By Carmen Juch
Bikers become bikers frequently due to experiences that are set in motion at a young age. We embark on our motorcycle fascination by appreciatively admiring those hunks of metal with the shiny paint as we watch it streak down the road. The way a small child dances to music on the radio, the motorcycle will take hold of an admirer in the dance of a completely different tune.
Some of us may have had a parent or a relative who encouraged our yearning to ride motorcycles. By taking us on trips around the block, to the market or the park they fed the hunger. Or perhaps you were one of those fans who, from the back seat of a car, watched with gleaming eyes as the biker pulled up next to your parent's car. We bikers have seen the little boys and girls who shyly peer from the back seat or the side window of a car to catch a glimpse of the shimmering bike. The bravest have the daring to risk offering a timid little wave from a chubby hand, usually followed by a nervous giggle and smile and, should you take the time to smile and wave back, that chubby little hand will cover the smiling mouth and the eyes will become huge and sparkle. I often think, "There goes a future rider".
There is something about that biker, so self-assured, astride their growling steel pony. People notice, they watch and they wonder what it is like to be the rider. Non-riders believe, rightly or not, that bikers represent a wild life, full of adventure and little responsibility. Most of us know this isn't true (well not totally!); we have our families and jobs in the "real" world too. But we also know that we can get on our bike and suddenly be free of the stress of the workday as we ride away into the sunset. And I believe many of those non-riders secretly admire the freedom symbolized by the motorcycle.
The yearning for that lack of restrictions tugs at them to join us in the adventure. In some, for reasons they don't quite recognize nor even acknowledge, the craving to be straddling a bike continues until it can no longer be ignored. I see the desire to be a part of the journey in their stares as we ride by. And I wave and think, "It won't be long now."
Unfortunately, not every time we are noticed is it with pleasure and appreciation for with the air of mystery that surrounds us also comes some tribulations. Motorcycle intolerance is typical everywhere. To the outsider we are that tough motion picture biker, who is trouble with a capital "T". Travel in packs or travel alone, either way, we are watched as we ride by, sometimes slyly from the corner of their eye, sometimes with a whip of the neck but many times expecting the worse. Some stares contain alarm and even fear.
When the parent yanks that smiling child away from the window and directs them not to make eye contact with one of "those people", one can only imagine the words used to describe the rider who, seconds ago, was being admired by the stare of those innocent eyes. The assumption is that the biker will cause harm. We deal with being depicted in the media as thieves, criminals, and the loser but hardly ever is the biker the champion.
Talking to one 20-something-year-old young lady at a biker frequented watering hole; she relayed her initial apprehension when her employer had first informed her that she would be covering for the bartender at an establishment frequented by bikers. "I was petrified. I even told him to fire me but don't send me there!" Needless to say, to continue her employment, she accepted the temporary assignment. However, it soon became a permanent arrangement. She has become close to the riders who frequent the place, hugs them, and even attends biker related events. "I realized they were all the nicest people!" she now exclaims. Not exactly what she had anticipated from motorcyclists.
A waitress at a Mexican Restaurant bikers frequent told me of her alarm when initially the boss started bringing in his biker buddies. She said in her thick hesitant Mexican accent, "At first, you know, I was ah, like very frighten. But then, after ah, … time pass, you know, … you are just mash potatoes!" I think it loses something in the translation and I'm not sure I like the comparison with a starch but you get the inference behind the statement. She means it appreciatively. She too is hugging and joking with the bikers when they drop in for a bite to eat and respite from the heat.
Both of these ladies will tell you that bikers have been the biggest, most pleasurable surprise in their lives. They found caring friends with huge hearts in these riders who tip well and are (usually) well behaved, who give of their time, their money and of themselves. Not what they expected; not what the world had told them to believe about the people on the motorcycle.
Our choice of vehicle makes us more likely to be stopped to have our license checked and registration and insurance verified. We are the ones to be eyed suspiciously, the conclusion that "something is up" and problems will follow where we venture.
Quite used to the effect we tend to have on the mainstream, after all it has been years of the same intolerance wherever we go, we have made ourselves an alternative planet to live in, quite outside the conventional world. We bikers tend to stay in their own "neighborhood" where we are accepted for our machines and attire, much of which is necessary for protection from the elements. And yes, we have a touch of eccentricities, the tattoos, piercing and long hair that tend to go along with the way of life of the biker doesn't always facilitate acceptance. And we have learned to love our difference, even to seek it out those like us wherever we travel in life.
But bit-by-bit, some of the non-riding world is changing their mind-set regarding us. More conventional riders are joining our populace. Some of this may be due to the infusion of "acceptable" motorcycle clubs whose members consist of either police officers or firefighters and even religious groups. Some acceptance is because businesses have discovered we have money and aren't afraid to use it.
Or just maybe, we waved at enough little girls and boys who are now of an age that they can make the choice themselves to accept us without fear, to make eye contact, smile and wave as they watch the gleaming bike and rider zoom-zoom by them. I know I wave. How about you?