A reminder of why I ride.

I've been riding motorbikes for over 20 years now and these days I'm back on the bike as my only form of transport while I'm at Uni.  I love riding.  I love the freedom, the spirituality of it, the rebelliousness of it, and the camaraderie of it.  When I first started riding I did so out of respect to a friend who'd died in a motorcycle accident.  A few of us chose this way to honor his memory and we've all been riding ever since.

One of the things with riding a bike is that it is a lot like people who are into old sports cars.  Maybe old cars in general but I know old sports cars as my father still has one.  You see the guys in their old Morgans, MG's, etc out on a drive, be it in a convoy or just on their own.  But you can bet your bottom dollar that if you pull up at a pub somewhere and there is another old sports car there, you'll have a chat about the cars, maybe share a beer, and be on your way.  That camaraderie is the thing that sets you apart from the people in their current model sports cars.

It's the same camaraderie with motorcyclists. You see someone coming from the other direction, you see them, they see you, as you get closer there is a nod of the head, acknowledgement of each other and your membership in a part of society that people who don't ride don't understand.  Some riders will see will ignore the nod, I don't know why.  Riding a Harley, a BWM, an Italian superbike,  one of the myriad Jap-bikes or a scooter makes no difference to me.  You ride.  You are part of my social group, like it or not.  I get to straddle the Japbike/Harley divide because of the bike I ride - a Buell.

But I digress, I was reminded of the camaraderie earlier this week as I rode home from Uni.  I'd joined up with a couple of other bikes along the way over the course of the ride.  When I got to the Western Freeway there was me and a guy on a BMW with Paris Dakar livery.  It may have been a R80 GS or something close to it but I don't know.  Regardless, we were making our way through the traffic, leapfrogging each other as one would get a gap and the other would follow through behind.  This went on until the BMW rider indicated to exit the highway.  I was behind him at the time and as he entered the slip lane I saw him raise his hand in a wave.  I accelerated and drew abreast of him, looking over as I raised my hand in farewell.  He saw and we both nodded and went on our way.

That simple acknowledgment, it reminded me why I ride again.  Something small, something simple, it's one of the reasons you throw the leg over the saddle and ride these iron horses.  For a solitary pursuit, riding a motorcycle is a very social experience.