In the final week of September, 2013, the nation was shocked to see helmet cam video of a group of sport-bike
riders horsing around on New York City streets, jamming traffic, running
through lights and generally acting like morons. When a rider purposely stopped short in front of a Range
Rover SUV and was bumped, co-riders swarmed the driver, with wife and child on
board. His only avenue for escape
appeared to be gunning his vehicle forward and running over a rider. The ensuing chase lasted only a few minutes;
ending with the father dragged from the vehicle, beaten and slashed, again, all
taped on helmet cam.
Opinion alert:
These guys give chain-wielding motorcycle gangs a bad name.
California’s State Route 128 is a
gem of a motorcycle road. It winds
west from Winters, California, traversing the Coast Range, dipping into and out
of vineyard-laced valleys and ending up tunneling through redwoods before it
ends at the Pacific Ocean. I enjoy
it as often as possible either on the BMW or the Guzzi. Yee
haaa!
But sometimes, I find myself driving my Nissan
Frontier. Knowing how exhilarating
the sweeping turns are, when a motorcycle approaches from the rear, I find the
nearest safe spot to give way. (A
lot of car drivers do this for me when they see me a safe distance behind.) Such was the case three days ago when,
a lime green Kawasaki Ninja ZX suddenly was on my rear bumper. Behind him was another rider straddling
some iron. Bicyclists on this
section of road prompted me to be hesitant about slipping toward the shoulder,
but as the impatient Kawi-man began to pass, I found a nook and pulled aside.
A quarter mile ahead, a small Honda SUV was coursing through
the curves. In a flash, the Kawi
rider was on his bumper. The road had become more challenging
with tighter turns and less accessible shoulder. At a left-sweeping curve, minute or so on, the SUV driver
found a tiny section of gravel, and, a rate of speed to fast for the maneuver,
pulled onto the shoulder allowing the biker to pass. Dust and gravel spit from all four of the Honda’s wheels as
he stopped the thing just short of a forested slope. A glance in passing told me he was clearly upset – maybe
scared.
And why not?
Borrowing a phrase from H. Rap
Brown: Bullying is as American as
cherry pie.
Some of our colleagues who ride two-wheelers are our own
worst enemies. Aggressive behavior
may be fueled by a love of dipping into that next twisty turn or may simply be
a knot-head with too much testosterone in his blood supply. In either event, to the automobile
driver it feels like intimidation – bullying – and it might make the driver
less sensitive to – or less concerned about – the motorcyclists with whom he
shares the road. Then we, those who
ride bikes, lose.
Up the road that day, I stopped in
Calistoga to let the dogs stretch their legs. As my wife and I were engaged in a little window shopping, I
saw the green Ninja ZX parked next to the big iron, engines ticking as they
cooled. Neither pilot was around
or I’d have struck up a conversation as folks do when they see a cool bike. Taking a Church of the Open Road
business card from my wallet, I penned the following on the back: Nice
scoot, but please try to display more patience and better road manners when you
ride. Thanks! And be safe.
My wife asked what I was doing. “If we don’t call people on their bad behavior, they’ll keep
doing it,” I said. “Seems to me
that if I can get this guy to think twice about how others see him, he’ll be
safer and we all won’t pay the price for his stupidity.” She advised: “The guy could get on your
website and, I don’t know, mess things up.” Big deal, I
thought, my website’s pretty messed up to
begin with, but as discretion is the better part of valor, I instead gently
slipped a blank calling card under the passenger strap on his seat.
Maybe he’ll access the site and read this.
© 2013
Church of the Open Road Press
