No, I don't ride a Harley

There are a lot of ways to die.

Motorcycle fatalities in Oregon, for example, were up 29 percent from 2004 to 2005. In Washington, fatalities were up 89 percent. The actual numbers are still relatively low. Oregon deaths rose from 37 to 48.

Still, is this a trend that should concern motorcyclists?

Not really. Every death, of course, is a tragedy for the family, but riding motorcycles for those of us who have ridden for many years is neither more nor less dangerous now than it’s always been. Accidents, fatal or otherwise, are always out there.

An article in this morning’s Oregonian tells of the death of Russ Mosier, an experienced rider and motorcycle safety instructor. Mosier made a mistake. He was following a car that slowed for no visible reason. He chose to pass, and when the car made an unexpected left turn, they collided and he went down.

If Mosier were here to teach another class, he’d say that when the car slowed, he should have hung back until he figured out why. But all of us make mistakes like that. When the juice is up and the ride is right, it’s exhilaration and not good judgment that twists the throttle grip.

The death of an experienced rider, though, is atypical. So who’s getting killed out there? Virgin Harley riders. These guys (still mostly guys) are making every mistake in the book, starting out by riding Harleys, which are heavy, handle poorly, and have bad brakes. But, of course, if it weren’t for Harleys, they wouldn’t be out there to begin with since for most of them, it’s not much about riding at all but about being seen riding. Even more, it’s about feeling cool. When you’re a 55-year-old dentist and your life is leaking away, a new Harley might feel like just the plug in the dike you’ve been looking for.

The Harley, of course, isn’t enough. You have to have the costume, which might be a set of fringy new leathers or just jeans and a tee-shirt.

But the most important thing, even before you take delivery, you have to get rid of the stock muffler and put a Screaming Eagle pipe on it. A Screaming Eagle is just loud enough to be illegal and annoy the neighbors. If you really have no sense of who you are and where you fit in the universe, you’ll go with straight pipes. “Rolling thunder!” Rolling Thunder annoys the whole neighborhood and is probably bearable only by riders who are already partially deaf. In fact, these riders are screaming “PERSONALITY DISORDER!” to as much of the world as they can piss off per mile, and a full-on straight pipe can piss off a lot of citizens in a single mile.

Everybody I ride with hates Harleys. What we really hate about them is that non-riders think we’re all just like them. When I mention to somebody that I ride motorcycles, the two most common responses are “Aren’t they so dangerous?” and, “Do you ride a Harley?”

No, I don’t ride a Harley!

The question isn’t about what kind of motorcycle I ride. It’s about how desperately I need an off-the-shelf identity. I don’t want to tell them that Harleys are stupid bikes, I want to tell them that I’m a little further along the path of personal evolution than that. (Okay, not much, but still.)

In the meantime, this beautiful Sunday morning, thousands of new Harley riders are looking in the mirror at themselves in their fringy new leathers, tying on their do-rags, and firing up their Hogs. Tonight, a few of them will be dead.