Motorcycles Do Not Like Me · 8 October 2022
My friend and faithful reader, R, said that we should get tattoos and Harleys and ride off into the sunset. I told him that we could not do that because motorcycles do not like me. (And I should point out that we live on the west coast so we would not ride very far into the sunset.)
Now I know that we should not give inanimate objects personalities or other human qualities. (The technical term is called anthropomorphism.) But it really does seem like motorcycles do not like me. I know that seems crazy, but that has been my experience.
One of the first times I got on a motorcycle was when I was about seven or eight. My friend had a Honda minibike. It was just the right sized motorcycle for us. We were in his driveway and he was showing me how to ride. Or at least how to use the clutch and accelerator. I am not sure how it happened, but I think I gave it too much gas and popped the clutch. Which means that I cranked on the right handle grip and let out the left-hand lever at the same time. For some reason, I was pointed at the closed garage door. The motorcycle threw me on my back. Smack! I was pinned.
Now, I am sure the explanation for the incident was that I popped a wheelie due to the quick acceleration, then the front tire hit the garage door and the impact plus the rear wheel speeding ahead threw me on my back. But it sure seemed to me that the motorcycle wanted to wrestle me to the ground and pin me. Which is exactly what it did.
Another vivid incident that led me to believe motorcycles do not like me came many years later in life. A friend and I were riding the trails near our house. He was in his dune buggy type contraption and I was on his motorcycle. We made it to the trails without any incidents. But as soon as we gave our respective rides the gas, mine threw me to the ground and tweaked my knee. This time, it was not the clutch, but I might have hit the gas too quickly. At any rate, we ended up switching rides and I decided right then and there that four wheels were better than two. At least when motorized. For I knew at that moment that motorcycles did not like me.
I also have other vague recollections of motorcycles not liking me. Getting burned by the exhaust pipes. Crashing. Getting burned. And I also have recollections of being fine on motorcycles. Going fast on a different motorbike. Making it safely around our aunts’ and uncles’ farm.
The thing is… Those two vivid memories plus the other bad recollections outweigh any good memories I have. Those incidents all those years ago helped me realize that at least some inanimate objects, namely motorcycles, can have thoughts and feelings. Yes. I know that I probably provoked them in some way, but when it comes right down to it, motorcycles do not like me.
So regardless of whether or not I ever put any ink under my skin (which I do not plan to do), I cannot ride off into the sunset with my friend. At least not on a Harley. After all, motorcycles do not like me.
© 2022 Michael T. Miyoshi
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