THE BIKER’S CODE?

You’ve heard of this, right? And maybe you’ve nodded your head and clapped like a retard at a dog circus, and thought: “Yeah, the Bikers’ Code! That’s what it’s all about. That’s what I’m all about.”

But because this is what you thought, I’m going to kick you in the metaphorical cods so hard, you’ll need a curtain rod shoved down your neck to get them back down.

There is no Bikers’ Code.

There has never been a Bikers’ Code.

Yes, I know social media will tell you there is, but there isn’t. Social media will also tell you the earth is flat. The Bikers’ Code is bullshit wishful thinking at best and cynical click-bait at worst.

I’m not the only one who makes sport of those with less than the proper amount of chromosomes, you know.

It’s actually a bit sad and more than a little pathetic – especially seeing as it’s precisely the kind of Disneyland nonsense enthusiastically promulgated by decrepit grey-haired outlaw wannabes and those living-sight-gag hipsters whose genitals are so compressed in girl-jeans they need to sprout beards so we know they’re males.

The only thing those two gerbil clans have in common is they’re all about the look rather than the ride. And as a consequence, neither can ride bikes very well, so they tend to concentrate on this kind of twee existential mythology to make them feel better about themselves.

So no Bikers’ Code, OK?

There is no set of rules to this motorcycling thing. Nothing has been codified and nothing ever will be.

It does not work like that.

The amount of fun motorcycling gives you is largely governed by you not being a massive camo-pants-wearing, thumb-gripping, head-nodding, respect-demanding knob-ulcer, and it works like this…

Shake my hand like a human being. You can shove that thumb-grabbing bro bullshit into the same sewer you should throw your merit-badge-covered vest into.

Stop expecting other riders to nod at you when you’re on your bike. If you need validation via the acknowledgment of strangers, or if you think you share some kind of mystical unicorn bond because he rides a bike and you ride a bike, then you should be lashed like disobedient circus animal.

Respect is something that is always earned and never just offered to you because you ride a motorcycle. Your choice of transport does not automatically entitle you to another rider’s respect. Or anyone’s respect.

Your fellow riders are not bound by immutable Biker Laws to stop and see if you’re alright when you’re parked on the side of the road. It doesn’t matter where your helmet is placed, or even if you have it pushed deep inside your colon.

If you’re visibly in distress and waving people down, then sure, I will stop. Just as I will always stop if I see you on the side of the road somewhere isolated. But if you’ve pulled over on the side of an urban freeway, you’re on your own, chief. I’ve got places to be and things to do. Call your mates if you need a ute.

Your missus is not off-limits. If she is acting like a single girl then she will be treated like a single girl. If you don’t like that, then your argument is with her, not the bloke whose lap she is sitting on.

You are not a modern-day knight of the road, OK? I know you might have read that somewhere and it resonated with you because you’re a little bit simple in the head because maybe your parents were siblings, but you’re not any kind of knight. Neither are any of the other blokes you see on bikes. They, like you, are just blokes with motorcycles.

You may ride better than them, or they may ride better than you. But their motorcycling skill set, just like your motorcycling skill-set, does not in any way reflect what kind of a person you are. You may have the riding skills of Rossi and be the biggest shitwad in the world, in which case, piss on you and get out of my face with your infantile Bikers’ Code expectations.

Are you crunching up your face while you’re reading this?

Diddums.

It sucks being told you’re not special after you’ve spent all this time thinking you are, and imagining you belong to some secret-squirrel two-wheeled brotherhood codified by set rules, expectations, and behaviours.

But what if I told you that such motorcycling fraternities do indeed exist?

Of course, it’s unlikely you would ever be permitted to join such an organisation, and it’s doubtful you’d even want to because…well, because there is a price to be paid for that kind of thing. And most of you, probably about 99 per cent, simply don’t have the stones to pay that price.

So instead you live a lie – or a series of lies about loyalty, honour, brotherhood, respect. And you give this lie a name. You call it the Bikers’ Code.

You’d be better off calling it the Delusion of Dropkicks. It’s far more appropriate and entirely accurate.