Would somebody please help me? 

I’ve read the adverts extolling folks to buy into a certain brand of bike as a statement of individuality. The road to personal freedom! I’ve watched the market boom for ‘lifestyle’ accessories to accompany the chosen brand. (So you will look just like everyone else within the culture of THE BRAND.) I look at the double-page colour spreads in every current motorcycle magazine – you know the ones – a single bike with a carefully accessorized rider in the middle of nowhere with a glowing sunset behind and the empty road in front… 

So tell me, if buying into THE BRAND means personal freedom, why do so many persist in riding in herds? 

I recently spent a very pleasant weekend with friends who live rural, just outside of Orangeville, Ont. We did craft shows and summer festivals and art galleries and gardening. No bikes. We explored the back roads of the county and took in the early summer sights and smells. Leisurely activities prevailed. 

Twice our car was obliged to queue behind a centipede procession of more than 50 motorcycles that persisted in travelling at half the posted speed limit and they stretched out over a sufficient length of road that overtaking was out of the question. We were not pressed for time, but it was no less annoying to be held captive in such a manner, especially on quiet rural roads.  Admittedly, should I have found myself in such a pack; I wouldn’t wish to drive very quickly either – for safety reasons.  However, that is not the point. 

What pleasure or individuality is expressed by travelling in a tightly packed flock of identical, louder than necessary, slow-moving machines? It is not relaxing; one can’t converse even with a passenger. Stopping to take a photo, or just enjoy the view is out of the question: Impromptu changes of route or itinerary unthinkable. The scenery can be glimpsed only occasionally when one’s attention isn’t focused on maintaining path and not kissing handlebars with the adjacent bike… what fun! 

Why? What happened to individuality? To freedom? 

I just don’t understand. And I know that I definitely don’t want to go there. Ever! 

Three good friends and three bikes. Now THAT is group riding at its best!  Riding also works very well with a group of ONE. Just me and the bike…  cuts down on the decision making time and increases the pleasure/relaxation factors by a considerable margin. 

I don’t think that I am antisocial, but I have been suspected of being ‘different’ (maybe that means being individualistic). I sing and talk to myself too – but mostly when I’m riding and nobody can listen! My bike is not black or shiny, nor is there very much chrome. It usually sports a layer of travel grime.  If this makes me an ‘outcast’ from the motorcycle culture, then and outcast I will happily remain!  I can’t imagine the trials of arranging a bladder-motivated pit-stop by group consensus! 

I don’t begrudge others their pleasures (?) in group riding – I simply don’t understand the herd mentality. And I really wish that large groupings of identically-clad weekend warriors could maintain normal road speeds and not impede others. Common courtesy still should prevail even when one is travelling anonymously within the din and exhaust fumes of a chrome-clad procession. After all, we are law abiding individuals – yes? -- Alison Green 

Bodge – verb: to fix or repair with whatever is at hand. Temporary emergency repair. Ingenious use of material to effect repairs.  

If you ride and maintain older British bikes, then this is the appropriate term when one is forced to use a piece of wire to hold some component together. This is to avoid resorting to trailers or other embarrassing forms of transport for the last leg of the trip. It is a rather handy term which covers a multitude of temporary and not-so-temporary repairs when the necessary parts, time or tools are not at hand. 

I’m equally certain that almost anyone who rides a motorcycle that is not show-room new, has had occasion to ‘bodge’ a repair of sorts while on the road. Sometime the ‘emergency’ repair is so effective that it becomes permanent. More often, it only stays in place until proper repairs or replacement of parts can be completed in the comfort of the home shop. I’ve heard some amazing stories of wounded bikes rescued from dire situations with the oddest of materials. My old BMW is relatively reliable and seldom sheds bits and pieces along the road but… At the bottom of the tool tray, I have a secret stash of odd things and I have been very grateful for this collection on more than one occasion. 

My stash  includes, but is not limited to, the following: 

- A dozen or so cable ties of different sizes including two or three metal ones
- Small roll of good quality electrical tape
- Folded piece of self-adhesive muffler tape (about 24inches long)
- A coil of about 6 inches of fine SS wire – which takes up almost no space at all
- A plastic film can with an assortment of small nuts and bolts and cotter pins of common sizes for my bike – including licence plate bolt and battery terminal bolt       .
- Small piece of emery paper (if your bike has points)
- A piece of aluminum foil (non plastic coated) folded small
- Tube of JBweld - magic stuff.
- A small roll of electrical wire of the same weight as the bike wiring.
- One $20 bill folded in with the emery paper! 

This collection is over-and-above the tools and spares that I carry. The whole shebang takes up about as much room as a pack of cigarettes, if a bit lumpier.  More often than not, I have had to dig into this stash to help someone else out of a tight spot, but it has saved my hide and ride on more than one occasion. 

I am still amused at the thoughts of my English friend Kirsten when the time came to run her sadly abused Triumph thru the English DOT fitness test.  The baffles in the silencers (read mufflers) were shot and it was far too noisy for compliance.  So partner Chris rammed a number of brillo pads up each muffler and headed off for the inspection.  The bike passed (just) and Kirsten said the bike then proceeded to fart out bits of steel wool all the way home.  I love it.  This is a classic and successful ‘Bodge’ in its purest form!   Mind you, after nursing two elderly Triumphs for three years and around the world, there isn’t much Chris can’t fix/replace/modify or invent on those bikes. 

As for all my careful planning, the $20 has come in the handiest.  My wallet has been known to hide in my ‘other’ riding jacket … and it has also been stolen - twice! With inflation and all, maybe I should up the ante to $40! Ride safe, ride far. -- Alison Green 

Have you ever been thoroughly soaked while riding your motorcycle? Not just damp around the edges wet, but the shivering “I’ll never be warm and dry again” kind of wet? Your gloves feel like sponges and your fingertips are numb; every piece of clothing is uncomfortably stuck to your body; your toes are floating in their own little ponds and your face hurts from squinting through the rain splatters? 

Why? Why do we do this to ourselves?  

I like to imagine that those fortunate souls who live in the sunny south never experience these sorts of character-building inclement conditions. But who needs it? My character can manage quite nicely without the body-numbing cold that comes from riding too long in the rain. Even snow! I’d bet my last dollar that I’m not the only fool living in Canada or the northern U.S. who has arrived at his or her destination encased in ice. Are we collectively crazy? Off the deep end completely? 

I suppose that the answer depends on who is doing the asking.  I have yet to meet a determined non-rider who had even an inkling of the ‘why’ of motorcycling. You either have it or you don’t! How do you explain the motivations for a spin on a crisp autumn morning with the frost just starting to burn from the grass? It takes ages to gear up, then the bike is a bit cranky about the cold start, and you fog up your face shield even before you leave the driveway. Then part way through the day, the sunshine disappears and you face too many miles of sharp, stinging rain on the homebound leg… but it was heaven!  The sun was warm on your back, the breeze smelled almost edible, pungent with autumn; the temperature fluctuated astonishingly with every hill and valley, the engine was music to the ears... You feel alive. Your head is clear, your eyes are sparkling and just for a while, all is right with the world.... Meanwhile, your significant other has only overheard the pre-trip mutterings about fuel prices and overly snug gear and misplaced glasses… And later when you return home, you are damp and smell of wet cowhide. Chilled and hungry, you shed a trail of dripping gear as you head for the shower to thaw out. How could an ‘outsider’ possibly understand? I don’t know myself, and I have been searching the road for the answers for many, many miles. 

But I do know that after a good ride, I feel invigorated and less at odds with myself and the rest of the world. Call it meditation if you will, or good karma, or blowing the carbon out of my head... It is good for the soul. The discomforts are part of the price — and worth every penny. 

If  those who stay behind see only a dishevelled and damp rider with mud stains and cold fingers and a bad hair day,  then so be it.  We know, and they don’t — and that is their loss! Some things will never change… 

Ride safe and keep warm! — Alison Green