Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

The presenters talked about bikers being abused and exploited, mocked "hand-wringers" like Mothers Against Drunk Driving and other safety groups, and argued that bikers were still the victims of systemic harassment. Then the big bruiser in front got up to respond. He had sat quietly through the whole conference, but at well over 6 feet and 300 pounds, with a Mohawk haircut slicked into pony tail, and a face that looked like 20 miles of bad road, he'd been hard to miss. He wore his riding boots outside his jeans and a leather vest commemorating past rides and dead comrades.
Riding With Rilke  Ted Bishop  p207-8

[Biggles]

"Ah jist wanna thank y'all for havin' a Dumb-Ass Biker to one a these here academic conferences," he drawled. I missed his name "That's Sputnik," someone whispered behind me. He was head of the Motorcycle Rights Association of Texas. A Texan and a biker, you can't get more independent than that. He began denouncing mandatory helmet laws- which Texas had recently repealed- and told of government harassment. Of how at the conference of Motorcycle Rights in New York the delegates were under constant surveillance by the FBI, the local police, even the chambermaids. One delegate was arrested for possession of cocaine, and then released.
"Why? Because she, like I do, brushes her teeth with baking soda and salt. She was guilty of possession of baking soda! And then it came out that the maids had been paid $50- $50!- for each item that they found that might be illegal. A clear violation of the Constitution." Americans are always talking about the Constitution. Sputnik was warming to his point, "Ain't no such thing as a biker- friendly politician. And these new rich bikers? They ain't gonna help us. They don't care about motorcycles. They're just toys to them If the government puts too many restrictions on 'em, why they'll just go on to their next toy- a ... a hayng-glider or sumthin'." We all laughed.
Riding With Rilke  Ted Bishop  p208

[Biggles]

"The only good thing 'bout these born-again bikers is it means more hardly used bikes on the market for Real Bikers to pick up a cheap prices." Muttered yeahs! rumbled through the audience and we all had visions of picking up a Harley softtail for ten grand from some soft-ass dermatologist. Yeah!
"We don't need biker-friendly politicians, we need Bikers in office. We need the fire in the guts, the Fire-In-The-Guts of the real biker!' He clenched his fist on the upper slope of his belly. "Because if there's anything that's going to save America, to stop the decline and save this country, to save this civilization, it's the Spirit of the Biker."
Riding With Rilke  Ted Bishop  p208-9

[Biggles]

There's something about being alone on a bike, cruising down the road in the silence of a loud engine and pounding wind.  In these moments, everything can seem perfect.  We are elevated from the pressures of life, removed from the responsibilities.  No one and nothing can touch us.  You begin to wonder why the ride ever has to end, why you have to return to things the way they are.  You wonder why the rest of your life can't be like this.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p9-10

[Biggles]

Look at fear on a bike.  We are confronted by the possibility of serious bodily damage every time we go for a cruise.  Now I believe the possibility for danger exists equally in driving a four-wheel vehicle as it does on a bike (see the chapter on karma), but I’ll be a bit mundane and simplistic for the moment.  Unless you are a jerk, and I've seen a lot out there riding fast motorcycles, you probably respect your machine, appreciate its power and its limits, and cruise down the road within this power/limit grid.  Depending on your personality and state of mind, you have your own unique fear threshold.  For some people, like me, it falls around fifty miles per hour on wet pavement near the ocean-side S-curves north of Malibu.  For others it's 167 miles per hour on the drag strip in Pomona.  Still others experience it idling at the traffic light.  We all have our fear threshold.  If you don't think you do, then I'll guess that yours is with being truthful.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p29-30

[StinkyPete]

There's something about being alone on a bike, cruising down the road in the silence of a loud engine and pounding wind.  In these moments, everything can seem perfect.  We are elevated from the pressures of life, removed from the responsibilities.  No one and nothing can touch us.  You begin to wonder why the ride ever has to end, why you have to return to things the way they are.  You wonder why the rest of your life can't be like this.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p9-10

Thanks Biggles.  I can very much relate to this quote, and a copy is now pinned to my office noticeboard.   Those very same evocative thoughts creep into my mind within a few days of getting home from a long trip, and I'll have itchy feet to get back on the road again. 

[Biggles]

I know that when I ride, I face my ability to be "present" in the moment.  Maybe it's second nature by now, but I like to feel it for a second, sitting on the bike as it's warming up, feeling how exposed I am, how sensitive the controls are, how close I am to the pavement.  It wakes me up and brings me to a place of sheer connection with everything about who I am, my mood, my fragility and my incredible sensory system that even allows me to ride this 650-pound beast.  This is the Ride.  That split-second sensation that brings you into the present moment, a moment that goes by with a flash... yet is eternal.  That's what a bike does for me.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p30

[Biggles]

I don't always have a specific destination when I begin a ride.  I let the mood of the moment dictate my direction.  Do want to find solace in a desolate back road?  Do I want to be an exhibitionist?  Do I want the challenge of negotiating hairpin turns through winding back roads?  No matter what the discussion, it's all good!
At this point in my life, the rush doesn't come from speed; it comes from the freedom. I enjoy getting glances from a passer-by or cruising through a crowd.  I love accelerating through a turn on a mountain road or just tooling around the neighbourhood.  What I am trying to say is that the feeling of what the ride represents is as important as the ride itself.  The freedom is my fuel if you will.
When I return home from one of my journeys, I feel exhilarated!  Could it be from the wind pounding my face and chest?  Or does this feeling come from the clearing of my mind?  Am I exhilarated by the physical or mental stimulation?  Who cares?  The important thing is that I can't wait for my next ride!
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p98 (out of sequence- never mind!)

[Biggles]

So you just ride your bike to commute to work and you say it's only transportation... or it's just a hobby on weekends... or it's just a bike for heaven's sake, get off my case.  Well, that's my point. That's how mundane the rest of our lives are as well.  If you can't see the awesome beauty of nature, the depth of the Ride when you ride a bike, when the hell are you going to see it?  Somehow I'm not convinced that humans can live their lives without sensing the connection with their ultimate nature, with the true essence of who we are.  Sure, many people do, but they are the ones who are bitter, or hopeless or numb... and ultimately unhappy.  Happiness is a real option in this world, not just a fantasy.  Sure things suck sometimes, but they are pretty damn good sometimes, too.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p31-2

[Old Steve]

Just had to post this.  In 1977, my wife and I left New Zealand on our OE, we took a multi-hop air ticket to Fiji, Rarotonga, Tahiti, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Spokane, Missoula Montana, Minneapolis-St Paul, Washington, Boston, Madrid, Toledo and finally London.  We left meaning to be away for a year, and came home four years later.

While in Montana we hired a car and drove through the Glacier National Park over the "Going to the Sun Road" across the Rockies.  What a road, and one day I'm going to go back and ride across it on a bike.

I have started to read Mike Hyde's "Twisting Throttle America" and he's just reached - you guessed it - the "Going to the Sun Road" in Montana.

"My route in Montana was more or less one big loop, crossing back into Idaho near Missoula.  The reason for the loop was Glacier.  Or, more specifically, the Going to the Sun Road.  Even the name evokes adventure.  As well as bridges and dams, I have an obsession for challenging roads.  The Going to the Sun Road traversing Glacier National Park was to be an excellent introduction.  RVs and trailers are banned, and there are virtually no guardrails as avalanches wipe them away.  Built in 1933, it's open only in the summer as it takes 10 weeks to snowplough.  Remember that road from the opening credits of "The Shining"?  Jack Nicholson driving his VW up the mountain road towards the haunted hotel?  That's the easy side of the Going to the Sun.  The Sunday-drive bit.  The challenging section is the climb up to Logan Pass from the western end.  Heaven's Peak, Bird Woman Falls, Weeping Wall, Haystack Butte, Rising Sun.  Even the names of the feature on the way up sound epic.

"At West Glacier I paid my national park entrance fee of $12 and rode in.  For miles the road tracked along the shore of Lake McDonald, with only glimpses through the trees towards the huge granite mountains ahead.  And then, abruptly, the road started to climb in a series of switchbacks, clearing the tree line and plunging me into a staggering mountain landscape.  Vista upon vista of massive, craggy cliff faces and sheer rock walls were almost too hard to take in.  The drop-off a few feet to my right at the road edge was hair-raising.  The few cars I came up behind were crawling up in first gear.  None of the drivers were looking at the view.  Much of the road was one-lane, and cars were hugging the rock wall away from the precipitous drop.  I had to wait for pull-over points to overtake.  Waterfalls cascaded over green, mossy cliffs, and the whole landscape looked primeval.  I was stopping in the middle of the roadway frequently to take photos.  At one point I came up behind a water tanker spraying water over a dusty unpaved section.  Luckily a small road tunnel caused the tanker to pull over and I got past."

Twisting Throttle America, Mike Hyde.

[Biggles]

We got back on the road after refuelling at the single-pump station next to the bar.  This is about as much action as Wilitz gets all year.  Riders have an unspoken honour at pumps.  Even with long lines of bikers waiting to get their three or four buck's worth of fuel, there's a respect and etiquette that is effortless.  At a pump like this, the attendant has to trust you tell him the right amount; you just can't wait to reset the pump for each bike.  And riders typically round their payment up to the next dollar amount as a courtesy.  This is just the way it's done.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p42

[Biggles]

It's amazing what we carry from our parents in so many unconscious and intangible ways.  My love for motorcycles began when I was a youngster, drawing pictures of Harleys and imagining the day when I would get one of my own.  I'd talk to my dad about it and he was always a bit neutral, not influencing me one way or the other.  When, at twelve, I finally saved up enough paper route money for a little used dirt bike, I went to my dad to help me get one.  At first he was against it, but with my tenacity, he finally gave in.  I was jazzed to make this dream come true, and my father got into it as time when on.  My younger brother, Jimmy, became the recipient of the bikes I outgrew, and he took to them like a fish to water.  He's gone so far as to rebuild antique Indians and is a meticulous bike mechanic and president of his local motorcycle club.  One day recently, he showed me an old picture he dug up in my father's drawer.  It showed my twenty-one-year-old father sitting on his 1947 Harley.  We both had a good laugh about it- something my dad never revealed.  Turns out he had several in his day.  Maybe an example of how the unseen forces of the past influence us in our present life?
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p44

[Biggles]

I had to ride the bike home in the pea-soup atmosphere.  Intense, with zero visibility, it was like I was shining the headlights into a mirror three feet away.  The road was slick, like snakeskin.  At the last leg up to my house, way on top of the ridge, where the road is almost vertical, unlit and unpaved, I just said into the darkness, "God, please help me tonight" and it was awesome.  I blasted right through the fog layer, going up so steeply and so quickly.  I got to the top, to my house, and looking around, it was like the bike and I were floating just atop a sea of dense white fog that extended in every direction.  The only other thing I could see was the mountain range a couple miles across the canyon, peaks emerging like icebergs, penetrating toward a sky slowly filling with stars.... heaven's grace for another trippy ride.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p60

[Biggles]

When you shed the images of who you think you are, you are free.  When you shed the restraints that come from what other people expect of you, you are free.
Isn't that one reason why people like to ride motorcycles?  No restraints, no safety net, nothing to hold you back?  An image of singularity, independence and total connection with the Universe… freedom.  It's not the only path to this experience, it's just one that works for me and the others that groove with it.  The question is, what's your motorcycle?  What promotes your freedom? What's your Ride?
These metaphors of life all paint the same picture.  They all converge on freedom.  If you aren't free then you are constantly trying to escape.  I see it all the time in people.  It's the "thank God it's Friday" routine, the mass exodus on holidays, the constant need to "get out" of something or from someone.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p81-2

[Biggles]

Though the Ride is ultimately an individual experience, it can't be done alone.  This is the paradox of life on this planet.   We only discover the truth of who we are through others.  It always takes others to help us uncover our potential.  The brotherhood that exists among riders is legend.  How such a solitary event as riding a motorcycle can foster community spirit, deep ties and friendships is astounding.  I constantly see how bike riders find their personal freedom through being responsible to the club or group they belong to.  This appeals to our most basic tribal instincts.  I just heard about how an enormous group of Turkish bikers on the island of Cyprus just stormed the Greek border in a life-threatening attempt to make a political statement.  They acted from their sense of duty and faced a hostile army aiming machine guns at them.  Everywhere I travel, I discover that bikers have assembled and created associations to further their interests, whether it's to go on group rides, become politically active or just honour the brand-name bikes that they have become attached to.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p89

[Biggles]

Why don't I feel the same while driving a car?  A car has way too much insulation.  I can't hear the birds, the engine; I can't smell the fragrances that are so abundant when I'm riding a motorcycle.  Most of my body goes into a sleep state while driving a car; on my motorcycle, every part of me feels alive- especially my brain.  I am processing information, controlling my hands and feet, and absorbing sounds, smells and sights that tell me I am alive and that I am an active participant in my life.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p111

[Biggles]

When I ride I become exhilarated.  The adrenaline soars as I feel the power beneath me.  Sometimes, I can be at peace with the world on my motorcycle when a cruel thought invades my pleasure- "It could happen now."
“It” means another accident.  I realise "It" is my own doubt caused by negative thinking.  "It" spoils my pleasure.  I quickly push "It" out of my mind so that I may concentrate on my surroundings and the motorcycle beneath me.  Mental balance allows me to enjoy the ride.  Without a positive outlook, fear invades.  In turn, the fear steals my concentration.  Without concentration, I know I'm danger of having another accident.  Without concentration, I can have no pleasure.
It takes strong mental discipline in order for me to concentrate and enjoy the ride.  At the end of each ride, I celebrate my victory over fear and negative thinking.  I feel awe at the power of my mind and the forces that allow me to control "It" rather than "It" control me.  I feel more confident, powerful and ready to accept new challenges.  I know that I can do anything I allow my mind to imagine.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p122-3

[Biggles]

I can recall getting up at dawn and pulling out in the damp grey chill of a fall morning to see a gopher munching on greens along the side of the road and a hawk soaring overhead.  In a car, I would have been warm, insulated, surrounded by metal.  But through that band of windshield, I would not have been even aware of the hawk soaring over the roof of the car or of the gopher.
In a wealthy country like Canada, we are too often insulated in our warm comfortable houses and cars.  With such comforts, it is easy to lose awareness of what surrounds us in nature and how we impact on the environment.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p132-3

[Biggles]

The motorcycle is not designed for the city.  It does not like to be constantly stop and go, or to be stationary.  It is meant to move.  And like Tai Chi, when that energy is being expended, it more easily managed.  The motorcycle longs to be moving on the open road, or cutting through forests and mountain passes.  As one riding a motorcycle, I have learned that I need to that energy and to use the path of least resistance to keep the energy flowing.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p133

[Biggles]

Skipping a few details, suffice it to say that one day twenty years of marriage, Sheila calmly said, "I'd like you to leave. Go find your happiness. It's not here."
Two days later I was staying in a motel, two weeks later in my own apartment. When the assets and liabilities were decided, the divorce was final. In one of my fits of inspiration or insanity, (they often resemble each other and I get them confused), I decided to sell almost all of my possessions, except the motorcycle. By shedding my entanglements, I thought I'd be free to search for the elusive meaning of life, i.e., happiness. I knew the answer was out there waiting to be found.
I fantasized about riding my cycle to California and mile by mile becoming enlightened to the truths of the world. Yes, in my ecstatic moments, I saw myself as America's saviour. I was making this journey not only for myself but also for every unhappy being in the world, for every individual who hated his job and for the down- trodden and humbled masses. "America, I hear you calling and I'm on my way."
In my depressed moments, I knew I was running away. I had no idea where I was running to, but that didn't matter. Running just felt very good.
Only two negatives stood in my way. The first was that I got terrible leg cramps after riding my motorcycle for as little as fifteen minutes. The second was that I have no sense of direction. For most of my life I lived in a town with a population of three thousand people and one traffic light. Still, I kept a map on the front seat of my car.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p2-3

[Biggles]

The receptionist at the auto club doesn’t understand that I only want directions to the auto club. "When I get there," I explain to her, "you can give me directions to California."
I carefully write down her instructions and take them the motorcycle. Where do I put the directions so I can check them as I ride? A flash of insight tells me to get masking tape at the apartment rental office so I can affix them to the- I can never think of the name of that dial, the one that shows RPMs. I never use it anyway. Actually, I don't know what it's for, so I follow my impulse and tape the directions on it.
The motorcycle is packed with my few remaining possessions. I get on and I'm off to find America. But first I must find the auto club. The AAA sign is right where the receptionist said it would be and I pull into the parking lot. Balancing the cycle carefully, I try to pull it up onto the stand, but it's too heavy. The kickstand is facing uphill so I can't use it. I back out of the space, turn around and back in. This time the kickstand is aiming downhill and seems to hold the weight of the cycle. I carefully get off, lock my helmet under the seat, and go inside.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p5-6

[Biggles]

Instantly, I know not to tell him that I'm searching for America and enlightenment. With a moment's deliberation I say, "I'm heading for California. May I have directions?"
He turns to get maps. Safe, I think. Even though I lost my number, I handled that part okay.
"Where in California? Panic! I hadn't thought about that. "Los Angeles," I decide quickly.
"Nice place. My brother lives there."
“I'll tell him you said hello if I see him.”
He just looks at me.
Too much, I remind myself. Relax. He lays out a map of the United States and highlights lines. "Take Route 30 to 83 to the PA Turnpike. Follow the Turnpike to Route 70. Take Route 70 the whole way to Utah. Then 15 and 10 to Los Angeles."
"That's it? I won't even have to tape that on the tachometer. Tachometer!" I say with great enthusiasm. "That's the name of the dial I couldn't think of earlier."
He waits patiently.
"Thanks," I say and leave. As I walk away I hear him call number 48. Instinctively I reach into my pocket to check if that's number and pull out number 47. Where had it been? I turn back towards the counter to show him I really did have the number, but second thoughts intervene. Somehow I don't think he cares. I put the number back in my pocket and walk outside. The cycle is still standing. Things are looking good.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p6-7

[Biggles]

Nevertheless, here I am on Route 30 heading... east, according to a sign I just passed. California is definitely west. Even I know something's wrong. I take the first exit and pull into a convenience store. With helmet still on I go into the store and ask the clerk for directions to the PA Turnpike. She looks at me strangely so I take off the helmet and try again.
"May I have directions to the PA Turnpike?"
"Route 30 to 83," she says.
"East or west on Route 30?"
"West.
"Darn.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing." I hesitate a moment, then ask, "How far am I from the Turnpike?"
"About an hour," she answers.
Four cramps, I think.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p10-11

[Biggles]

Suddenly I come around a turn and spot the twin towers of the Delaware Memorial Bridge. My heart beats faster. I start up the bridge. I look straight ahead and realize I have no idea where I'm going in life. I look to my right and see nothing but sky and water. A strong wind could suddenly blow the cycle and me over the side. Meaningless life before me and possible death beside me. What a choice. I keep riding.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p12

[Biggles]

Rolling off a boat on a motorcycle into a foreign land is one of the most exciting experiences I know. No matter where it is in the world: freewheeling down the ramp, the metallic clank that marks your arrival, and your first glimpse of a strange land. Everything looks different, sounds different, even smells different - you feel different.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p1