The Cheap Thrill Of Biking, Motorcycling
… whilst paying through the nose!
We all know it, we have all done it; those that ride them enjoy the thrills, the excitement, the speed, the skill.
But what does that skill count for when we are knocked off, rear-ended, injured or killed?
How many of our number are car drivers? How many of our number occasionally ride? How often do the bikes come out to play?
Car drivers don’t see us; pay us no mind. We are just a nuisance to them.
How many accidents are caused where car drivers see us not; on their phones, talking to their children, or staring aimlessly out of the window?
Why would they think of us? Why would they care? Why would they even notice that we are there? Where are the days where the biker was feared? Where are the days where we fought to survive?
In a world full of drivers who are drunk, who are on drugs, who are medicated out of their minds; what risks do we two wheelers truly take?
Why have we surrendered? Why have the bikers of the world forgotten what biking, motorcycling, used to stand for?
Why do we not fight to survive? Why do we not fight to be noticed? Has there ever been such a time where motorcyclists, bikers; men of the road, women of the road; were so disillusioned?
We see the injured parties asking the car driver, who has just knocked them off, are they OK, are they alright? What madness has gripped the world, where maiming and injury; broken bones, broken backs; are accepted, are acceptable? Car drivers have to be taught, when they injure us, they do it at risk to themselves. Maybe then and only then will they think twice before trying to kill us.
Respect motorcycling, respect biking. Fight for and respect life. In this dumbed down world should we not be reborn.
We are not ‘motorcyclists’, we are ‘bikers’. The motorcyclist is dead, long live the biker.
Is that the cry we should be shouting?
Is the motorcyclist a casual pastime? Is the biker an all-weather warrior? How do people identify themselves as to which camp they fall into?
It is not how fast, is it not how far, it is not a do or die to be a biker.
We ride the roads, we feel the wind; every bump, every pebble, every stone; if you cannot feel what is beneath you, what feeling do you have? We know our machines, we feel them in our blood; we smell the oil, we smell the engines. Bikers are road warriors, fighting for a place, fighting to be seen, fighting to survive.
On two, three or four wheels, do we roll,
‘burn rubber not your soul’.