Better Sorry Than Safe

Not too far from me there is a BMW dealer I occasionally frequent. When there, I often see numerous riders, fully appointed in dress, fellowshipping and ogling over the latest iron. It's not unusual to see pilots in new, one piece leathers, knees and elbows pre-bent and unscuffed, with immaculate, full face helmets dangling from their handlebars. The most popular models currently have the engineering and history to carry their lads & lassies to the far ends of the earth and back. Rugged luggage casing adorns the rear-ends of these machines and the lofty perspective from saddle is relatively not unlike the confidence felt of an individual driving a large, commercial or industrial vehicle. Choosing one of these mounts, one could be assured of hassle free journeys.


I just came off five years on a Japanese motorcycle that, like many I've owned before, was pretty much care free. I've got my Tuono now: my second. My expectations of it are like those I've often heard of on chat board comments to inquires from those interested in a “European bike”; that the experience will be one of less reliability but more character: a richer experience.


Although I have not intended to tempt fate, I must say that I have consciously chosen to live sorry rather than live safe. That is, for most of my riding, I do not throw on leathers, boots, armored gloves and full-faced helmet. At times, I get clobbered with bugs and sandblasted with road grit. I foresee a world where proper gear will be required for all boarding a motorcycle.


I ride my cycle daily, year round and it is a simple joy to throw a leg over it and be off without changing, lacing & zipping. Track day, aggressive canyon runs, tour or extended time on the freeway? Gear up!


Then there's the Tuono. I sit up and have a good lookabout whether I ride easy or fast. It is reminiscent of the giggles above the pillion of the KTM 990 SE, but much more grippy on the pavement, better instrumentation and less tendency to fall into the turns. The tank's narrow as is the bike. This connects me with the freedom of movement of my first 10 speed bicycle. I'm not feeling like I'm astride a cruise missile like the desirable ZX-14: ye gods fast, but heavy in turns and threading traffic. In some ways, the Tuono actually feels quicker and definitely more viceral. Then, there's that sympathetic frequency with the engine in my breast bone that kicks in when I get the revs up at or above 7 k. or more (you?): a feeing more prominent than alcohol's first buzz. Most notably, there's the nature of this animal that, for me, can be summed up in one word: EAGER.


My wife, 8 years an E.R. physician, regards motorcycling as dangerous but yields to my passion more so since the kids are grown. She's referred to the bikes as murdercycles, or, better yet, donorcycles. So I . . . lift, run, walk and mountain bike, wanting to live a long, long and productive life. But there are still those days when the helmet comes off when deep in the country and I go for a few miles with the wind in my hair and my spirit running ahead of me like a good dog.

What if, instead of 70, 80 or 90 years, our bodies were good for 200, 300 or 400? Would you still risk? Ever seen the movie, “Death Becomes Her”? Two women make a devils deal to live eternally. The twist is that they must carry the accumulating damages to their bodies as time goes by. Although that story was about looking good, it exposed the vanity of living to try and please others.


Boy, there are times where I wish I had become a doc like my wife. I had no idea that, here in the states, a flight surgeon gets to pilot an aircraft and have weekly lessons. Our understanding back in the '80s, was that a NASA pilot is assigned his/her own jet! Anyway, my wife got weekly lessons in a helicopter. --used to fly up above the Ohio river from Ft. Knox to Owensboro, Kentucky, USA and have barbecue for lunch. She had to get in hours of flight time, so she would take flights in small aircraft (which sometimes got caught up in substantial weather) to the big C 130 (she said the cockpit was reminiscent of the size of starship Enterprise and the chair was like the one in which Kirk sat). She once got a flight in an F-4. I walked up to her jet with my two small sons and the aircraft towered above us and seemed to be composed mostly of massive jet engine and a tiny cockpit. She barfed in a bag several times as the pilot, who resented the V.I.P. run, repeatedly went ballistic, then reversed and dived straight down to earth in a bombing assimilation, pulling up only as the ground grew much too close for comfort. It was a combination of fear and G force that made her heave (she was in a pressure suit). Yet, on the drive home, I asked if she would do it again. “Every chance I could get.”


I can't make sense why I get to pick and choose a magnificent Tuono and then get to ride it . . .and it is just one of several fantastic bikes I have owned, and not be born and living as an African woman in a refugee camp who gets raped nearly every time she ventures out for firewood. Or, I'm not some remnant figure of a decimated family caught between the forces of the Taliban and U.S./Afghanistan government. I do know, that among my responsibilities for citizenship, I have been given an opportunity for joy that many do not share. There are communities within the motorcycling world where individuals strut and flaunt their disdain for injury and death. One can see this in the extreme sports arena especially well. I've got a piece of whatever it is that makes them tick, and I can imagine I wouldn't be writing with this attitude right now if I was laid up permanently as a quadriplegic due to my irresponsibility. The number of times I ride without a helmet are so few and far between that, statistically, it's hardly worth mentioning.


I have some connection to the experiences of a performances aircraft pilot, or momentarily without gear, flying through the air like some other kind of being. The Tuono especially offers raw acceleration, brilliant stopping and a whole lot of maneuverability I might not experience unless I was an athlete in my prime having a very good day. Motorcycling on the Tuono puts you out there raw and exposed; sort of naked like the bike itself. You've got your two legs for side bumpers and that strong yet fragile neck is carrying something extremely critical which can be whipped and snapped to no good end. That is present for me and enhances the experience. We've got a V-twin that's no compressor, and we sit up and are more aware than on many other bikes, that we're surrounded by nothing but air between us and the vehicle we pass, to the hills and mountains ahead and beside, to the big sky above. We take a dip in the road as night closes in and the air may go damp, cool and fragrant. We take some comfort in that moment as a bit of the engine's heat reaches us and it's reliable, rich and percussive beat reassures. The bars spread us open a bit to the chill unlike the protective tuck we might enjoy aboard a Blade or GSX-R, but that was our choice, our conscious compromise that pays off so dearly when we leverage the front wheel and throw the bike into a quick lean. And, yeah, we get to congratulate ourselves on choosing the Tuono over many other tempting alternatives as we experience what it does so much better. Each bike has its compromises. I chose this one with this set of limitations and excels. In doing so, I've acknowledged an expression of self and feel just a bit more alive.

Hey Packhorse!

Well said.
About a year ago I heard a survey summarized on National Public Radio where seniors over 80 years were asked what they would do differently. By far, the most frequent response was that, if life could be lived over, they would take far more risks.

I wrestle with the questions on this thread and really appreciate the feedback. I suppose many of us are skewed towards the risk end, often even after a surviving an accident (hats off to you!).

Here in southern California, I've found myself running along the beach wearing only light runner's shorts and feeling immense exhilaration and freedom, especially in blustery weather on a deserted beach. As a young man, traveling to some college to visit a girlfriend, me being not too bright and traveling in states that didn't require a helmet, I didn't wear even a jacket. The wind tore at my pants and shirt sleeves, racing under my shirt and billowing it such that I looked akin to the Michelin man. I felt such a connection to my surroundings in this vulnerable state. It was a sensory overload of sky, grassy knolls, vast orchards and farms, dense forests, great lakes and sand dunes. But in some years past, I gave up cycling for a while thinking a Jeep was more practical and would offer most of what I sought. But with the top down, there was no comparison. Even the windshield seemed to frame the world and detach me from my surroundings. I took to folding it down. That was closer, but there still was a relatively long hood in front, a good deal of mass around me and the wind blast was really choppy.

Cycling is it for me.
No more is there the mindless abandon of my youth, and I'm saddled with ambivalent feelings many times when I don't put on all the gear. I'll just live with that and live with the question and your feedback. I do recommend riding just once without a helmet in the country for a short stint (and not necessarily full out). This is not a pursuit. It's like visiting someplace just one time and, hopefully, walking away with a good memory.

Thanks for the head's up, Lee!

Actually, I got it the first time: ATGATT. After going over the acronym once or twice it clicked: All The Gear All The Time.

I've gone to the link you suggested and then on to the site, Rock the Gear. It was helpful, although a work-in-progress and fairly fundamental. I believe you moved me a click or two towards more responsibility and I hope you continue to make a difference. A fellow once said something to the effect that it's better to be hot or cold than luke-warm, which I certainly can be at times.

Both my sons have spots of considerable road rash and, if you were their dad, they probably would have been spared that. I am forwarding your link to them for the future.

Look, let me play a bit of devil's advocate here for the discussion.

I had mentioned how I had been running in only light shorts along the ocean one blustery evening. A runner would especially understand the following. For some reason, that night, everything came together for a magnificent memory. I had the experience of running at a very rapid pace far above my perceived norm. Have you ever seen the steps in sand of a runner? There is a long pattern between the footprints. Anyway, each step I took seemed like my best broad jump from my high school years. The wind seemed to lift me and I felt like a thoroughbred race horse or a panther after prey.

Now, have you ever seen the crap that lines the shore? --And even a broken shell wedged upright could slice through my bare foot and cause a rapid and severe bleed. And. . . it didn't happen. And . . . I was irresponsible to run bare foot at night. And . . . I forever have this magical moment locked away which is very special.

I don't want at all to come away cocky. I don't think God is protecting me from my stupidity. I do know that I'm wired a certain way, take certain risks and the experience has sometimes led to ridiculously special memories. I would not advocate doing what I have done, but share and wonder.

The Tuono is a misunderstood and overlooked motorcycle by many and I suspect those riding it, like yourself, have something remarkable to contribute in their words. Just look at today's posts. Ride on!