ONLY time I have been in total control of what I’m doing, how fast I’m doing it, and why I’m doing it have been on a motorcycle. I came from a fairly large (5 brats and two semi-adult parents) family and I was the oldest and designated babysitter, cook and bottle-washer, and the official family black sheep. When I abandoned my father’s nuthouse the summer I turned 16, I went from that over-complicated situation to even crazier 1960’s rock-and-roll bands, marriage at 19, and the next 40 years of occupational and parental over-stimulus non-stop; unless I was on a motorcycle.

Other that a few trips with close friends and one decidedly wrong start to the trip of a lifetime with someone Ms. Day had picked to babysit me and one anniversary trip with Ms. Day and a small portion of my 2008 Nova Scotia Canadian tour, I have always traveled alone by motorcycle. Even when I have been on a ride with a friend, my preferred plan is to designate a general time and specific place to meet at the end of the day and for each of us to find our own way to that location at our own pace.

For almost all of my 76 years I have been the poster boy for failing at “to thine own self be true” because I had no idea who I was. In the early 80s, in a “Career Planning” class at OCC, I took the Myers-Briggs Personality Test. Say what you will about how obsolete that test is, but when I received my dot-matrix printout of my personality results (INTP) it was all I could do to keep from crying during the class. It was the first time in my 35-years that I felt anyone actually “knew” me and that “someone” was an 8-bit, IBM mini-computer.

I am not just “a little” INTP, either. Those measurement bars were pinned to the far end of each characteristic. The intended outcome of that test was for us to plow through a 4” thick book of occupations and find jobs that were suitable for our personality types. INTPs are fairly rare (not in a good way) and, at that time, that giant book of occupations recommended only four occupations. Not helpful, especially for me since “engineer” was not one of the four and I had been making a living as an electronic engineer for a dozen years by 1984.

Worse, everything about being a 1950s kid ruled against the “I” characteristic in my personality type. When I grew up, in the age of How to Win Friends and Influence People, “introversion” is old psych-jargon for homosexual or worse. Giving in to my natural inclinations was the fast route to unemployment and social stigma. So, for the next 40 years I ignored the “I” and concentrated on making the best of “NTP” (my Intuitive, Thinking, and Prospecting traits). And that, occupationally, worked for me right up to when I retired, mostly. It kept me employed, anyway.

For my family and friends, however, ignoring my introversion meant that i spent a lot of my “off-camera” time suffering from an “introvert hangover”: “a metaphorical state of emotional and mental exhaustion. It occurs when an introvert has spent an extended period interacting socially, leaving them drained and depleted.” “Drained and depleted” enough that I would rather risk being bitten by a rattlesnake backpacking alone in the Texas desert or left injured and stranded anywhere from Baja, Mexico to Alaska to the empty backroads of Newfoundland and New Brunswick to Montana or Wyoming’s empty, abandoned wastelands than talk to one more person, no matter how much I loved them. And that is where motorcycles came into my life in a dominant way from around 1969 until a few years ago.

I had been backpacking the wilderness of every place I’d lived, from Kansas when I was a kid to California when my daughters were teenagers, but backpacking usually required a lot of prep time and energy and, often, I didn’t have those resources in any quantity. At the most hectic period of my life, when we lived in California and our daughters were teenagers, I would often have to escape for a weekend or a day or two more and my trip “planning” involved stuffing camping gear into saddlebags along with a couple changes of clothing and flipping a quarter while I sat on my motorcycle to decide if I was traveling north or south out of Huntington Beach: often as far as well into Baja, Mexico or right up to the Canadian border on PCH. Sometimes, I’d make the same trip (with the same planning) in my ‘73 Toyota Hilux with a kayak tied to the rack and a bed full of scuba gear. (“Fuck a lot of ‘dive buddy’ crap, I need to go where nobody else ever goes.”)

If you peruse this blog, you’ll see “reports” of my solo travels that cross about 50 years of my life. I have never had a job that didn’t generate substantial “introvert hangovers” and busting out of my life alone and mostly directionless has been the cure until I retired in 2013. When I retired, two friends gave me copies (one paperback and one eBook) of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, And I thought, “Why the fuck do you guys think I need a book about introverts?” Seriously. After being trapped in a screwed-up VW camper for several months in a New Mexico campground waiting for parts, information, or shop time I started to read the book. By the time I had that crap VW Eurovan back in running condition and we’d relaxed into our original driving and camping

In 2018, myasthenia gravis put an end to that hangover cure, but being retired also diminished the requirement. It got a lot worse before it started to get better and, assuming it wouldn’t get enough better to matter, I sold my beloved 2004 Suzuki V-Strom and my even more precious Yamaha WR250X. Thinking that the worst was past, I gambled on a Suzuki TU250X in late 2019, but it didn’t get better as the eyesight problems were soon replaced with hands that refuse to function usefully or reliably and riding skills that had deteriorated to the point of no return.

Bicycling, my primary transportation for as many Minnesota months as I can stand it, is not the same.

VBR 5 and Me

A while back, Andy Goldfine invited me to be a guest storyteller at the 5th Very Boring Rally (Aerostich’s 40th anniversary). I have had a long, enlightening, and valuable friendship, first with Aerostich, and, after I moved to MN in 1996, with Andy. I bought my first ‘Stich gear in 1983, after moving to California from Minnesota. I wore that suit until I replaced it with a Darien in 2008, not long before I rode my V-Strom to Alaska. Mostly from when I moved to Minnesota, my collection of ‘Stich gear has grown steadily and every product I purchased from the company exceeded my expectations along with the company’s legendary customer service.

I was the first speaker in the VBR5 series and I didn’t have high expectations for a turnout. Andy and his marketing team must have over-hyped me substantially; or the draw of a free lunch overcame a fair number of motorcyclists’ better judgement. We had a nice crowd of about 15 rider/spectators and nobody threw tomatoes or other produce at me. Some disagreements, especially on the AGAT propaganda, but I’m used to that.

The industry has changed a lot since my first experience with a Roadcrafter and US motorcycling is either in serious decline or at a moment of serious change. In 2022, Honda sold 17M+ and a peak of 22M unit/motorcycles in 2018 worldwide, but on 32,000 of those in 2022 were US sales (0.19% of total motorcycle sales). When the US motorcycle market crashed in 2007, the worst year of the US recession only amounted to about a 0.05% drop in world motorcycle sales. The average age of a US motorcyclist has increased nearly one year each year for the past couple of decades. When the Hardly/chopper Boomer boom ends, which will be damned soon, something is going to pop. With the insane public costs of motorcycle crashes “the GAO further found that motorcycle crashes’ total direct measurable costs were approximately $16 billion.” The fact that the total USA motorcycle market had an estimated 2022 revenue of $6.24b USD out to be a total wakeup call for the public who foot the bulk of that $10B in totally unjustified taxpayer expense. If you add up the drunk riders, the unlicensed riders, the reckless riders, the unprotected riders, and the uninsured (medical and/or vehicle) riders, you are looking at a responsibility-free recreational vehicle that is ripe for recreational vehicle status and a public road banishment.

There is, finally, the beginnings of a couple of responsible motorcyclist organizations; since the AMA vacated that for the marketing riches of being nothing more than an industry spokesbabbler. Stupid crap like this Rick Gray side-stepping shuffle-dance (https://www.nonoise.org/resource/trans/highway/motorcycles/ama.htm) is typical of the AMA’s uselessness. However, both Andy’s Ride to Work Day campaign and SMARTER (Skilled Motorcyclist Association–Responsible, Trained, and Educated Riders) are trying to bring motorcycling as a reasonable transportation alternative, along with the responsibilities associated with that privilege, up front and personally. It might be too little, too late but it’s also better late than never time.

The Difference Between Pros and the Rest of Us

All Rights Reserved © 2012 Thomas W. Day

A young woman wrote the following on a motorcycle list I occasionally follow, "I'm considered/called a 'pro artist' but I don't get paid for my work. Just because someone races and gets paid for it doesn't mean they actually know what they are doing." She was responding to a comment I'd made about how unimpressed I was with all of the "performance" farkle-jabber that went on among the wannabes and street bandits on that list (My exact comment was, "Actually, to be a professional at something you have to be good enough to get paid for it."). Another kid on the list responded with, "You also don't have to be a pro-rider on a race circuit to be considered 'pro.' It's all in experience."
 
First, let's get the semantics out of the way. Mr. Webster, if you please. 
 
Pro-fes-sion-al adj
1) a: of, relating to, or characteristic of a profession; b: engaged in one of the learned professions; c: (1) characterized by or conforming to the technical or ethical standards of a profession (2) exhibiting a courteous, conscientious, and generally businesslike manner in the workplace  
2) a: participating for gain or livelihood in an activity or field of endeavor often engaged in by amateurs <a professional golfer> b: having a particular profession as a permanent career <a professional soldier> c: engaged in by persons receiving financial return <professional football>
3) following a line of conduct as though it were a profession <a professional patriot>
From the above definitions, I think it's safe to say that being a professional has something to do with getting paid to do the job. Someone "considered/called a 'pro artist'" who does art without compensation is a hobbyist or an amateur. That person might be an excellent artist, but not a professional artist. 
 
How long would any of the tens of thousands of competent high school or college football players survive an NFL game? In sports--and motorcycle racing is a sport--the difference between professionals and the rest of us is as dramatic as the intellectual space between Stephen Hawking and Bonzo the chimp. Being "courteous, conscientious, and generally businesslike"--even adding the gold leaf of "conforming to the technical or ethical standards"--might cut it in the Misfortune 500, but it won't buy you one microsecond of cornering advantage on the race track. Being a pro-rider means you are better than all of the novice, intermediate, and expert amateurs. Getting a substantial investment from a race sponsor or a five-to-seven-figure salary from a manufacturer means you are among the best-of-the-best. Winning national and world championships means you are superhuman.  
 
When we watch a pro race, it's easy to imagine that kind of skill is normal because the race track is filled with people going fast and making it look easy. Michael Jordan made dunking a basketball look easy, too. Magic Johnson made bullet behind-the-back passes and half-court jump shots look natural and humanly possible. Kenny Roberts convinced a lot of fools that the Yamaha TZ750 was a real dirt track miler, not the deathtrap ("They don't pay me enough to ride this thing," sayeth Kenny) that it really was. NFL quarterbacks pinpoint 60 yard passes into the hands of the quickest runners in human history and we delude ourselves into believing that our cheering helped them perform those incredible feats. I know about this delusion, because I watched Bobby Hannah skip across the tops of chest-deep whoops in 1977 and I thought I could do that if I only had a factory bike. I suspect I couldn't ride a 1976 factory bike on my best day. Being a spectator is a deceiving experience. Hell, television even convinces some of us that science and invention is easy and glamorous. 
 
It's all bullshit, though. These aren't normal athletes. They aren't ordinary people. What they do is not normal human activity. They are professionals. 
 
We can argue about how much those talents are worth, financially, but arguing that "it's all in experience" is foolish and arrogant. I've been riding since 1963 and I have a butt-load of "experience." I get paid to teach MSF classes, so I am (in a weak sense) a professional motorcyclist. But I never had a fraction of the talent, dedication, physical ability, or focus to be a professional racer. I have written more than 250 articles for a variety of industry publications (including motorcycling) and that makes me a professional writer. A writer becomes an author when he publishes a book: I am not an author. Experience doesn't amount to squat until you get paid to do the thing, if you want to compare yourself to professionals. All you have to do to gain experience is to stay alive and observe the world around you. 
 
Professionals don't delude themselves with stupid fantasies. (They may be superstitious, though. I can't explain that.) Pro motorcyclists wear the best protection gear available. They ride motorcycles that have the very best maintenance and state-of-the-art technology. They study the race track, the other racers, their machine, and they integrate all of that information into a performance that produces results or results in early retirement. To be a professional you have to convince someone you are actually worth hard cash. On the race track, you do that by winning races. Nothing else matters.

How They Do It

Great Britan has a different take on motorcycle licensing. Until one of our friends, Paul Compton, sent me a link on the British motorcycle license history, I had no idea how different it is: http://www.motuk.com/Motorbike-MOT-history.asp. In comparision, I’m not sure what we have passes for the basic requirement of “a system.”

Until You Can Ride, I Don't Care What You Think

All Rights Reserved © 2017 Thomas W. Day

This essay title is one of the crafty sayings on the GwAG tee-shirts. In fact, this is the phrase I picked for my personal prototype shirt, the first and possibly only GWAG shirt owned by anyone on the planet. When I debuted the shirt on my Facebook page, all sorts of folks took offense. Good. I'm not in this life to make fools feel good about themselves. In fact, the older I get the less I care what anyone thinks about anything I do, say, or think. One of my other favorite shirts says, "Hermits don't have peer pressure" (Steven Wright). I might have peers, but I don't often listen to anything they have to say and I pretty much never change my opinion or revise my lifestyle because they are uncomfortable or disapprove.

Designed by New Mexico artist, Jeff Ducatt, the tie-dye GWAG shirt sets a new standard for "HiViz."

 I went for a bicycle ride with my wife back in March, 2013 (while we were camping at Palo Duro Canyon, Texas). She hasn't put many miles on a bicycle for a long time and wasn't a particularly technical rider when she did ride. She "rides" a stationary bike some, but that's not real bicycling and not much of that exercise translates into bicycling competence. Shifting, for example, or balancing or watching for traffic or stopping or turning. On her stationary bike, she pedals continuously against a fixed resistance. On her mountain bike, she can not get a handle on matching her pedal speed and resistance to the road speed. She wants to randomly twist her Grip-Shifters and desperately hopes something good will come from that activity. What she does not want to do is think about how the front and back derailleur shifters work. Like the stereotypical man'splainer I am, I tried to help her figure out pedaling, shifting, and maintaining a constant load on her legs in the insane hope that she would learn to like bicycling. As you probably already guessed, what I got for my effort was a blast of feminine anger and a long, unpleasant ride with lots of stops, extended periods of silence punctuated with lots of what passes for cursing from the "gentler sex." If "helping" with shifting gets that kind of response, imagine how talking about watching for erratic drivers and road-hogging truckers and staying in her lane went.

One of the hardest things many teachers have to learn is to find a way to care about the opinions, as uninformed and foolish as they are, of their students. If you try to fake it, you'll just sound patronizing. You really need to care on some fairly honest level. Many students, of any subject, labor under the delusion that they actually know something that would be interesting or useful to their instructors. Trust me, kiddies, you do not know anything anyone ever wants to hear about. Nothing. Not one thing. When you are stumbling along, failing to maneuver the bicycle or motorcycle competently, the last thing the person who is trying to help you needs to hear is what you think may be wrong with the vehicle or the advice you are given.

A typical attempt to bypass that foolishness is when the instructor takes your vehicle to demonstrate the technique. If the student is reasonably sentient, that demonstration of vehicle competence should end the conversation. Usually, it has no effect whatsoever. If that doesn't work, what would? Oddly, disdain seems to have a powerful effect. Contrary to modern, touchy-feely "everyone is a winner" educational philosophy, I've found that a sarcastic response to stupid assertions is a pretty quick route to the unused portions of a student's brain. As politically incorrect as they may be, ridicule, silence, and pretending the noisy brat isn't there are all fairly functional tactics, when it comes to conducting a group learning environment. The problem with these tactics is that occasionally a brilliant student will correctly challenge an instructor and if those moments are wrongly interpreted, the whole classroom comes unglued. The line between being an edgy teacher and being burned out is tiny.

As I cruise on toward the big Seven-Oh, I can clearly see moments in my near future where I will begin to give up more stuff. For the past two years, I've been getting rid of all sorts of possessions that I once believed would be with me to the bitter end. Turns out the end isn't all that bitter and it came up on me a lot faster than I'd anticipated. I've sold tens of thousands of dollars worth of audio equipment and I'm still getting rid of stuff from that portion of my life's history. My wife and I have purged furniture, pictures, kitchen appliances and utensils, books, records and CDs, artwork, and about 2/3rds of a household worth of stuff and we still seem to have a house full of stuff. By the end of that discard-period, I expected us to be down to a pretty small possession pile and ready to move or hit the road, whichever came first. And we were. With mobility comes flexibility. With flexibility comes less dependence on external income and tolerating the bullshit that working for a living usually requires. I am beginning to suspect that the "cranky old people" reputation is mostly generated by this cycle. Now that I have no aspirations to get richer, own more stuff, or live larger, I also have less tolerance for stupidity.

Since the two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and human stupidity, I'm developing an appreciation for hydrogen. People, not so much. 

That growing intolerance clearly signals the end of my teaching career, unless you can suggest a less stubbornly stupid species in need of motorcycle, music, electronics, or English instruction? Oddly, being a teacher was once at the dead-bottom of my list of career aspirations; since my father was a high school math and business teacher and my step-mother taught piano and neither of their careers looked like any fun at all. In the past few years, my original perspective on teaching as a career choice has been making a comeback. After a 30+ year career that included industrial training of everyone from electronic assembly workers to cardiologists and a 13 year career as a college instructor in a music school, I decided to quit while I was ahead. After almost 20 years of putting butts on seats and pointing out the brakes, clutch, and handlebars to newbies on dirt and street bikes, I find myself completely uninterested in the judgment of rookies who have strong opinions about subjects they will never master. Regardless of what happens to my motorcycle instruction career, until you can ride, I don't care what you think about motorcycle brands, styles, or politics.

The Death of DP?

Hard to know, but it’s harder to find people who think off-pavement riding is even interesting, let alone worth risking life, limb, and savings on this kind of adventure. All of the economic reasons listed are valid and likely contributors, but I think the biggest problem is the price of motorcycles vs. competitive means of transportation.

• HONDA XR650L: $6690
• KAWASAKI KLR650: $6599
• SUZUKI DR650S: $6499
• HUSQVARNA FE501S: $10,599
• BETA 500RS : $9799
• KTM 500EXC-F: $10,399
• BETA 430RS: $9699
• HUSQVARNA FE350S: 10,399
• KTM 350EXC-F: $10,199
• SUZUKI DR-Z400S: $6599
• HONDA CRF250L: $4999
• YAMAHA WR250R: $6690
• YAMAHA XT250: $5190
• SSR XF250: $2999
• SUZUKI DR200S: $4499
• YAMAHA TW200: $4590

Maybe these prices look reasonable to you, but for a kid looking for a recreational vehicle he/she might ride for 3-4 months a year, 3-4 times a week, this is nutty money.

Gangbanger Holiday

This past weekend, Friday through Sunday, was River City Days in Red Wing. More than usual, we had packs of loud, incompetent, badged and tatted pirates parading through town creating smog, noise, irritation, and entertainment. We made it to the downtown affair a couple of times and had an opportunity to view how motorcycles are seen by the general public in a fairly diverse crowd. It’s pretty much all negative.

 

If you think South Park was exaggerating, you’re delusional, clueless, and or an asshole. There are no other alternatives.

The experience got me to thinking about where years of negative stereotypes are taking the future of motorcycling. Combined with a 3,000 mile trip to the Rockies and back earlier this summer where I saw so few motorcycles doing anything other than being asshole gangbangers or asshole squids, this summer really put a point on the spear I’ve been anticipating for years. Other than a few Midwestern manufacturing jobs, who would it inconvenience if motorcycles were banned from public roads? Since motorcyclists are already classified as “terrorists” and gangsters by the FBI (and I mean all of us with a class “M” license, not just the actual gangbangers), the majority of the public considers motorcycles to be a menace (and not just in the US), and insurance companies and most motorcyclists consider their motorcycle to be purely a “recreational vehicle,” it’s pretty obvious that we’re treading on unsound territory here.

In the past (the mid-80’s), the motorcycle manufacturers have at least considered ending motorcycle imports to the US and other 1st world countries due to liability costs. If insurance companies (especially health insurance) were able to properly price their products regarding insurer risk, most of us wouldn’t be able to ride because we couldn’t afford health or life insurance. If the public could do simple math, the estimated $2/mile cost of motorcycle crashes (mostly paid by the general public, since only half of motorcyclists involved in crashes have health insurance) would drive more than a little legislative action. Economically, the only rational move any society has is to start moving toward getting motorcycles off of the public’s roads.

Again, I ask “Who would that inconvenience?” Well under 1% of the public are being supported and tolerated by the 99%. If that sounds familiar, consider how much rage there is toward that other 1% group. Lucky for us and the other 1%, at least half of the country is so stupid that they will vote for a 1%’er to save themselves from sanity and they will pretend that motorcycles are some sort of “freedom” worth protecting. But they may not be stupid forever.

Why I Don't Ride Cruisers (or When Seat Height Is All That Matters)

Originally, this was an article requested by my old MMM editor, Sev Pearman. His idea was for me to identify motorcycles with low seat heights (the apparent prime technical specification for the over-50 crowd) that were still competent motorcycles. Going into to this, I thought it was a hopeless task but I was slightly surprised that there are a few options. Maybe this isn’t apparent, but the fact is that a low seat height is an engineering sacrifice on several levels. The only race bikes that even make an attempt to keep the seat low are dragsters and they are the ultimate in single-purpose vehicles. To be sure I wasn’t missing something obvious, I ran the article past Kevin Cameron and he said, in his usual efficient manner, “Everything you’ve said is true.” So, with my apparent appeal to a higher authority in hand, I went with what I had.

Apparently, there is no interest in this kind of article in the new MMM editorial regime and it appears to be an unsellable idea to the rest of moto-journalism, so I will “publish” it here for my favorite readers.

All Rights Reserved © 2012 Thomas W. Day

As an MSF instructor, I hear this every week, "I bought a Harley/V-Star/Polaris/etc. because I could touch the ground flat-footed." A lot of the rest of that discussion goes over my head. I don't own a bike I can flat-foot and haven't since the early-1980's, so that selection criteria has rarely connected with me. However, with a 29" inseam (and that measure usually means my pants' cuffs are ragged) and arthritis in every joint, getting a leg over a tall seat is not an insignificant consideration. The problem is physics and physical.

Last summer, a Geezer blog reader, John Kettlewell, sent me a note (titled "Cruisers!") that contained an article from New York state's "The Saratogian" about one more old Harley rider failing to negotiate a curve and meeting a tractor-trailer head-on. John summed up his analysis of this fatal crash with, "[This] is why cruisers are a problem--no matter how much you plan on just puttering down the road to the next rally or bar, there comes a time on a motorcycle when you need to maneuver and/or brake fast in order to avoid some problem. They just aren't safe." Forwarding that note to a few friends started an email conversation that resulted in Sev Pearman challenging me to write a "non-ranty" article that would prove that "If you value low seat height you don't have to settle for all the limitations inherent to a compromised cruiser form." 

John's reasoning is why I avoid the cruiser style of motorcycles. They aren't safe. Now, I have to figure out if there is a way to get a low seat height and still have a competent motorcycle. First, I am going to try to define "low seat height."

While there are motorcycles that go overboard in the pursuit of stumpy seat heights, like the 24" seats from the late-odd Ridley Motorcycle's vehicles, it appears that anything under 30" is an engineering decision to go low as a primary design feature. Engineering anything involves design compromises and the design concessions made to keep motorcycle seat heights low result in long wheel bases, low ground clearance, poor cornering capability, suspension travel limits, and the resulting handling constraints. There are few performance-enhancing options for an engineer who is told "keep the seat under 30 inches." BMW's boxer engine is one way to lower the height of the engine, although that option creates a wide profile that has other issues. For good reasons, BMW doesn't abuse the vertical space saved by their engine design to dramatically lower seat heights. BMW's lowest seat height (using the "comfort seat" and suspension lowering options ) is found on the R1200R and K1600 GTL models at 29.5 inches; 33-35" is more in-line with their design specifications. BMW does offer custom seats on six models with the explanation, "Let's face it - not every one is six feet tall with long inseams. And besides, some folks just want a more easy-handling riding position." Still, what BMW calls "low" compared to Harley Davidson's typical 26" seat heights is a world apart for many riders.

Once a designer has opted to drop the seat height to an arbitrary value very near the height of the rear tire, several things have to give way to make room for the seat base. The obvious, and often used, solution is to stretch the frame to create the necessary real estate. When you couple this requirement with the style-related requirement of a large, padded tractor seat, the frame can get quite long. By necessity, a longer wheelbase means more "stability," which is marketing-speak for "ponderous steering."

Going for a sub-30" seat height, including 3-4" of padding and seat frame, the next thing effected is ground clearance. With 22-24" from the bottom of the seat base to the ground, typical cruiser ground clearance specifications are in the 4-5" territory. That limited clearance not only effects the motorcycle's ability to get over common obstacles, like speed bumps and driveway gutters, but low clearance dramatically reduces the motorcycle's maximum lean angle. If the designer chooses to find some of the necessary real estate for the engine and transmission by increasing engine/transmission width, even more lean angle is lost. Maximum lean is directly related to a motorcycle's ability to turn quickly and perform basic maneuvers.

Ground clearance means more than just the space between the frame and the ground. Ground clearance sets a maximum limit to suspension travel. If the ground clearance is 4", the absolute maximum suspension travel is also 4" and the practical limit is more like 2 1/2" to 3". The first time I rode a modern Harley was in 1993, in Colorado. I was on a Sportster of some sort and as I swung the bike from the dealer's driveway to the street, I ground the pipe when the front tire dropped into the gutter. It was a normal maneuver, I wasn't turning sharply or going fast. When I brought the bike back, I watched other riders leave the dealership and discovered that they all turned right from the drive into the far edge of the four-lane street's center lane, to increase the radius of their turn and reduce the lean angle. Not only is that an illegal maneuver, it's unsafe and a terrible demonstration of one more way cruisers are unsafe vehicles. It did, however, prevent the pipe-grinding problem I experienced when I turned into the near lane. The lack of lean capability is a big part of the "I had to lay 'er down" mythology. Those riders did "have to" lay the bike down, since attempting to do any serious steering maneuver would lever the bike up on to metal parts and throw the vehicle into an uncontrolled slide.

It's important to keep in mind that a low seat height might mean an unacceptably wide seat, too. To cover the hot engine components that have been made wide to avoid making them tall, manufacturers put tractor seats on many motorcycles and shift the footpegs far forward to accommodate broad transmission and engine cases. In many cases, the advantage of the low seat is lost as the feet-forward riding position gives up steering leverage, the rider's ability to stand when the vehicle crosses obstacles, and a well-balanced position of strength when the motorcycle is stopped.

Many women complain that motorcycle manufacturers don't consider their physiology in bike designs. The complaint should more accurately be that physics and nature have conspired against motorcyclists with short legs and limited strength: sex is inconsequential (you don't see that statement often). So far, even electric motorcycles haven't overcome this requirement, since batteries take that same territory in the center of the motorcycle. Allowing for reasonable room for a power plant and transmission necessarily raises the seat height, center of gravity (COG), and usually creates a motorcycle that requires more strength to handle at low speeds and when the bike is stopped. Once the motorcycle is in motion, the advantage moves to the shorter wheelbase, higher ground clearance, quicker steering designs. The scooter and cruiser solution of moving the motor and/or rider over the rear wheel produces compromises in weight distribution and handling.

Going for the lowest seat height possible has produced some odd results; one example would be those 24" seat heights and other non-rider accommodations (auto-transmission, parking brake, etc.) that were found on the late Ridley Motorcycle's vehicles. The company's 2009 (last year of production) 750cc Auto-Glide cost $14,500, has a 24.5" seat height, 5.25" of ground clearance, 3.5" of suspension travel, weighed 482 pounds (wet), and a 77.5" wheelbase. The CV transmission eliminated a lot of real estate demands, which gave Ridley a couple of extra inches to work with between the ground and the seat height. Ridley aggressively aimed their products at Boomer Generation women, a marketing plan that may have backfired as loudly as their barely-muffled motorcycles.

Looking for more traditional and better performing motorcycles in the major manufacturer lines didn't do much to counteract the argument that the low seat height target coexists with performance motorcycles:

Yamaha's "new for 2012" XT250 Dual Purpose all-around commuter/play-bike has a stock 31.9" seat height and a really narrow profile, which makes it a lot more friendly than the specs read to riders like me. Still, 32" is a fair obstacle for many overweight and un-athletic Americans and for those with altitude-challenged inseams. The rest of Yamaha's lineup presents exactly the rider complaint that forces them to the company's V-Star products. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you shouldn't consider the Super Ténéré (33.26" or 34.25" with an optional "low seat" that takes another 35mm ( 1.38") away from the stock seat's measurements) or the FZ1/FZ8 (32.1"), FZ6 (30.9") or the FJR1300A (31.69" or 32.48"). We both know those kinds of numbers are exactly what put you in the V-Star Roadliner's 27.8" seat, aren't they?

Honda has always known who the Goldwing market is and that bike's stock 29.1" seat height reflects that awareness. The new NTV700V seems to be less well-positioned with a 31.7" seat and the Adventure Touring NC700X's 32.7" riding height puts that bike in the "questionable" category for those afraid of heights or with limited mobility. The CBR250R is well-designed for its target market, new riders and urban commuters, with a 30.5" seat. The rest of Honda's sportbike line seat heights run very near 32" for the whole product line and their cruisers are predictably around 26".

Kawasaki has, probably, the most commonly modified motorcycle in the history of motorized two-wheel vehicles in the KLR650 (No, loud pipes and cheap chrome don't qualify as "modifications." At best, those bits are no more personal or creative than the Xmas decorations you bought at Wal-Mart.) The KLR's 35" seat height is a prime reason this go-everywhere motorcycle attracts aftermarket vendors. Kawasaki's "little" dual purpose bike, the KLX250S also sports a 35" seat. The Kawai sport bikes are in the 31.7-33.3" territory, except for the 250R and the 2009 500R at 30.5". That company's sporty tourer, the Concours, sits at 32.1", ignoring the lesson Honda demonstrates with the Goldwing. The Vulcan Vaquero, Voyager, and Nomad cruiser-tourers offer a 28.7" platform. Kawasaki drops that to 27" on the Vulcan cruisers.

Suzuki's sportbikes all sit about 32" high and the cruisers drop that to about 27.5". One of the best urban commuting bikes imported to the US, the TU250X standard, has a 30.3" seat. The 650 and liter V-Stroms start at 33". As expected, Suzuki's dual sport bikes aren't playing the low seat game. Only the DRZ125 has a reachable 30.5" seat, while their "serious" dirt bike, the RM-Z450 sits at 37.6".

Most popular motorcycles will attract aftermarket products for lowering the suspension or seat. Lowering the seat doesn't involved a lot of risk, other than a possible sore butt. Dropping the suspension can introduce engineering flaws that can be hazardous. For example, if you lower the suspension 2" on a KLR, you have a math problem. The stock KLR650 has 8.3" of ground clearance and 7.3" rear and 7.9" front suspension travel. Two inches off of the rear suspension means the bike's frame will hit ground while the suspension continues to collapse. There is a solid reason Kawasaki put some margin between ground clearance and suspension travel. Lowering the suspension at one or both ends changes the frame and steering geometry, too. That can have serious handling and stability consequences. Just because some shade tree "mechanic" offers a lowering kit does not mean installing that kit is a good idea.

Where does that leave those of us who walk less-than-tall? The choices are obvious. We can either suffer performance-compromised cruisers that "just aren't safe" or we can learn to ride real motorcycles.

The posterboy for the second choice was Gaston Rahier, the Belgian Suzuki-rider's three-time FIM 125cc Motocross World Champion (he still holds the record with 29 Grand Prix victories), four-time Motocross de Nations winning team member, and three-time Paris-Dakar winner on the highly-modified 1000cc BMW Rally GS motorcycle that he made famous. "The little man with the giant reputation" was 5'4" tall and you can see how tall the BMW in comparison. The GS weighed 507 pounds and with 60 liters of fuel being a substantial portion of that mass. If being able to touch the ground wasn't a big deal when Rahier was crossing the Sahara Desert, not being able to put both feet flat on the ground can't been a critical criteria for selecting your bike.

There are tactics for riding a tall bike that relieve some of the problems associated with that long reach:

• Assuming you're not sitting on a wide saddle, shift your body to the left side when stopping and plan ahead to stop with only your left foot on the ground. Using this approach, I can often flat-foot my 34" WR250X's at stoplights; it's just one foot, though.
• Watch for crowned roads and sloped parking spaces. Even if you're shifted off to the side, going for the longer distance could be enough to throw you off balance.
• Although you'll lose style points, it's often worth getting off of the bike where the ground is flat and the sidestand can help hold the bike up. When you are off of the bike, back it into the parking space and wrestle with positioning the motorcycle without the added problem of dismounting.
• Mount the bike like you're riding a horse. I can, currently, swing a leg over the WR but I don't usually bother. The sidestand and bracket are pretty stout on that bike and I take advantage of that fact by getting on the bike using the left footpeg as a stepladder. In open terrain, I often mount up "Pony Express-style"; I put my left foot on the peg, slip the clutch to get the bike rolling, and swing up on to the bike as it gets moving. On muddy ground, this can be the only way I can get back on two wheels.
• Ride wearing real motorcycle boots. Decent motorcycle boots add at least an inch to your leg length and their grip they provide will keep your feet from sliding out from under you when the road surfaces are imperfect.
• Learn to balance your motorcycle. Regardless of law enforcement mythology, no state law requires a motorcyclist to put a foot down at a stop light or sign. If you can balance the bike, you are more ready to move away from stopped in an emergency and you'll be more likely to have your eyes up and looking for hazards than if you're comfortably relaxing waiting for a light change. Bicyclists do it all the time and it's much harder to balance a bicycle. 

Wrapping this up, I see that I failed to accomplish Sev's assignment. Outside of the Goldwing, I did not find a single competent, new motorcycle with a seat lower than 30". There are, however, several choices for reasonably modern used (especially pre-1990) motorcycles. Even with 30" as an acceptable measure, the choices are all under-500cc motorcycles.  That's not a bad thing because a competent two-fifty is more vehicle than 90% of the height-challenged motorcycling public can ride to the limits of that machine's capabilities. If you're set on that two-liter hippomobile and "value low seat height" above other riding and engineering concerns, you will "have to settle for all the limitations inherent to a compromised cruiser form." Currently, there is no magic bullet that solves the handling problems created by a sub-30" seat height. Outside of scooters and cruisers, there aren't many options out there for riders who insist on looking for a motorcycle that accommodates their physical inabilities. Getting into shape, limbering up, becoming stronger and more flexible is probably out of the question. Right?

POSTSCRIPT: Thanks for a few readers, I have been officially turned on to the Gurney Alligator; an attempt to remedy the problems of low seat height and handling. To my eyes, most of the objections still stand with this vehicle. I can see how it might have some improved characteristics on nearly perfect roads/racetracks, but I think I’d rather have a convertible than something this restrictive, uncomfortable, and limited.

Being Stereotyped

 One of the downsides of being a motorcyclist is that when people find out that I ride a motorcycle they immediately start stereotyping me. My 12 year relationship with Minnesota Motorcycle Monthly started out when I met a young couple at a music magazine party, who my daughter had introduced to me as "people who ride motorcycles." They were youngish, relative to me, dressed in black with a fair amount of leather in their ensembles, and pretty much fit in with the hipsters who were attending the party; although they had taken over a couch a corner of the house out of the line of party traffic. I have no clue how I was dressed. I'd driven my daughter, her year-old son, and my wife to the party, so I could have been wearing the "business attire" crap required for my corporate job or I could have been outfitted in my usual away-from-work worn jeans, long sleeve tee-shirt, and high-tops "fashion statement."

I don't like parties much, so I was mostly looking for a conversation near the door so I could pretend to be polite, say "hi" and "nice to meet you" and slip out the exit and take a long walk around the neighborhood until my family was ready or willing to let me get the hell out of there. Crowds of more than three people make me nervous and there must have been fifty people crammed into that house. I was not looking to strike up a friendship or even a long conversation. I got the feeling they were hoping our introduction wouldn't waste a lot of time, either. Troy Johnson and Erin Hartman were making similar assumptions about me that I made about them. When they politely asked, "What do you ride" in response to my daughter's introduction of me as a "biker, too" they were clearly surprised when I replied "an 850 Yamaha TDM." To them, I was an old guy and they had made the logical assumption that I would be pirating along on some sort of Hardly or a Hardly look-alike. Likewise, I had made similar assumptions about them.

After we reassembled our interior stereotypes, we actually had a conversation that resulted in Troy's complaining that nobody who read the magazine ever bothered to write in with either agreement or complete disgust about anything published in the magazine. I offered to write an article that I guaranteed would create response. They offered to publish it for a nominal fee if it was any good. That article ended with "We’re, on average, a freakin’ nation of posers and squids and we aren’t worth the effort it takes to run an EPA test." The next few weeks, Troy and Erin fielded more letters to the editor than they had received "in the history of the magazine." I've been a columnist for MMM since that first brief October 1999 shot across the bow of what passes for motorcycle journalism and community.

The point, of course, is that even motorcyclists assume the worst about people who ride motorcycles. And, usually, they are right. Be honest. You are hanging out at a restaurant and this guy rides up with similar looking buddies, puts a kickstand down, and waddles into the building. What are you thinking? I know I'm going to wrap up my meal and get the hell out before one of those characters sights in on my helmet and Aerostich gear and decides to have a conversation with me. If I'm lucky, they haven't kicked over my WR or V-Strom in a little-boy "rice burner" exhibition of stupidity and bullshit fake patriotism and I can get the hell out of there without any sort of incident. For all I know these guys are all lawyers and doctors dressing up as bad boys, but I'm not looking for poser friends, ever, and there is nothing about any of the possibilities that is worth testing the waters.

When I showed this guy's picture to my wife, she said the guy who did the welding for a theme park project she designed 20-some years ago looked just like him. I looked at the early assembly of that stuff and mentioned to the project manager that they might want to hire an independent welding inspector before the frames were covered up with fiberglass artwork. I wouldn't trust my kids to something that guy had welded. I've known a few great welders and they were all as personally meticulous as they were professionally picky. If it looks like a slob, acts like a slob, and sounds like a slob, I'd assume it is a slob in all areas of life. Her "welder" was just another shop guy who'd fooled some ignorant management moron into believing he could weld "good enough."

On the other hand, I know several brilliant musicians, a few genius college professors (physics, sociology, electrical and mechanical engineering, philosophy, music, and neurology PhD's and MS's), more than a few technicians and engineers (mechanical, alternative energy, and electrical engineering), and a couple lawyers who have all of the above biker's physical and sartorial attributes except for the excess lard (although I know a brilliant Colorado lawyer who could wrap himself in that biker's "gear" without much discomfort). The problem with stereotypes is that they don't allow you to pick out the one-in-some-large-number exceptions. The reason we naturally create stereotypes ("profiles") is because they are more often than not accurate. They save us time, energy, and create some safe margin of distance from people who are often dangerous or useless.

One of my favorite recreation-reading authors, Minnesota-ex-patriot John (Camp) Sandford, is pretty typical in his "civilian" outlook on motorcyclists. In his newest book, Mad River, Sandford has one of his state cop main characters', Lucas Davenport, thinking about where you look to find criminals: "Davenport had spent the best part of two years building a database of people in Minnesota who . . . knew a lot of bad people. He had a theory that every town of any size would have bars, restaurants, biker shops, what he called 'nodes' that would attract the local assholes."In a list of three places in all of society where you might find the worst criminals "biker shops" makes the grade. Something for all of us to be proud of? Pound your chest and whine "that's not fair, we're not all assholes" as much as you like, but you know Sandford is just writing what everyone is thinking. By "everyone," I'm including us, even we think most bikers are assholes.

Doin' It for 45 Years?

If you read my last Geezer column in MMM, you know I've been on the tipping point for a hip replacement for a couple of years. I tipped over last week and had the old hip cut out and replaced with what I hope is a high tech prosthetics. So, I'm stuck in the house suffering the great views of a warm Minnesota December while my bikes wither away in the garage. What to do?

So far, that's easy. I have a handful of physical therapy routines to work on, I upped my Netflix DVD allowance so that I can choke on all of the western movies I can't get on-line, and I'm too doped up on morphine and oxycodone-actetaminophen to worry about anything for long. One of the movies that passed a bit of time was "Bustin' Down the Door," a documentary about the origins of pro surfing in the 1970's when the Aussies took the sport away from Hawaiian control and surfing went big-time worldwide.

There are two motorcycling-similar stories in "Bustin' Down." One was the reaction of the old-time, biker gangster types (called the "Black Shorts" and headed by a surfing Hell's Angel stereotype named Eddie Rothman in the film). Rothman and his gangbanger buddies view the beach and surfing as their territory and fought back against the Aussie invasion with the only tools they had; violence and intimidation. "If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em up" has been the gangbanger chant for centuries and, as usual, laws and the cops proved to be as useless in Hawaii as they are everywhere else. The gangbangers kept the Aussies out of championship events until 1975. The Aussies couldn't even get into major events in 1974. In 1975, they won every event they entered and major press attention (and big event purses) followed. Even in their own words, the Black Shorts characters were about preventing change, true conservatives. They wanted to maintain control of the dinky surfing pond they'd managed to create and the Aussies wanted to put surfing into the ocean. Literally, the Hawaiians were afraid to attempt the maneuvers the Aussies were introducing, so their solution was to chase the Aussies out of the sport.

In the end, the Black Shorts sort of won. Hawaii is no longer the hub of surfing. The Harley gangsters managed to pull of the same kind of coup in the US. By creating "Harley-only" race venues and through rules and intimidation, the 1960's US motorcycling gangsters drove anyone who wasn't a gangbanger to the other side. Today, the US makes marginally functional hippobikes and practically every country in the industrialized world makes real motorcycles. The conservatives won and the nation lost.

The other similarity between motorcycling and surfing was pointed out by South African, Michael Tomson, "Very few people can look through their life, and say they've been doing something for 45 years. What have you been doing for 45 years? I will surf till I die."

Before this surgery, my wife tried to reconcile me to the possibility that I'm going to have to quit riding a motorcycle some time. "You can't ride forever." I can't live forever, either, but I can keep riding for a lot more years and you may as well assume that I will ride till I die.

Multitasking Motorcycles

I have often been accused of being incapable of "really enjoying" a ride. I admit I'm not one of those folks who are primary making a trip for the sake of the trip. I go places on a motorcycle because I get to go more places by motorcycle than I would via other transportation systems. You can't get there from here if "there" is a ghost town in some isolated western state or if "there" is any place the average person might discount as "uninteresting." If I could get to the places I want to go by train or bus, I'd probably take a lot more trips by train or bus. Airports bore the crap out of me, so I'd probably pass on airplanes even if they weren't destination-bound to high traffic tourist and business locations. I really hate cars and freeways, so if that were my only option I'd probably travel a lot less.

However, when I do travel by motorcycle I tend to try to get from Point A to Point B fairly efficiently. I don't stop and smell flowers, hang out in bars or restaurants, shop, or wander around cities and towns not on my my itinerary. While I'm on the road, I pay attention to the road. I'm pretty focused about riding and paying attention to my motorcycle and all those other highway hazards. Yeah, I'm talking about you folks in your cages. I don't wear headphones and listen to music or recorded books while I ride. I have been known to mess with a camera while rolling, but I don't do that much. Now that I have a helmet-cam, I am pretty much hands-on-the-bars all the time.

Boring, right? Probably.

Since I canned my manufacturing engineering career, I don't multitask at anything. If I'm doing anything interesting or complicated, I don't answer the phone, look at my email, watch television, listen to music, or even talk when someone else is in the room. In fact, I've never believed in multitasking, but you can't be a manufacturing or quality engineer or manager without pretending to do seven things at once. It's just not possible to do two tasks at the same time and do either of them well.

A lot of people think they can multitask, but that's true only if you suck at everything you do. I'm no rocket scientist, great motorcycle rider, no brilliant writer, no amazing engineer, but I want to be the best I can be with the skills I have. Can't do that and do other stuff at the same time.

In manufacturing, we used to have a rule we presented to management, "Quality, Price, or Delivery. Pick two." The fact is, you have to pick one primary goal and one secondary goal. You can't even have two of the three without substantial compromise in both. The same applies to the human brain. The more distractions you allow, the worse your performance becomes.

The only way to keep that shiny side up is to concentrate on your riding. If you want to look at the flowers, stop and get off and look at the damn things till you're tired of them. Meditate on those posies until you're ready to think about riding again. If you want to wonder at the majesty of the mountains, take a hike. If the birds and the bees are your thing, rest a while and watch them fly about. If you want to ride a motorcycle, get real. Motorcycling isn't something for the attention deficit disordered. It isn't a casual activity; like golf or voting. This is life-threatening business and if you don't recognize that you're going to find out about it the hard way.

I realize there are people far more talented at anything than me. Maybe they can multitask safely. Maybe. I'm not them and I'm not interested in testing those kinds of limits. I'm old, fragile, slow to heal, and want to preserve whatever life I have left for activities I enjoy. Almost everything I enjoy requires me to be mobile and relatively pain-free.

Russian Off-Road Challenge 2010

The well-informed and always entertaining folks from the TC_DualSport group turned me on to this incredibly entertaining off-road expedition. Some seriously macho Russians on some unbelievably tortured motorcycles with a great Russian Rock and Roll soundtrack.

These guys found every possible way to fall down and survive. All the scenery and riding footage of The Long Way Round, without all the whining and yak.

Handicapping

All Rights Reserved © 2010 Thomas W. Day

I recently taught an MSF Experienced Rider Course (ERC) with another refugee from our magazine. He is a serious rider with a small collection of motorcycles in various states of abuse and deterioration and an even bigger collection of small businesses and personal responsibilities. The result of that complicated mid-life is that his motorcycles don't always get the love and attention the need and deserve. The result of that result was that on this Sunday morning, he had nothing to ride. So, his choice was to give up the class, use one of the state's motorcycles for class demonstrations, or turn over all the demos to me. To cover his bets, he'd already pulled one of the state's Suzuki GZ250's from the trailer when I arrived.

To satisfy as many people as possible, the state provides us with a fair selection of motorcycles for the Basic Rider Course. We have small sport bikes, a couple models of dual purpose bikes, some standards, and some cruisers. Why an experienced and talented rider would pick the GZ250 from that assortment is the inspiration for the title of this rant. The GZ250 is a clunky-shifting, long-wheelbase, uncomfortable, awkward and imprecise mini-cruiser. If you want to look like you know what you are doing, this would be the last bike you'd pick for demonstrations. (I've written before about how dumb I think cruisers are, so this isn't going to be that discussion.) His reasoning for picking the one bike in the trailer that he didn't like riding was: he was handicapping himself with a poorly designed motorcycle so that student's wouldn't be able to claim he was "cheating" the course on an easier-to-ride bike than the implement they'd brought.

Many of us who teach the ERC get that response from the hippobike crowd when we demonstrate on our motorcycles. So, we compensate. I usually ride my 650 V-Strom for these classes, although my everyday ride is a 250 dual purpose. Unless I'm going some distance or need the carrying space the V-Strom's 3 cases provides, the 250 does my commuting job pretty damn well. So, when I ride the V-Strom for an ERC, I'm handicapping myself for the benefit of the many characters who bring over-sized, hard-to-ride motorcycles that overwhelm their skills and physical capabilities. I guess I'm trying to show some sympathy for their poor choices. The more I think about this, the dumber it seems.

At the other end of the learning spectrum, when the MN-Sportbike guys throw one of their Hedonistic-Enthusiasm parties and I'm able to sign up, I often bring the 250. It's more fun to ride. The only way I can keep up with my group is to go fast in the corners, since everyone is going to hammer me on the straights. I learn more about cornering and I push my own limits harder on the little bike. Did I mention it's more fun to ride?

In emergency situations, I'd rather be on the little bike. It's stops faster, turns quicker, is able to leap tall curbs in a single hop, is as happy riding in a ditch as on the pavement, slips between practically any traffic space, and, if I find myself lying under it, it doesn't weigh much. Splitting lanes in an emergency maneuver is way easier on the 250. Swerving away from a traffic obstacle is effortless and doesn't even require much thought.

It's obvious that lots of American motorcyclists think that buying a big bike is like buying a big car: bigger is safer. That is about the dumbest rationale I've ever heard. When you are vaulting over the handlebars, you want the smallest motorcycle you can imagine in the air behind you. It's hard to come up with an emergency scenario that would justify being on a large motorcycle. In any crash situation, the highway, traffic, engineering, and nature have handicapped motorcyclists to a sensational disadvantage. We don't need to give up any more than we have already donated to make this demonstration seem "fair." When you are on the top rung of that risk-taking ladder, it's past time to start looking for any advantage you can find.

Even when I'm demonstrating on the V-Strom, I get "That's easy to do on your bike, trying doing that on my Giganticusmaximus " My response is usually, "Why would I want to do that?"

Seriously. Why would I want to ride a motorcycle that was designed by a committee that has the group intelligence of a Spinal Tap audience? Hell, my 650 is too big for the stuff we're doing on this range. My 250 would be perfect here, but I'm handicapping myself with a road bike so that you won't feel bad about not being on the wrong motorcycle for your skills and our purposes. If you think this U-turn exercise is easy on my V-Strom, you'll really be disgusted at how easy it is to do on the bike I ride everyday.

By the way, I put 5,000 miles on my 250 last year, what did you do on your 1800 Hippodromeopotamus? Are you going to ride that thing, or just watch it deteriorate in your garage? You can't ride it, right? You're afraid you're going to crash it and kill yourself because it's too big, too powerful, and you don't have the skills to manage it. You should have bought a 250 for your first bike, but you didn't want to look stupid. You missed that bet, dude. You can't look dumber than when you are selling your $25,000 motorcycle for $5,000 with 2500 miles on the odometer and a rash of scratched up chrome from when you dropped the bike in your driveway.

Politically Incorrectness

Ah, political correctness:. saying what shouldn't be said, calling things what they are, expecting common sense in a world that has made sense about as common as unicorns. A friend recently sent me a definition of "political correctness" that included the phrase "a doctrine . . . that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end." (Credited on the WWW to a student from Texas A&M, the University of Melbourne, and several other institutions, including the US Army.) The rest of this definition included the delusion that political correctness is a property of liberals and that a minority is vested in this delusion, so I'm less than impressed with the whole. The part I quoted, however, seems pretty true.

My wife and I are deemed politically incorrect by our daughters and their husbands. One family is largely liberal and the other is very conservative. We're as incorrect to one as the other. Hence comes a portion of my belief that political correctness is one of those perspectives that depends on the viewer. Rush Limbaugh and his cronies have just as many untouchable subjects as do the most radical of the left, those topics are just found in different areas. In other words, both groups display typical "common sense" in their touchiness.

In a discussion about gayness, one of my daughters suggested that "no one" would "choose to be outcast" by a substantial portion of society. I'm not disputing the biological aspects of gayness, but I suspect (and always have) there there is a portion of nurture involved in most human qualities and decisions. Nature, while powerful, doesn't have much more power than does nurture. I know that's politically incorrect, but I'm too old to care.

In my eyes, this politically correct position was particularly funny coming from a woman who shaved her head (when not dying it a variety of florescent colors), spiked her nose, ears, and other body parts with all sorts of odd sharp objects, tattooed herself with a ball point pen, and did everything she could to make herself as strange looking as possible from age 15 until her early 20's. Knowing my own history as a 60's long-haired hippy freak, you'd have thought some aspect of discontinuity might have struck her during this proclamation.

In our speck of American culture, motorcyclists are packed with these sorts of intentional social rejects. The most obvious is the Harley gangbanger crowd. The majority of society looks at these folks as outcasts, even other motorcyclists. Why anyone would want to dress-up like characters out of a 1950's B-movie escapes me, but a substantial portion of the wanna-be crowd is really into looking like society's unwashed and unwanted and unemployed. There must be a strong call to those who can't find acceptance in polite company to make a sincere effort to find a home wherever they can. If that's true for punks and bikers, I can't help suspect it might be true for other outcast micro-cultures.

Once a group finds enough members to create critical mass, that group begins campaigning everyone else to grant their different-ness with proper respect. If respect isn't possible, fear seems to suffice. A group can leverage fear in a variety of ways: threatening legal action, threatening popular condemnation, or with violence. Fear rarely turns into respect, regardless of the tactic, and many of these groups continue to alienate the majority without a thought for the fact that fear is closely related to hate. Generating hate usually backfires.

The gangbanger motorcyclist attitude is creating that sort of back-pressure for motorcycling in general. In promoting their threatening, law-disobeying lifestyle, air and noise polluting "rights," and a lousy safety record on public roads, Harley's corporate image and the company's fans are spilling over into motorcycling in general. We're becoming as easy a bad guy stereotype as the Mob, IRS, FBI, CIA, and Arab terrorists. When an author or screenwriter wants to whip out an easy character to hate, a biker is as likely to come to mind as is any other culturally negative stereotype. I just finished John Stanford's Storm Prey and, for the 4th time in this 20-book series, bikers are among the bad guys. Stanford doesn't even have to work to create believable, crazy-vicious, stupid motorcycle characters. They just flow from the page without a hint of lost credibility. If you know these guys in real life, you know they are just as sociopathic and worthless as Stanford draws them.

In the not-so-long-run, this connection to the majority or motorcyclists is going to cost motorcycling a lot of rights and privileges. Our lame "representative," the AMA, is trying to handle this turd by what it hopes is the clean end. But as long as motorcyclists allow bikers to cling to some corner of "respectable motorcyclists" we're all getting tarred with a black leather brush. I'm starting to think that motorcycle commuters and touring riders need their own organization, one that seperates itself from the cruiser crowd and returns to Honda's successful "you meet the nicest people" sort of image-making. The boys in bandannas and leather can whine about how they are politically incorrectly seen as gangsters and bums, but the rest of us should serious consider what linking our means of transportation to their gangbanger activity does to/for motorcycling.

Think about it.