Issue #269 I am Not Getting Too Old for This
Funny things happen when it’s cold and riding days are few. We learn how different we really are. In summer, when everyone’s sitting on patios enjoying the sun, riding a motorcycle makes sense to the general public. Riding when it’s less than 15 degrees is when people start to question. When the thermometer reads under 10 degrees, we’re considered lunatics.
It would seem that it’s really unusual to continue to ride into the cold because of the comments people make. Complete strangers let me know that it’s weird to ride a motorcycle past October, bordering on uncivilized. They rarely react that way in summer. Somehow, we’re crossing a line when we ride when even they are wearing jackets. On the other hand, sometimes a perfectly ordinary person becomes extraordinary by virtue of riding a motorcycle in the cold, as though riding in the cold carries a mystique.
People also wonder about those who ride even though they’re clearly ageing. Sometimes I find myself wondering how much longer I’ll be able to swing a leg over my rather tall motorcycle. But I figure that as long as I keep doing it I’ll stay in shape for doing it! This logic works for almost anything physical, which is why people in their 90s are still climbing stairs—because they’re still climbing stairs. Remarkable logic, isn’t it?
I used to enjoy talking with people in their 80s whom I met at vintage bike rallies when I was in my twenties. They were still riding, and set a standard for me. They let me know that if they could do it, I could too. I’ve believed that ever since.
I’m grateful to those men who told me stories about the old days. It seems impossible now that I was talking with people who had stories about riding during the war: World War One that is and the years after.
Supplies then were scarce and alternatives few. If a bike blew a hole in a cylinder they would remove the head, cylinder and connecting rod, then cover the hole with a piece of metal and turn a two-cylinder engine into a single-cylinder and ride. And they rode in snow. Mind you, they added sidecars whenever possible. Motorcycles were simpler in those days, that’s for sure. And they had a shortage of spare parts and metal that we can’t comprehend today—though I wonder how we would manage in the Apocalypse with our computerized everything and mechanical tolerance non-existent.
I’ve also noticed as I get older that it’s progressively less normal to ride a bike. It’s something people are supposed to do for a few years in their teens or 20s, then give up when they get responsible and marry, then produce kids. Many do. I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard that same tale, whether I meet people on an elevator with my helmet in my hands or at the gas station filling my bike up. I hear it more than any other tragic tale. “I used to ride, back before I got married and had kids,” they’ll say. Or, “My wife didn’t want me to keep riding after we had kids.”
I rarely hear mothers talk about giving up riding, but perhaps they do too. Marriage and children are the most common reason I’ve heard for giving up riding. Yet, I also see entire families riding the dirt trails together. And there are those who are getting back into riding now that their children have grown.
I can’t help but notice how exposed we are, even heavily-clad, while the majority are sitting comfortably in lounge chairs surrounded by a protective metal cage.
Protective? Perhaps. But I’ve got more escape routes and I know it. I drive in cars too. And while they’re heavenly in the rain and snow, I feel like a sitting duck in traffic, when I’m too wide to scootch around a vehicle making a left-hand turn that I can easily slip past when on two wheels. And there are things that happen where you simply can’t escape. The frustration builds as you say to yourself, if I was on my motorcycle... Still, if I was on my motorcycle I couldn’t carry those bags of concrete or that load of lumber. Sometimes I just need a four-wheeled cart.
Speaking of exposed, showing up dressed for weather really separates us. Non-riders look at us like we’re from the moon, because we’re kind of dressed like we belong there. I tell people I can win any game of strip poker, so long as I’m not playing with other riders, that is.
I remember years ago when I first arrived at my friend’s house in Germany. They have one big summer gathering of perhaps 200 friends, a party they call Theatre Fest where everyone is encouraged to perform some skit. I didn’t know what to do because I couldn’t yet speak a word of German. But as an “auslander” I was strongly encouraged to do something to introduce myself. I decided to perform a pantomime that many know well.
My skit began with the alarm clock going off, me smacking the button and getting out of bed. Socks. underwear. Long johns. Pants and shirt. Jeans. Sweater. Vest. Chaps. Scarf and jacket. I zipped up my jacket and put my helmet on. And then I put the key in the ignition, turned on the gas, tickled the carbs, straddled the bike and started kicking it. I spent years riding kickstart British bikes. The way the skit went was much like real life in winter. I kicked and kicked. Then I got hot. I took my helmet and gloves off. Then I removed my jacket. Then I kicked some more. The bike almost started. Big smile, then big frown. I kicked some more. Then I pulled off my sweater ... and so the act continued, until I was down to my jeans and undershirt. Then, and only then would the bloody bike start! While keeping her running, I began the process of getting dressed once again. The audience loved it.
Times have changed, but I remain confident that I can still win a game of strip poker in winter—as I said, so long as there are no other riders in the group.
I still wear many layers, though the materials have improved. So has the method of firing up an engine. I adore electric-start motors. Hard to believe I’m old enough to know the difference. (I’m really not. It just happened that I started on British bikes way back when.)
I wonder what bikes will look like, 10 and 20 years from now. Will they all be electric? That’s hard to say. But one thing I doubt is that global warming will have made Toronto balmy in winter. I hope I’ll be able to compete in a game of strip poker 20 years from now.
