Motorcycleitis
By
Eric Jacobson
I’ve
come to the conclusion that motorcycling is very much like a genetic disease;
you either have it or you don’t. For
the majority of my life, I idolized motorcyclists and the idea of owning my
own motorcycle would periodically pass through my mind while I daydreamed
during school, work, sleep, whatever I happened to be doing at that point
in my life. I wasn’t able to get a
motorcycle up until two years ago because of one reason or another – either
my parents weren’t receptive to the idea while I was living at home, or else
I was too financially mired trying to pay off school loans or simply survive. Two years ago, I was able to buy my first (and,
to date, my only) motorcycle – a blue 2001 SV650S.
In
September, my bike reached two years old so I took my girlfriend out for a
good four-hour ride. It’s definitely
a different experience to ride a bike with a passenger as everyone knows,
but it’s just as much fun. In fact,
it’s sometimes more exciting to have someone else to share the road’s experiences
with than it is to be out there on your own.
At any rate, whether it’s passengers or friends, I’ve discovered that
you can expect one of two reactions when you tell someone that you ride motorcycles:
(1) they become interested and want to know lots of information about what
it’s like, how long you’ve been riding, what you ride (does anyone else out
there have a really difficult time telling people about the SV650?
Most people aren’t at all familiar with the bike, I’ve found) or (2)
they tell you that you’re going to break your neck.
This
is where motorcycling is a genetic disease.
It’s often life-threatening (anyone who doesn’t acknowledge the higher
risks of motorcycle riding in comparison with driving a car either hasn’t
been riding long enough or is really lucky), it’s very expensive (I paid $70
for an oil change before I was confident enough to do it myself), and it can
be pretty time-consuming. In addition,
it’s in your blood.
I
haven’t had a chance to ride in quite a while.
Alright… longer than I care to admit.
But the thought is there everytime there’s a beautiful clear day with
lots of sun and beautiful fluffy white clouds.
I just sit there and daydream about feeling the wind push me, the smells
of open-air riding, and the feel of complete freedom that comes with no other
sport than this one. It’s all-consuming.
And, like an addict, I have no qualms about the fact that it is all-consuming.
Like
any good addict, I love to have other people join me in my addiction. I gave my business partner the bug when I first
got my SV and, for him, it’s become more and more pervasive. Everytime I show up to work on the bike, he
comes out, drools over the bike for awhile and tells me that he’s going to
get his own one day. My girlfriend
loves to go riding with me and enjoys it so much that I’m pretty sure she’s
catching a derivative of the strain – passengeritis, perhaps? The odd thing about her is that she has no interest
in actually piloting the thing, she’s content enough to just be the passenger.
That’s fine by me, though I must admit that after hour four of a good
ride, my arms are getting a little tired because of the stress I put myself
through making sure I’m being as safe as possible when I’ve got someone else
riding with me.
At
any rate, motorcycling as a genetic disease – it’s true. People either commiserate with you or they pity
you (“Oh, the poor soul who’s willingly throwing his life away everytime he
gets on a two-wheeled death machine.”) I
guess it’s better this way. If everyone
wanted to get a motorcycle, part of the camaraderie would fade. There’s something to it. Riding down a beautiful back-country road and
having other motorcyclists wave at you while you pass simply can’t be compared
to anything else. And it’s not just
other sport-bikers, too. I’ve had everyone
wave (even those monster Goldwings with seating for 16 and enough luggage
room to carry my apartment’s entire contents on-board. I mean, c’mon, do you really need a stereo on a motorcycle?)
If
motorcycling is a disease, let me say this: I hope they never find a cure.
About
the author: Eric Jacobson lives in