Riding with the Other Side...

I came across these one percenters today. Well, probably not real one percenters. But the shoe fits. Big Harley's, Colors and an attitude so bad you could pretty much taste it. I'm not the savviest person around, but my instincts are good. These are not your yuppie Harley types, they have bona fides . These are dudes, and a piece of property, that I would not want to get into a bar fight with. I'm a bit hesitant when I first roll up on them at a red light. I've never dealt with folks like this before and having just finished Hunter Thompson's work on the Hells Angels, I don't know what to expect. That said, being on my little Japanese Suzuki Katana 600, I'm not exactly expecting immediate respect.

I can feel the attitude as I come to a stop behind them. One looks, not dismissively, but obliviously, in his mirror at me. I am perhaps an ant to be flicked off a picnic basket. The vibe does not seem threatening or dangerous though, so I'm not uncomfortable. They pull ahead a bit and since we are at a red light with no on coming, they bust out that big attitude and run the sucker. I don't know if they expect to leave me in awe at their disregard of norms, but it isn't going to be the case. Since I run this light twice a week or more, for the last year, I dive in right behind them. Since my machine so out performs theirs, if I wish, I could beat them through the turn and be up the road before they finish counter steering. Having run the red light and being right there still, they take notice of me at this point. We roll on for a while. Long enough for me to gain insight into what makes them tick.

It is interesting, they carry this attitude of, righteousness. When they violate traffic laws, run stop signs, undertake cars, it is cool how much of an aura of bad ass they tote with them. When they come barreling along on their ground pounding Harley's, people make room for them. It isn't the dodge and dash that I'm used to. It is a thunder storm rolling through, everybody runs for cover.

The fact is, my little Katana could trash their bikes. Their bikes that cost several times again the cost of my bike new, let alone it's depreciated, scarred, thrashed value. I do things on a daily basis at insane speeds, that these guys can't even imagine doing. A lot of it because their bikes just can't handle it. Designed for different purposes.

Where they make their mustard is their undeniably formidable presence and blatant disregard for traffic laws, the rules of the road, flow & rhythm of traffic, common courtesy and their straight up intimidation factor. To me though, violating the norms of traffic is no big deal. Running stop signs, starting that quick hard left just a fraction of a second before the light turns green, endless lane jumping, lane splitting, all of it. For them, these things make them outlaws. Other potential crimes aside, to we outsiders, this is the essence of an outlaw biker. They are sticking it to the man, to the squares. Using the road as they see fit, others be damned.

For me, not only is it easy to tag along for a while, it feels fairly low risk. What for them is a badge of honor, for me are just the tools of my trade. Learned over decades of bicycle riding, of being an outsider, an unequal under constant threat. Finally now, honed to a fine art with a sport bike, not just having the tools to survive any more, but to seize the initiative and create a master piece of speed, excitement and efficiency in travel unencumbered by a cage; Free. For them, abusing traffic laws is the ends, for me it's the means. For them it gives power, for me it gives privilege. It makes them appear, it makes me disappear.

It's not so different than skiing at high speeds or bicycling with traffic protected only by Lycra. My senses and awareness so finely tuned. I've been doing this since I was 5. I'm at my peak. Will it catch up with me today, perhaps, but you pick up a few tricks in 25 years of practice.

In a bar fight, the girl alone, the piece of property as her colors indicated, could probably kick my ass. On the open the road though, they are completely unequal to my skills, experiences and awareness. It's impossible for me to feel intimidated in this enviornment. What separated us though, also tied us together. There was mutual respect of riders. I cruised with them for a bit longer, feeling that sense of brotherhood all riders feel when cruising together. With their loud bikes and their domineering pervasive attitude, I never felt so visible. We were wrapped in a bubble of outsider awareness completely foreign to me. It was empowering.

We came to another red light and the girl on the back of the one hog twisted her head back at me and flipped her long blonde braid across her back. Which made me think two things, first, that it was probably time to blaze my own route again and that if she was my girl, I'd just buy her, her own bike, because I don't need the hassle and extra risk & responsibility of another body on mine.

I took the next turn and the ominous thuds of powerful V-Twins were quickly overwhelmed by the anxious scream of an inline four. I came to a stop sign and smiled a bit. Then, full throttle, red line in a flash. Invisible again, but on the prowl, like a cat at night. Master of my domain as long as my skills can keep me alive. I am the cheetah to their rhinoceros.

It just goes to show, as I always say, not everyone rides for the same reasons I do, but they are still my brothers and sisters. I'd love to have bought the first round. It's kind of fun to have your stereotypes smashed. Saying Goodbye...