Bike Stories...

[VoicesInMyHead]

Got one? Love to hear it!

Most of mine, I've written over the years, but I'm happy to post them here for the first time... Hope at least one person is too!

[VoicesInMyHead]

Why I Ride

Sitting outside at midnight, in just shorts, in 66 degree weather looking forward to temps ranging from 85 to 90 through Sunday, all in the 3rd quarter of March, I said to myself, "This is why I ride". Oh, but then the voices piped up – "NO! This is why you like to ride… HERE. Why to you actually ride?"

We all know what it is that drives us... two-wheels. But what is it that REALLY drives our actual desire to sit upon an engine missing the cage and two of it’s wheels? Some will regurgitate the standard quotes: Freedom, Wind, The winding asphalt ribbon, It’s not the destination – it’s the journey... et al. And as true as these may be, are they the driving force, to you personally? Is this what actually convinced you to apply this style of living to your life? Hmm. I had no immediate answer to that. So, I began a discussion amongst myself.

Looking at the crystal desert sky with it’s unwavering diamond points of light and almost bright moon approaching half fullness, I found it hard to concentrate under the enormity of the universe we occupy. Questions with no answers crept into the corners of my mind: What would it be like to ride the craters of the moon? Would they make tires that could keep you from sinking into the gas surface of Jupiter, or would you have to settle for a JetSki?

Would our desire and fascination of this asphalt ribbon we have claimed for our steeds dressed in chrome, falter when technology brings to life the visions of jet packs and hover craft described in Science Fiction, and becomes Science Fact? I choose to believe that there will be those of us who would never give up that which breaths life into living.

I shook off the wanderings of the voices and attempted to answer this, for my voices. For us, I would have to say the answer lies in a culmination of desires and needs. Each voice craves a distinct fulfillment – motorcycling is what satisfies most, if not all of them for me.

• The solitude of the wind... that envelops your mind, whether in the pack, or solo.
• The camaraderie and brotherhood, into which we are adopted.
• The feeling of control given by the open road to journeys yet undertaken.
• The fact that few street legal cages can out accelerate us "A" type personalities...

Yup. A few of the regurgitated quotes fit into my reasonings, and I am sure that some of them also fit into your "why" answer. However, to merge the standard and non-standard reasons I found that apply to me into one blended ideal...

Power. It creates a sense of power. Power to fulfill all your dreams, desires and expectations. Power to live outside the norm and experience life instead of existing in it. Power to leave behind the daily drumming of pressure and responsibility of clocking in... (even on the way to the office).

It keeps you from drowning in the in the labyrinth of life where time heeds no warning and crushes all the "what if’s" that never became the "remember when’s".

Listen to your inner voices... (even if you only have one)! You may be surprised.

[VoicesInMyHead]

Why I Ride… Chapter 2
Midnight Storm

Darkness envelopes my body like the all too flimsy worn out sheet, as I lie on an extremely firm air mattress. Sleep eludes my mind even though it’s dark enough to pass my hand in front of my eyes and see not even the slightest outline of flesh. The rhythmic thump of the ceiling fan is amplified by the uneasiness of my mind until it might as well be a pair of straight shots at full throttle not twelve inches from my head.

The discussion among The Voices this night is almost as understandable as the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, heard from the center of the room. The week’s events are pouring through the flood gates of my memories at an ever quickening pace, with all the direction of an M. C. Escher drawing.

Tossing and turning for literally two hours with sleep as elusive as an insect free mountain ride, The Voices decide to give up and give in to The Call of the road. If you have never heard, “The Call”… Well, that’s an entirely different tale to tell at a more appropriate time. It will have to suffice by saying there are times you will actually Feel a sound like cool silk, with the power to wrap itself fluidly around your innermost primal nature and pull you effortlessly to a place atop the journey of a lifetime.

As I stand in the milky night glow of a desert moon partly obscured by the Southwest haze of a receding monsoon storm, I forcefully quiet my mind and erase all conscience thought. I simply exist in a frozen split second of time, standing with the calling road at the edge of the past moment and my acceptance of the black motorcycle reflecting the night sky pulling me toward the edge of the coming moment when we become the beginning of the next “remember when…”.

I finally remember to breath and my intake of air is a reward brought only after the ending of a cleansing storm. With the roads wet enough to reflect the moon, my journey begins at the time when the majority of people are deep in the vary sleep that eluded all our voices and brought this time of travel and reflection.

My state of being is a transfiguration from a habitual drudgery to one of a viable existence for as long as the momentum continues. My estimation of the storm’s course was slightly misjudged as small drops of water collide with my body. The storm remains. As the hydro-missiles begin to intensify in mass and frequency, I begin to feel the environment is attempting a session of acupuncture. Finding the next highway overpass a welcome shelter on the empty road, I pause my dreamlike ride in a world created out shades of grey for the sole purpose to cater to the two wheeled warriors.

Standing alone in a rectangle of dry road, I watch the existing world come alive in a shimmering coat of moisture. The road glistens with movement as if it is recreating itself in an attempt to satisfy each of The Voices. The clouds once again break and a single shaft of moonlight streaks down to point my new direction with the ending of the rain. Without even realizing I mounted the iron steed, the black of the bike melds with the road and I am once again raptured to motion.

In a blissful recognition of exhaustion, I find myself heading back home. The route back was thankfully absent of falling water and I pull into the all-to-full garage, ending a completely rejuvenating experience. Silently I look in on my wife and daughter curled together in a complete dream world of comfort, defiant of the storm passing outside. Closing the door, I pass the Pug stretched out on the couch. With the look only a Pug can give with those bulging eyes, (tryin’ to sleep here), I creep back to the air mattress in my office where collapsing from late night computer work is all too often. With an exhale of contentment, I pass into a peaceful and complete sleep only to dream about a perfect ride in the mountains of the Southwest.

[ajponu]

Nice story. I don't have any good stories other than high-siding at Thunderhill race way. I walked away with a burn on my arm because I was wearing Underarmour. Here are some pics of the damage. I used my cell phone to take pictures.

[VoicesInMyHead]

Originally Posted by ajponu

Nice story. I don't have any good stories other than high-siding at Thunderhill race way. I walked away with a burn on my arm because I was wearing Underarmour. Here are some pics of the damage. I used my cell phone to take pictures.

Glad injuries were minor! Looks like the bike held up fairly well, considering. Hope all worked out, and your back on the rubber!

[wrenrj1]

Well, there's this story about me riding my bike last summer to band camp and....

[Tcape]

Voices In My Head, that's one of the greatest stories I've ever seen on why anyone has a passion for what they do. Wonderful work! I'm not a bike rider (too scared), but I love ANYONE who's a gear head. And bikers are gear heads. They love straddling a good, powerful engine. Same thing with car guys, just a different means of expressing it. Thanks very much for your great story. Even makes me think I might like riding a 2-wheeler. Well, in my dreams, at least.
Tom

[Teezer]

I've had motorcycles since my early 20s (I'm 66). I was a member of an old motorcycle SIG on GEnie (the pre-web internet). GEnie folded when teh inturwebs took off, and we all moved to MSN.

The Spectre was written in 1996. I blatantly plagiarized the form and the concept (lost Lenore) from E.A. Poe's, "The Raven" (like you wouldn't notice). It was originally posted to the MSN Motorcycle forum on Halloween.

The SPECTRE

Once upon a midnight dreary, as I netsurfed, lost and weary,
On many a quaint and curious web site I'd not seen before,
While I mouse-clicked, fingers tapping, suddenly I fell to napping,
Waves of slumber gently lapping, lapping on a dreamy shore,
"I'll rest my eyes," the thought unspoken, "ere I should begin to snore,
Only this, and nothing more."

In circumstances unforseen, it was the night of Halloween,
And as I napped before the screen, there came a sound I'd heard before,
It started as a gentle rumble, softly distant, strongly humble,
Building soon to rough-and-tumble, down upon my mind it bore,
"'Tis a rider, shaking darkness," thought I then, "a Harley, sure,
Only this, and nothing more."

Memories came then to haunt me, anguished thoughts began to daunt me,
Apparitions rose to taunt me, unfolding through my chamber floor,
Unwilling then and scarcely able, turned my eyes upon the table,
Saw, as viewed within a fable, the picture of my lost Lenore,
I saw the rare and radiant maiden, lost to me for evermore,
Just the picture, nothing more.

Then the sound I'd heard approaching, rich with angst and self-reproaching,
On my senses now encroaching, stopped, and sweat emerged from every pore,
Anxious now and barely breathing, terror rising, slowly seething,
Blades unseen but felt unsheathing, listening for a knock upon my door,
And when it came, I thought to flee and hide myself, but I forebore,
And said, "Come in," and nothing more.

In my swaddling chair I waited, huddled there with breath abated,
Peace of mind now extirpated, focused on the presence at the door,
And then the knocking came again, and once again I spoke "Come in."
But softly now and reedy thin, my voice much weaker than before,
But still the door remained unbreached, and I, afraid, could wait no more,
I rose, and opened wide the door.

In the deep and shadowed darkness, human form in shrouded blackness,
Shot me through with trembling weakness, as I saw the visage that it wore,
A helmet faced me, smooth and white, the faceplate dark as anthracite,
Reflecting back my mask of fright, standing frozen at my open door,
Faint with fear I drew away, for 'twas a spectre I had met before,
'Twas Death, come to even up the score.

A long-lost day both clear and sunny, I was flush with youth and money,
A Sunday outing with my honey, a motorcycle ride with sweet Lenore,
Way too cool for riding gear, on twisty roads we knew no fear,
We topped off lunch with lots of beer, and took a road that we'd not seen before,
A sandy curve along a beach -- too fast, we crashed upon the shore,
I survived, but not Lenore.

When I awoke and looked about, my vision blurred, my mind spaced out,
I noticed that the lights were out, and saw a darkling presence at the door,
Remembered terror stabbed my brain, my sweet Lenore in twisted pain,
My tears of sorrow fell in vain, for I would see my darling nevermore,
The spectre, dressed in shifting black, softly spoke her name, "Lenore",
Only this, and nothing more.

Since that day I've feared to ride, I bare endure to go outside,
There's rust on my Electra Glide, it sits alone and drips upon the floor,
The spectre, Death, has let me run, but on this night it's out for fun,
Reminding me of what I've done, of futures lost on foolish days of yore,
Angry now, I spoke these words, "Vanish, wraith! Darken not my door!",
It softly spoke her name, "Lenore".

No sooner than her name was spoken, the silence of the night was broken,
The Harley now hath Death awoken, deep within my bones I felt the roar,
And with a lurch and squealing tire, the Harley bolted, belching fire,
And racing toward my funeral pyre, I clung, frightened to my very core,
A sandy curve along a beach -- too fast, we crashed as once before,
I died this time, on night's Plutonian shore.

Of course you know 'twas just a dream, but things are never as they seem,
This happens every halloween, I ride with Death and die upon the shore,
The risk I took is simply spoken, one mistake and life was broken,
This nightmare's real, I've not awoken, what I've lost no god can now restore,
There's just the picture on the table, one fading image of my lost Lenore,
Only this, and nothing more.

[VoicesInMyHead]

Originally Posted by Tcape

Same thing with car guys, just a different means of expressing it. Thanks very much for your great story. Even makes me think I might like riding a 2-wheeler. Well, in my dreams, at least.

Thanks Tom! I gotta say, the Ridge has turned me into a dual truck/bike guy. I swore I'd only be off my bike when I had to take my daughter to school... I have to confess it's fun to drive, and I take it more than my bike right now! I've only had it 3 months, so I may fade back to majority bike, but for now I have NO complaints, and the wife likes my on 4 wheels rather than 2, too.

[VoicesInMyHead]

Originally Posted by Teezer

The Spectre was written in 1996. I blatantly plagiarized the form and the concept (lost Lenore) from E.A. Poe's, "The Raven" (like you wouldn't notice). It was originally posted to the MSN Motorcycle forum on Halloween.

Yup, That's a good'un! Great read every Oct 31!