Motorcyclists are, as an organic whole, better human beings than people who do not ride motorcycles.
Please do not be offended if you don’t ride a bike. It’s not as if we actually set out to be better people when we started riding. It just kinda happened as a consequence.
So the way to self-improvement for everyone is clear — buy a bike, and this is why you should…
We ride motorcycles, which are perfectly adequate transportation devices for single people and couples. We do not need to sit in climatically controlled mobile lounge-rooms that can seat four other adults (but usually don’t) when we travel or commute.
Thus we do not deplete the earth’s resources and pollute the atmosphere at the rate the self-centred, earth-haters who require a car to get to work do.
We do not care what religion you practice, or what god you bow your head to. We do not care if you’re fat (unless you’re a pillion, but that is a safety issue), bald, ugly, illiterate or French. We only care that you’re not a jerk. If you’re a jerk, then we will not like you. At all. But we will normally refrain from confronting you in a nasty way unless we have no other choice.
And all bets are off if we’re being loaded into an ambulance and swearing at you after you’ve hit us with your car.
Yes, we do have jerks that ride among us. No-one has yet drafted a law that prevents this. And on general principles, motorcycle salesmen are profiteering reptiles and will sell bikes to anyone who has money or a credit rating.
What they should do before handing over the keys, is take prospective buyers out for a beer and a chat. But since there isn’t a human being born who wants to go drinking with a motorcycle salesman, the whole sales paradigm is a closed loop.
So even though we know jerks ride among us, our tolerance is constantly extended to them, much as the olive branch of peace and acceptance has been extended by superior creatures to wild savages since time immemorial.
We will stop and help anyone who has broken down on the side of the road. Even if that someone is wearing a fluro vest. Even if you’re wearing a HOG patch, we will stop. We might immediately ride off again, but you can be sure we’ll tell someone of your plight at the very next town.
There is no doubt about that. The combination of courage, skill, leather, and bright shiny metallic objects that make a lot of noise is simply irresistible to both sexes the world over.
Let’s face it, people who ride bikes in tight leathers are sexy — even the chubby ones. And we all understand how the ever-present element of danger is arousing to everyone concerned.
People got very amorous during the London Blitz, not knowing if they would live to see the dawn. Motorcyclists are all about danger in that very same way. There are no guarantees when you set off for a ride, so it’s impossible for us not to emanate come-hither vibes.
If your bike looks like crap, we will tell you. If you screwed up a corner, we will tell you about that too. If it’s your shout and you’re a little slow off the mark, then we’ll let you know all about that.
We love to give things to people. Money, fluffy toys, old jackets, canned food — you name a charity and you tell us what it needs and we shall expend every effort to ensure those needs are met. Our search for charities that require donations of old tyres, used engine oil and bits of broken fairing is relentless.
Anyone who can repair a tyre with Silastic and sheep wool is the kind of anyone you want to be stranded on a desert island with.
We can repair fuel-injection systems with prayer, carburettors with rocks, and clutch plates with washers. We have been known to use urine for brake fluid, cereal boxes for gaskets and can construct entire working engines from fencing wire, duct tape and animal sacrifice.
You’re not a motorcyclist? Sucks to be you then.