Wasted Carbon

It didn’t take long to begin my motorcycle wave experiment. Within the first five minutes as I rode Joe’s Vespa down a busy residential road, a young Asian dude with spiky hair and sunglasses came zipping around the bend approaching me in the oncoming lane. He was riding a crotch-rocket of an unknown type to me (I don’t know shit about bikes). When he approached at about 50-feet, I extended my arm in the official biker-wave, downward motion and held it there as he approached. The Asian dudes hands never left his handle bars. However, he turned his head and looked at me as he passed giving me an awkward nod. I don’t believe I was intentionally stiffed, I’m pretty sure he was at a loss as to what the proper exchange protocol was in this situation.

For the next few hours I rode all around through various suburban areas. I initiated the motorcycle wave with nearly every biker I saw. The vast majority of them did acknowledge me, mostly with the awkward head nod. I counted 46 interaction with bikers of various types in that time. Of all those interactions, there was only one situation where I was pretty sure I was going to get my ass-kicked.

I approached a red light on a heavily-traveled road in a commercial area. Opposite me across a vast intersection, was the mother-load… There had to be nearly 20 or so bikers; it was a club of some sort. Most were riding cruisers, but some were on touring bikes as well. As the light changed and I began to ‘accelerate’ I initiated the motorcycle wave. Most of the bunch completely ignored me. A received a few glares, but not so much as a head nod was thrown in my direction. Two big, ugly-looking mugs near the back of the bunch slowed and as I continued on I looked back to see them making a U-turn. They were now coming up behind me. Shit. With a simultaneous burst of adrenaline, I had the thought that perhaps my experiment wasn’t such a great idea.

I swear that the Vespa was going even slower now than before. Perhaps it was from the weight of all the bricks I was shitting. The sound of the two evil-biker dudes’ bikes was loud and very close to me. I initiated a tactic I only use in extreme situations such as this. Knowing full-well they were right behind me, I acted like they weren’t there… If I don’t look at them, there can’t be any threat, right? Shit. In an instant the two burst info full acceleration and blasted right past me – clearly looking back at me. I was very close to initiated the motorcycle wave again but thanked the reason in me from winning out the battle with the smart-ass in me. They continued on and out of sight… Pussies.

Ironically, it was at this very point that the time I had allotted for my little experiment had expired. I took the Vespa back to Joe’s and compiled the following results from my experiment:

23 – head nods
16 – completely ignored
4 – clearly laughed at me
3 – gave me the finger

See you on the road…

I don’t ride a motorcycle. It’s not that I don’t want to; I can’t afford one right now. But, oh! How I do wish I could have one. I sooo want to be part of the motorcycle riding club. I’d get a nice big cruiser. Crotch-rockets are for dildos.

Anyway, I really want one so I can do the motorcycle wave to other riders as they pass (but dear god, I would never wave to some low-life on a crotch-rocket). You know THE wave, right?

You drop and straighten your arm to your side as the opposing rider approaches. There is no actual waving motion that takes place in the traditional sense… Hell, you’d probably look like a fag doing something like that.

The motorcycle wave, to me, is a sort of social anomaly to me. The wave transcends nearly all socio-economic differences. For instance, you could be a piss-poor biker dude passing a pompous weekend rider and elicit THE wave. Chances are very good that if both riders are riding the same class of bike, waves and maybe even a nod will be exchanged. It’s so cool!

Now, I decided to test the motorcycle wave’s limits of brotherly-love, er…tolerance. My friend, Joe, has a Vespa. A Vespa, though absolutely fun to ride is not really a motorcycle… at all. It is best described as a cute step-up from a moped.

On a clear, summer day last week, I borrowed Joe’s Vespa for the day to do some experimenting. For the next four hours, I rode that Vespa like a Swedish whore…

Check back tomorrow, I’ll be posting the results of my experiment.