I've started my last day of owning a motorcycle, and I'm being a huge wuss about it.
In 7 hours, the new owner will arrive and I'll load it into his truck and never see it again. I'm going to go to the garage when I'm done writing this, and spend 15 minutes saying goodbye to it. I'm going to feel the worn front tire and remember every trip I went on. I'll burn every last bit of that beautiful machine into my memory, from the flecks of last summer's insects clinging to the front cylinder head to the soot in the exhaust. I'll sit in the saddle with my eyes closed and feel every moment I had on that bike, and feel the ghost of every moment yet to come that I'm giving up forever.
It's not like I haven't had time to prepare. I've been riding since 2004, and I made an agreement with myself when I started that there would be a time when I would hang up my helmet and let it go. I've owned three bikes, and the one that will forever leave my life today is the greatest and probably the last.
I love my motorcycle. I love riding. I love pulling up at a destination and feeling like the baddest motherfucker around. I love cheap fillups. I love the wave when I pass another rider. I love being different. I love it when I show up at work in a rainstorm and people are amazed that I somehow survived being exposed to water in my commute. I love passing on a double yellow at full throttle and scaring the crap out of the guy in front of me. I love riding in the early spring when the dark patches of pavement hide frost and a greatly elevated chance of a detour to the hospital. I love stretching out that knee in a corner and pretending it's skimming a millimeter above the pavement even though it's a foot away. I love a full commitment corner, leaned as far as I can go with certain death waiting on either side.
I love shedding safety from my life and taking my own mortality in my hands. It's exquisite. This is what makes men go to war, launch into space, get into fights. Strip away all the dumbass protection inherent in modern society, take the guard off the saw, load the gun. On a motorcycle, you are no longer alive because of some numb safety feature designed to keep the masses safe. Your aptitude and judgment are what keep you safe, and if they are lacking then eventually you'll be a physics demonstration.
You survive because you are good enough to survive. It's the purest form of self validation available. Nobody can take it away from you... except for the road. And the road is patient.
I love life more than I love my motorcycle, and that's what this decision is really about.
It may come as a surprise to some, but I'm a morbid person. I grew up with death. Neither of my parents made it to 40. I've imagined and mentally prepared myself for the death of every person I care about. I can see it coming from every direction. This probably makes me sound like Batman, but I'm honestly not a psychopath. Seriously.
Maybe I started riding as a way of thumbing my nose at death, proving that I'll do what makes me happy regardless of the risks. Getting in a dick waving contest with the grim reaper might have been a bad idea, but I seem to have gotten away with it and I'm ready to move on.
I've got plans in life. I want to do great things. I want to have kids, and I want to give them the life that I didn't get to have. I may love riding around like an jerk, but it doesn't mean as much to me as the next 50 years of living I've got coming up.
If death wants me that bad, he's going to have to be a little more creative from now on.
