I Bought a Death Machine

So they Tell Me

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. Mainly, my own. Likely this is due to the fact that I bought a death machine.

It wasn’t something I expected to do. It wasn’t a response to a midlife crisis. Nothing like that.

My 18 year old daughter walked into my room where my wife and I winding down for the day. Excited, she held out her phone for me to see a picture of a death machine she really liked.

“What do you think about this one!” She asked with an excited tone, but one that couldn’t hide the fact that she was feeling out the room.

“That’s a good looking one, but we told you we’re not buying you a death machine.” I replied, matter-of-factly.

“I’ll buy it. I have a job. I can make the payments.”

“There’s still the matter of insurance.”

“I’ll pay for that too.”

Lacking further response, I looked at my wife, who shrugged and shook her head telling me she didn’t have anything to say. Normally this would be the point where she jumped into a lawyer-like soliloquy about how there was no chance we’d allow her to buy a death machine.

“Well, if you’re getting one, I’m going to get one with you. I’ll talk to mom about it more.”

“OK,” she replied with a smile, doing her best to remain calm, “and we can take the safety class together!”

I just nodded. Jordan left the room and I looked at my wife.

“Seriously? Are we really letting her get a motorcycle?” I was surprised at the turn of events.

“She’s 18. She has a job and can pay for it. She’s responsible. Her grades are perfect. I’ve run out of reasons to say no other than it’s dangerous. But she knows that. She’s promised to get all the safety gear and wear it religiously.” Joy explained.

It was clear Jordan had been working on her for some time. In our household, once mom is broken dad is an easy pass. I suppose the opposite is true in different circumstances. Like so many kids through the years, ours have learned how to wear down their parents like we learned how to ours.

“Besides,” she continued, “I thought it was something you could do together. I mean, I feel better about it that way, I guess.”

And that’s how we came to a decision for me to buy a motorcycle…along with my 18-year-old daughter.

There are a lot of things I didn’t know about buying a motorcycle. For instance, buying a bike isn’t hard once you’ve decided what you want to get. If you’re not buying a top of the line Harley Davidson or something, a brand new motorcycle is a lot cheaper than a car. There’s no haggling on the price for a bike so if you can afford the sticker (I financed) then it’s a pretty cut and dry process. Insuring it is much cheaper too, which makes sense.

We made our purchases in early April of this year. We took our class together, passed our tests and we’re now motorcycle riders. You might note I didn’t say I was an enthusiast. I enjoy it, but…

I was unaware how hot and cold riding can be, and it seems that there’s about a five degree temperature window where you’re completely comfortable. For me, around 70-75 degrees Fahrenheit (21.1-23.9 Celsius) seems to be the sweet spot. I was expecting the cold issue. You don’t see many riders during the winter. But on the other end of the spectrum, I had no idea how uncomfortable the heat can be.

For starters, my helmet is full-faced and black. There are ventilation holes, but I only notice a difference when it’s cold and I can feel the freezing air come through those holes when I’ve forgotten to close the little tabs. I suppose they are doing some work to ventilate my melon when it’s hot, but not in a way I notice. It never feels like a refreshing breeze or anything like that.

It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before. As I accelerate speed, I can indeed feel the coolness of the breeze, but I also still feel the sensation of the UV rays baking my skin. Sitting at red lights in the summer sun is brutal and it’s the only time I’ve ever wondered how long it takes my skin to burn. It’s a concern. The sensation of the heat on the back of my neck conjures images of blistering skin.

But, that stuff is no big deal compared to an unexpected annoyance.

It’s the people.

Probably somewhere around 99.4% (an unscientific number I suspect is low…) of the people I talk to about my motorcycle feel the need to remind me how dangerous it can be. Everyone has a nice little story about someone in their life who was killed or otherwise seriously injured in a motorcycle accident. They follow it up with they must feel is there way of letting me off the hook for getting one. “You know, it’s not that I worry about you being irresponsible or anything. Its the other drivers.”

This is, to their credit, a statement about the reality of the situation.

You know those, “Save a life. Check twice. Motorcycles are everywhere!” bumper stickers? It’s true. There are a lot of motorcycles and while there are some people who don’t use them safely, it’s usually unfocussed, distracted, or otherwise complacent drivers of cars that are the problem. Y’all just don’t see us. You’re looking for other cars, pedestrians or bicyclists. We’re none of the above, so we don’t register in your consciousness.

Random strangers feel the need to admonish me for straddling 900 horses¹. Let me share a completely true story-

A couple of weeks ago I was on the motorcycle waiting for the light to turn green. I was just north of Baltimore. While waiting I looked over at a park bench next to the sidewalk. There was an old man sitting on it, and I noticed he was looking at me. I waved.

He did not wave back. He did not say, “hi.” Instead, this random stranger shouted at me.

“Be careful!”

I just nodded.

(The above clip is of me showing my daughter how a clutch works. It was taken on the evening of my 49th birthday. It was almost my last. Two days of a riding class was a great help.)

My daughter has her own stories of motorcycle shaming. She walked into a Panera Bread with her helmet and sat down next to a woman who looked directly at her and said something to the effect of, “Don’t tell me you have a motorcycle!”

“Um…yeah. I do.” She replied awkwardly.

“If my daughter ever got a motorcycle I’d never speak to her again! You’re parents must be worried.”

“…my dad bought one with me.”

“Oh…” The lady gave her a look like she’d just told her Donald Trump had written a heartfelt apology letter to Hillary Clinton and meant it. Jordan then had to listen to a story about how one of her family members was killed when someone didn’t see them… you know, because it’s the other drivers.

And in a response I never would have thought to give, thanked her for remembering to look out for motorcycles in memory of her loved one. And in the way only my daughter can, she meant it with all sincerity.

On the other hand, she doesn’t know how to respond to the person who takes her motorcycle payment over the phone when they tell her they’d never let their daughter have a motorcycle. This has happened 4 of the 5 times she’s made a payment.

Listen, we know it’s dangerous. My head is on a swivel, and every time I leave my driveway I’m reminded that every car out there is out to kill me. Especially the drivers looking at their cell phone.

You really notice people staring at their phones when you start riding a motorcycle. These people are everywhere, and it’s egregious.

Again, we hear you about the fact that motorcycles are dangerous to ride. We know. I also know people who have died or been seriously injured.

We.

Know.

That said, I want to take full responsibility for the danger. It’s on me. Well, us. Jordan and I made the decision to buy our death machines.

So, I just have one thing to ask of you. In the event that something happens to me—like if I’m in an accident and I’m killed—always remember:

The choice to purchase a motorcycle was mine.

And if you remember this, and if you’re at my funeral, don’t say something like, “God took him home.”

I don’t think this is something you really believe anyways, because if you did, you wouldn’t keep reminding me how dangerous a motorcycle is. Or, is it that you think people on motorcycles are forcing God’s hand in some way?

This article has been pretty gloomy, I know. There’s been a bit of snark thrown in there too. But honestly, I’m happy to have my bike.

Did you know that riders make a point to notice each other? If you’re ever in your car behind someone on a motorcycle, watch them. If another bike approaches from the other direction, there’s a good chance they’ll give each other the peace sign.

Peace.

I never noticed it before. It’s something my daughter taught me. A slight move with the left hand, quick, and pointed towards the ground. It’s our way of saying “hi” to each other. A special form of camaraderie.

Hey, there, fellow rider! I see you. Be safe, my friend.

It helps to have that little peace sign from time to time. We remember it as we navigate all the twists in the roads, the gentle sway of curves and turns that are are so much fun on a motorcycle. It probably has something to do with the physics of it all, but there’s just something satisfying in the rhythm of the ride. There’s a wave that rides through you as bike leans and then straightens upright.

Seems a little like life, no?

There’s a real freedom to it as well, and I can think of few things I’ve enjoyed more than an evening ride with my daughter as the sun turns the sky all different colors. We’ve bonded a bit as the result of this motorcycle experience, and I’m glad for it.

The bond is the peace.

A peace I love, even though I think about death a lot more now.

1. I confess… I’m actually straddling 900cc’s, not a 900 horsepower engine. It’s a different unit of measure, but 900 horses just sounds so much cooler to me. Thanks for allowing for the writing nuances!