Musings on the Lighter Side of Motorcycling

My Mom taught me to share—but I’m not so sure

I once met a fellow motorcyclist from Huntsville who listed off some amazing roads he knew about—the kind of routes you dream about on a snowy February day. I told him about some of my favourites. He promised he’d email me the details; he never did.

And you know what? I get it. There’s a little hesitation about turning every hidden gem into the next moto-superhighway. The best roads still require a bit of curiosity, a willingness to explore, and maybe a few wrong turns. It’s part of the fun. Serious riders always seem to find them, and maybe that’s how it should be.

When I meet someone who comes across as a bit of a yahoo, I think I’ll take a page from my time in Britain and use what I call the British directions method. You know the kind—they sound exactly like they’re telling you where to go, but in reality, they’re not much help. I regularly got directions like, “It’s just four or five miles up the road” (which meant twelve… or twenty), followed by “you can’t miss it, just turn left where the old church used to be.” And of course, in England, that church might have been gone since the 1600s.

Sometimes, keeping the truly great routes just a little bit hard to find is doing everyone a favour. The serious, safety-minded riders will still track them down, and the yahoos? Well, they will probably end up somewhere else entirely, which might be best for everyone.

The Canadian Prairies

I have talked with many riders who have ridden across Canada or are planning to. They often ask why I rode through the Canadian prairies instead of going through the States. (Prior to the current situation.) First of all, I started from Jasper then Edmonton, so dipping down into the US from there would have been the long way. But, besides that, I don’t really understand the question. I loved my trip across the prairies. I loved the small towns. I loved that every time I stopped an old geezer (and I use that word affectionately) would come up to me and say, word for word, the exact same wording and phrasing every time, complete with the hesitation in exactly the same spot, “I used to ride… [long pause] a Harley.” I loved the approaching trains that came at me from tracks paralleling the road. I would reach up into the air and pull my imaginary air horn and every single time, without fail, it would be answered by the air horn of the approaching train. It always made me smile, and since I was riding cross-country by myself, it was a welcome hello after hours in the saddle by myself.

There’s no right way to ride

I often ride 300 to 650 km on a Saturday. On my way home, I’d ride past a Tim Horton’s parking lot that would always be filled with the same bikes and riders. Having spoken with them before, I learned that they get on their bikes in the city about twenty minutes south, ride up to the Tim Horton’s, chat with their friends for hours, then ride home. For just a moment I felt a certain superiority. But I immediately corrected myself. Riding is about freedom and individual expression. There is no right way to enjoy your motorcycle. If all you do is ride around the block, and then wash your bike in your driveway as your neighbour comes over to ooh and ah over the shine and the chrome. Perfect. Enjoy. And for anyone else who might judge (like I almost did), chill. Motorcycling is about independence, freedom, and to each their own.

Not necessarily a two-way street

On my trip across Canada, more than once I met bikers wearing colours. Many approached me and asked me where I’d been and where I was going. Now, picture it. I’m wearing a hi-viz yellow jacket with black mesh riding pants. I am the least like them you could possibly be. Yet, I never had an encounter that wasn’t respectful and even sometimes one filled with awe once they learned about the length of my trek. Many even said that they were thinking of getting a bike like my V-Strom because they’d like to tour some day. Oddly, several of the Tim Hortons group I see from time to time often won’t talk to me as I park my V-Strom and try to say hello. I guess I’m not their kind of rider. But, that is just some. Most bikers, including those at Tims, don’t care what you ride if you are on two wheels. I like that camaraderie.

From the not-so-friendly to the lifesavers (usually)

I have, many a time, had bike problems on the road. Having pulled my bike over (sometimes having pushed it over) and placed my helmet on the ground (a universally recognized signal among motorcyclists indicating that a rider is in distress and needs help) it is never too long before a motorcyclist (sometimes even when they are out in their car) will stop to help. Once up near Bancroft I got a flat in my front tire. I had a repair kit and was starting to fix it. A rider flew by and waved. I kept working on it. Three more riders, not together, passed, some with just a nod, some with a brief wave. Nice, but not helpful. Oddly, they were all riding the same brand of motorcycle (coincidence?)—the brand wasn’t Harley. Finally, a Honda rider pulled up, stopped, and helped me with the repair. I’d say that day was the exception to the rule. Most times, for every rider who zips past, there are three who stop and offer help.

And then there’s the weirdly generous stuff—the guy who offers you fuel from his spare bottle, the woman who produces zip ties from nowhere, the rider who gives you their spare ______  when you are in need.

You don’t know the half of it

“The charity-focused efforts of motorcyclists often fail to come to the attention of the non-riding community. Unless someone knows a participating rider or sees a group of motorcycles and enquires what they’re doing, they have no way of knowing we’re making a positive impact on the community. …Every year, when I visit the annual pre-season motorcycle shows, there are many booths promoting rides to raise money for various charities and causes much lesser known than the big, branded charities like SickKids Hospital and Prostate Cancer.” (From a piece I wrote for Northern Ontario Travel Magazine). Motorcyclists truly are a generous group.

And motorcyclists care

Not only do we participate in charity events and rides, but there are motorcycle groups that specifically support bullied and abused children. Groups like B.A.C.A. (Bikers Against Child Abuse) and Guardians of Children. In Germany, a dying child’s last wish was to have a motorcycle ride-by in front of his house. The word got out and 20,000 bikers participated. How amazing is that! So, like every other group, we can be freakin’ amazing at times.

Motorcyclists can be helpful (or not)

On the road home one day, I set my GPS to prioritize curvy roads. I was following its suggestions when three riders approached from the other direction. The first rider swirled his arm and finger in the air as he looked at me. Turn around, you can’t get through, I guessed. I kept going. The second rider swirled his arm and finger in the air even more vigorously, like she was raising her voice to someone who didn’t understand English. I think the third rider actually got an aerobic workout from his enthusiasm to communicate to this clearly moto-illiterate rider: me. I couldn’t turn around now. My curiosity was piqued. 

What abyss had opened up since I had last been there? What had turned these riders around and made them both so helpful and adamant that I must not continue down the treacherous path on which I was travelling? A gravel road, that’s what. The paved road was closed for construction at an intersection that only provided a groomed-gravel road detour. I turned left and rode south, then turned right and rode west until I met the paved highway about a mile and a quarter south of where I otherwise would have joined it. If I turned back every time I ran into a gravel-road detour, I think I’d still be trying to find my home from Victoria. And that trip was in 2017. But, I’m a firm believer in riding your own ride, so if turning back is what worked for them, I’m all for it.

Do what I say, not what I do

On Tuesday night, Mom and Dad sit their teenager down—the one with the black eyeliner and piercings—and have a heartfelt talk about not following the crowd, about being their own person, about resisting peer pressure.

Then Saturday rolls around. Mom and Dad get up early, pull on the leather chaps, the Harley jackets with the big patch on the back, their skull-cap helmets, and, clad head-to-toe in black, slide on their dark glasses and gloves before roaring off to meet fifty of their look-alike weekend friends. The accountant, the librarian, the IT guy—suddenly they’re a rolling gang.

Tell me I’m not the only one who finds that funny, ironic, and just a little bit wonderful.

It wasn’t a formation—more like a recipe for disaster

After a hiatus from riding I decided to re-start my riding career with a heavy dose of serious training. I was very lucky to be able to join a ten-day Police Motor Officer Certification training course. The classroom portion of the course was held in the boardroom at the Saanich Police Department. I was really excited but it was dampened by the trepidation occupying the same space in my brain. At the end of the session, it was announced that we would ride out to the course location in formation. No problem. I know what that is: riders staggered on alternate sides of the lane, each rider one second behind the one in front.

Nope! Have you ever seen police motorcyclists ride in formation—two motorcycles, side by side, handlebar to handlebar inches apart, two more motorcycles, side by side, about one meter behind the first two, and two more behind them, and so on down the line forming a tight square unit. And there I was, newly back to riding after a twenty-five year break, standing out in my hi-viz and totally uncool yellow jacket, right in the middle praying, “Please, dear God, don’t let me wipe out any of these nice policemen.”

While riding a motorcycle does carry some level of risk, the fun, joy, and memorable experiences by far tip the scales and keep me riding. I hope you have as much fun riding as I do.

Ride safe and be seen. I hope to see you out on the road sometime soon. Remember, becoming a skilled and confident rider is a marathon, not a sprint. Take it slow, enjoy the ride, and never stop learning. As I’ve discovered, motorcycling is a lifestyle and a lifelong adventure.

– John Lewis