Rewriting the rules

It dawned on me last night why I’m so hooked on motorbikes.

As I rolled home from another insane, blurred ride home, bike leaning on its side as it tink’ed its way down to a cooler temperature, I had a moment of epiphany that summarised this newfound obsession of mine.

Let’s say, for arguments sake, that we are all subject to judgement based on what we write on blogs. So I’ll assume what follows is all conjecture and supposition.

There are no rules. It’s as simple as that. After 22 years of driving fast cars, I’ve come to understand the folly of enjoying A-B driving. What is that then? Well it constitutes many journeys, from driving to work to going shopping. It’s the moments between the epic motoring events that sustain us throughout. Only problem is, in a car, our one greatest enemy is traffic. This makes this mildy entertaining pursuit null and void and can, quite often, turn an innocent drive into an extraordinarily frustrating chore.

Cars become chicanes and congestion is something associated with Lemsip

No such thing on a bike. Traffic is a word that does not compute. Cars become chicanes and congestion is something associated with Lemsip. This in itself is a wonderful thing, except it becomes self perpetuating. The added freedom provided by the lack of any hindrance to progress only fuels you further and the filtering between traffic becomes a bit of a game really. What was normally a 70 minute door to door journey by public transport has been reduced to a 15 minute Road Rash frenzy.

Sometimes the excitement overflows as I sit on a red light waiting for it to change, scarcely noticing myself as I find myself bobbing to and fro from a massive build up of adrenaline that is just bursting to be ejected through some form of kinetic release.

But what does it mean to become the roads biggest bully? I was taught to be ‘king of the road’ by my schooling coach, who was, I have to say, spectacular. An awesome personification of all things motorbike. Bearded, weathered and gruff, he was keen to remind me to take the ownership of the road by force as it belonged to me.

I repeat this mantra daily. I’m the first to pull away. The last to be seen. Oblivious to any insults or accusations I may have triggered and I am care free to the frustrations that plague my brethren of old. I am no longer a lemming, I am free and in control of my time of arrival and nature of my journey.

I arrive now at my destination thrilled, energised and excited. There’s a hidden smile nobody can see beneath my helmet and I swagger into the building with a false sense of immortality as I realise I’ve completely rewritten the rules of the road.

Actually, when I say swagger what I mean is a rushed jog back indoors to avoid the inevitable siren that often follows any pursuit of fun in this country.

Of course, all the above is just conjecture and hypothetical. Thumbs up.