Contemplation.
Someone asked me today why I’m so hard on a certain type of person, the old skiddy, and the current Craver/Moron Many. I didn’t have an answer for them, aside from a brief explanation that they set a dumb precedent for newbies entering the site.
While that’s kind of true, and since after attending a funeral today, I’m feeling in a contemplative mood; I thought I’d better start telling the whole truth of why the Cravers of the world feel the force of my scorn and derision.
Let us get one thing straight from the get go. Knitting is a hobby. Golf is a hobby, (although even more frustrating that knitting). Even collecting stamps is a hobby. Motorcycling is more than that.
Motorcycling is much more than a simple way to pass time; while for some it starts out as pastime, or even cheap transport; after a while for some, motorcycling transcends the mundane. It transcends age, gender, socio-economic status, and even education. It is a love affair that is stronger than human relationships, and even after decades of not riding, even Born Agains come full circle to embrace the freedom and thrill again – the decades between a blur of normalcy with the release of riding again; gaining something so precious lost in youth and life mature.
And, it is thrilling. There are few activities where life and death, speed and visceral pleasure are so closely intertwined. More addictive than cocaine, we are solo thrill seekers, bounded only by physics and velocity, caught in a maelstrom of noise and speed. And danger. The linkage between game and game over is clear, even to the bystanders who watch with little understanding or empathy. To us, the players ourselves, we feel alive by walking that edge between soaring and the plunge into the abyss.
We honour those who die, but the young and shallow alike play like simpletons between the multitude of dangers; either blissfully unaware cloaked within the comfort of ignorance – or worse, quietly afraid but openly arrogant.
The Cravers of the world fall into the latter category. Their utter disrespect for something so unique and contempt for the experienced and wise of our community, their disregard and inevitable conclusion clear to all but them.
I’m not suggesting it’s some cult, some new religion; motorcycling transcends even that. It connects our soul with something more timeless. Visiting shrines like Ken McIntosh’s workshop, or standing by a racetrack feeling the velocity of the shockwaves passing with each bike’s passage. Sitting with others, talking in quiet tones about our individual experiences, creating shared understanding. The community of people – I am thinking of MOM right now as I write this after her work over the past few days, for someone else who had worked for our community of bikers. We have language, protocol, kata or of our own. Responsibility is the most sublime of duties.
But this, my friends, the people who get this without long explanation, is why I chose to share the company of people who wear dead cow, and why I’ll continue to criticise and deride the likes of Craver.
Mock this honesty if you will, but I think a fair few of you would agree with the sentiment.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
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Originally Posted by madbikeboy
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