#stories

For some reason, people tell me their stories. Throughout my life, I’ve always had the experience of complete strangers just starting to tell me about themselves. Once, while riding across the country with a friend, she said she would not allow me to take my helmet off at any more gas stops because my conversations were delaying our progress. Similarly, I was amazed on my first cross-country bike trip how many older couples in campgrounds invited me into their RVs and cooked me dinners while sharing their motorcycle stories and the role two wheels had played in their youth, how much they missed it, and, most importantly, how grateful they were for that special time.

I have a confession to make – one that might seem odd for a person who has devoted the bulk of his professional life to the hardware associated with motorcycling. Over my tenure scribbling about street-going, two-wheeled, motor-driven vehicles, I have ridden just about every model for sale to the public. Yes, there are a few exceptions, some of which would pain me to admit, since I still want a chance to ride them. (The Honda RC30 immediately comes to mind.) This, however, isn’t my confession. Instead, my disclosure is a fairly simple one: Despite my love of the machinery, when I encounter a motorcycle out on the street, after giving the bike a quick once-over to see if it is anything unusual, I immediately shift my attention to the rider.