What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? For me, it’s traveling down major highways or mountain highways on a motorbike. I am a logical person, and logically speaking, a motorbike is a tiny vehicle in comparison to a normal vehicle. Passenger vehicles have fancy features, like seatbelts and airbags and shatter-proof glass and metal surrounding their passengers. On a bike, there is zero protection. One can easily cross over into the great unknown due to weather, wildlife, or drivers on cocaine. Yup, I’m terrified right now imagining all the ways to meet death or disfigurement coming off a street bike.
I think about all the wildlife hazards for those on a motorbike. Animals are wild. Traffic laws do not apply to creatures of the forest. Wild creatures have the ability to cross the road at any moment, making it akin to a game of risk and uncertainty. You might make the trip without an incident, but you might not. Is there a moose, or an elk, or a deer in your path? Heck, it might even be a porcupine. Smaller animals are formidable obstacles if you hit one with a two-wheeled freedom seeker.
Next, I consider the very real danger of bad weather. Wet or icy roads pose significant risks for bikers. I imagine myself clinging to my husband like a monkey to a junkie’s back; we are miles from anywhere. Suddenly, marble-sized hail begins to rain, creating a slippery surface. We go into an uncontrollable skid toward the guardrail protecting us from a 600-foot drop. Then lightning flashes and thunder roars, and ocean-sized fish fall from the sky (honestly, there have been cases of fish raining down from the sky). A five-pound carp slams me in the head, and I topple sideways as we crash through the guardrail down into the scenic view of the Grand Canyon. The following day, we are the Sunday morning splat in the Las Vegas Review. This scenario does not align with my personal definition of adventure.
Thirdly, highways are busy roadways with an overabundance of giant semi trucks that generate intense air movement. Wind is the biker’s enemy. Now, combine a windstorm with a coked-up newbie semi-driver. Yikes, what a horror show that might be. We get sucked into the draft of the big truck, and splat, we are a smear on the side of the road.
So, in case you’re wondering, it is my hubby’s dream to tour on a motorbike, and since I kind of like him, I will consider going touring. And in case you are wondering, no, I would not feel any braver if I piloted my own bike. I’m kind of clumsy and accident-prone. I tend to drive where I look—and I like looking at trees. I love my car. Cars are way more forgiving; if you need to correct your steering abruptly, you can. Bikes? Not so much.
Once upon a time, as a teenager, I had a dirt bike, and then I made scars on my body. Funnily enough, my husband had a proper highway-legal bike when he was a teenager. He loved it, but then he had an accident. To be fair, my husband is much older now, and he is a competent driver—although he does enjoy speed and passing people on the highway. Still, I am comfortable while he drives. Airbags are a wonderful invention.
In conclusion, what would it take for me to be a passenger on my husband’s dream bike? Final answer: psilocybin mushrooms, the Devil’s lettuce, and/or my gramps old companion, Valium.
Sharpenedink 