Many visions are conjured up when one hears the term biker: grizzled, tattooed, whiskey swilling… ok I guess I am the stereotype. But the essence of the Biker Life is more than the stereotypes. There exists within a formidable strength of culture one that is hard to describe to anyone who has not experienced it. I was waiting in an office and was staring at a highway map of the United States. I began to mentally trace a trip I took when I was 18 and on leave from the Navy. I had ridden my first major bike a 1977 Yamaha 650 Special from the naval yard just west of Seattle to Milwaukee. Staring at that map with my present presence of mind kind of gave me pause. I realize others have done this trip and much much more but reflecting back today, looking at the distance and mileage, the terrain and manmade obstacles made me stop and dissect the awesomeness of that endeavor. I loved my Yamaha, it was economically primitive in its design. There were no computerized mods, fuel injectors, digital timing, I could take it apart, rebuild it, fix it, jerry-rig it, embellish it - you name it. I had outfitted it with a high sissy bar (a nod to my Easy Rider dreaming) and the best part was I could put it up on the wheel stand lean back on the sissy bar, put my feet on the crux of the handlebars and go to sleep. Which being an 18 year old in the Navy I did quite a bit. I set out on my trip with a blanket roll under the headlight, a backpack filled with clothes against the sissy bar, $100 and knowing I needed to drive east. That was the motorcycle lover in me. Two wheels unencumbered in the wind: that essence, that feeling, that visceral pathos… that is the defining moment of the Biker Life.
See you further on up the road...
