I’m not a joiner.
I’ve never been a member of a motorcycle club, nor do I particularly want to be. Yes, I founded a HOG chapter, but that was as a favor to the dealer. Plus, I don’t consider HOG a club – it’s a great organization and a brilliant marketing tool, but it’s not a club. Additionally, I do not like large group rides – six riders at the most, maybe. All of which dovetails nicely with the “Curmudgeon” part of this column’s title.
From the very start of my motorcycle career in 1965, I’ve considered motorcycling a solitary sport. I very much enjoy the camaraderie of riders before and after a ride, but when it comes to putting a tire on the tarmac, I like to do it solo.
What I gain from riding a motorcycle has changed – or compounded – over the decades. At first, it was the sheer, adrenaline-driven joy that I experienced. When I began racing, I added a sense of accomplishment (and a few doses of fear!) to the list. As I expanded my horizons with long-distance riding, I gained an appreciation of the beauty and expanse of our country, and I learned the necessities of minimalist camping.
Today, more than ever, riding has its contemplative reward. Whatever is going on in my stationary life is pushed aside by the needs of the road. Riding clarifies my thinking – it’s a bit like walking into my office and sweeping the top of my desk into the trash. For the duration of the ride, be it hours or days, my thinking is more precise, my senses heightened, and the accrued aches and pains of life subside. When I return home, I’m a better person all around. For a short while, at least.
Group rides are problematic. Given my preference for riding solo, it’s always been strange to me that so many want to ride in lockstep with so many others. When I ride, I want my stops and their durations to be my choice. If I want to pull over and piss off a cliff, I don’t want to be followed by dozens of others, even if they want to piss off the same cliff. And gas stops: what a circus!
In the mid-1990s, I planned a solo trip to Baja, just me and whatever happened along the way. A couple of the Thunder Press staff and a few friends asked to join me. “No!” was my immediate answer. They persisted.
I eventually gave in but told them it had to be on my terms. Simply, I was going to ride like they weren’t there. The six of them agreed.
Everything went swimmingly until the first gas stop. We pulled jn, I gassed up, and I left. Only one of the other six departed with me. Some were in the bathroom, one lit up a ciggie, and the others were dawdling. Not wanting to be a complete dick, I slowed my pace till the stragglers caught up. The rest of the trip went great; gas stops were quick and smooth, and we had a great time.
Does this seemingly selfish stance mean that I won’t ride with others? Not at all! I’ve had many great small-group rides over the years and look forward to many more. But in the end, I’m really just a moto-monogamist.
Find more Unrepentant Curmudgeon columns here.
