Virtues of the Motorcycle
I’m tired of always being on the defensive. If someone in polite society discovers that I ride motorcycles, I get the inevitable responses. “Yeah, I had a xyz motorcycle but I almost crashed, so I got smart quick and sold the thing.” Or, “Yep, my brother’s wife’s uncle crashed their bike and broke his legs and now he limps . . . .” It’s funny to me that I don’t hear this line of reasoning whenever I mention my car, “Yep, my sister’s husband’s aunt crashed their car and broke his leg so I sold my car . . . .” Not wanting to fly in the face of Conventional Wisdom, I usually shrug my shoulders and mutter something like, “Yep, they can be dangerous. . .”, Yes, I know they can be dangerous, loud, antisocial, etc. So, why would any sane person ever want to ride one?
First of all (assuming for the moment that I am sane, and my tongue is firmly in cheek), for those of us who are “into” objective reality or who have a mechanical obsessive compulsive disorder, motorcycles can be a virtuoso display of technical elegance. Those of us so inclined develop some notion of what would make one technical device better than another, or put another way, we seek to embrace only those devices that display more “Good” than others. (We wouldn’t need to, as there are plenty of people out there who are more than willing to marvel at the throne of socially defined standards; but, with acknowledgments to Nietzsche, let’s leave the “herd” behind).
If we assume for the moment that “Good” is typified (for motor vehicles anyway) by a conjunction of Ockham’s razor and the best rational application of manufacturing science maximized within the constraints of resources and aesthetics, we have a working definition of “Good” from a mechanical point of view. If we take this definition and apply it to transportation devices, motorcycles start to look mighty appealing.
For a vehicle to perform well (display more “Good”), it must synthesize to a higher degree than its competition, the ability to transduce energy from a chemical source to a mechanical means efficiently; and it must direct, reabsorb, and discard the kenetic energy produced. In other words, burn dino juice (accelerate), turn, and stop. Don’t forget our other criterion; It needs to look damn good doing it.
Motorcycle engines come in a wonderful array of designs, complexities, and aesthetics. There are single cylinders, vertical twins, inline fours, opposed twins, fours, sixes, V-twins, and longitudinal fours, to name a few currently being produced. To give the reader an idea of the performance superiority of motorcycle engines versus automobile engines, consider with me the average inline four, of 600 cc displacement. This motorcycle engine has 16 valves, double overhead cams (actuated by a variety of means), and four carburetors. It is water-cooled, gets approximately 50 mpg, produces around 90 hp, and is stone-cold reliable. The average 350 V8 has two valves per cylinder, pushrod valve actualization, and a single carburetor (many now have fuel injection); and it gets approximately 20 mpg, produces approximately 140 hp, and is quite reliable. If the 350 V8 produced power at the same rate as the 600 cc engine (hp by displacement), it would produce 837 hp! Obviously, the comparison is strained because of the greater internal friction (among other problems) associated with a larger engine working against the power increase, but the comparison is enlightening in regard to the technical elegance, efficiency, and power of the smaller engine.
I could go on and on about the technical prowess of motorcycles, but to continue to do so would, besides boring the reader to tears, leave out the equally important emotional appeal of motorcycles. When you ride a motorcycle, you are in the moment. You smell the new-mown grass, feel the changes in temperature, bear the headwind on your chest. Even the language is different, in subtle ways. I don’t “drive” a motorcycle, I “ride” it. I participate in the journey rather than being transported like baggage from point A to point B. Sometimes, when I go from a motorcycle to a car, I feel like I am watching TV, with the windshield becoming a rather large screen. Instead of rolling around like a ball in a box when I drive a car around a corner, I carve like a skier and balance like a bird the proper inputs of traction, speed, apex, angle, and desire when I turn on a cycle. Instead of my body fighting the experience, as my car does its best to isolate me from the reality of hurtling through space at a mile a minute, my body creates and defines my motion on a cycle. My physical mass actually becomes definitional to the movement of the bike.
The other undeniable feature of motorcycle riding is the reality of the danger involved. Besides several close calls, I have been hit by a car driver who “thought he had enough room” to pass me without changing lanes. I know the feeling of sliding down the pavement, wondering in that split second if it is my last. I am not going to pretend that the danger does not exist. There are several points, though, that need to be made. In 75 percent of all accidents involving a motorcycle, the rider had been riding his or her bike less than one year (according to the latest government study). There are particular adjustments that need to be made when you are on a bike, and these take time (or good education) to learn. Your are much less visible (I always assume that other drivers do not see me, and I pretend that I am invisible). There are no fenderbenders on a bike. If you crash, there usually is damage to yourself and the motorcycle. Riders need to be much better educated in cycle-specific techniques before they receive their license. Also, I am a firm believer in establishing a two-tiered licensing structure for riders. In the first year, the limit should be bikes with displacements of 350 cc or less. Then, after they prove their ability to ride safely without violations, they could go on to bikes of larger displacement. Currently anyone can walk onto a showfloor and purchase a bike that can crack 100 mph in under nine seconds, or even faster. It is similar to giving a pilot who just soloed the keys to an F-14 fighter jet.
Despite these very real dangers, the fear factor adds to the enjoyment of the experience. I know that this will make the hair rise on the necks of all Nadarites out there, but it is true. Though there is no place for suicidal maniacs in my world of riding, it should be admitted that the element of risk is central to the enjoyment of many activities, especially riding a motorcycle. Whether it is the risk of playing that four-of-spades in Bridge, or of sharing the road with people who are driving their cars while adjusting their personal comfortran environmental system and talking on the phone to their spouses, a graded element of risk is at the base of many enjoyable activities. Truthfully, the sense of heightened awareness brought on by risk enervates the entire experience. The balance of facing the pain and humiliation of a crash with feeling the exhilaration of the execution of the “perfect curve” brings me a strong sense of thrill and satisfaction. The concentration necessary to ride “authentically” drowns out, momentarily, the relentless minutiae of existence that separate me from myself. In this world of increasing pressure to conform, these moments of clarity make my life a bit more human.