What a time to be a motorcyclist, huh? It’s the most golden age since the last golden age. We are, like shiny French carrots, gleefully wallowing in a veritable bouillabaisse of motorcycling glory.
“Bad” bikes are a thing of the past. We are mounted upon refined, hyper-engineered machines, some of which are possessed of horsepower we could once only masturbate to. Computers, far smarter than we are, allow us to survive the experience of riding these machines – and indeed, permit us to remain ham-fisted shit-weasels with little actual riding skill.
Our riding gear is just as amazing. I own have a pair of waterproof boots that are, miraculously, actually waterproof. I have gloves that work on levels those old red-and-black Dents I once sported, could only dream of. They are stunning examples of materials science and technology. The same goes for my jackets and pants. Hell, I have a pair of German-made jeans which are stronger, and offer more abrasion-resistance than race leathers.
And all that pales beside the hand-sized communications technology we now carry with us, and which succours us against the terrible things that can happen when we go riding. Instant communications. Instant maps. Yes, there are hiccups here, but that’s because we are a big country, and our leaders are small people, with even smaller visions for our great land. I remain hopeful that one day, we shall be able to get a phone signal in every corner of Australia, just like the Romanians.
Objectively speaking, shit is pretty good, isn’t it?
How is it then, that so many motorcyclists are such gormless twats? As modern technology embraces and enhances our riding experience, so many of us have become (or have always been) am ill-inducing combination of government lickspittles, police-fellators, safety-nannies, wheelie-haters, speed-condemners, and, quite frankly, impossibly vile wankers.
What’s happened here?
I think the very same technology which has exalted motorcycling has also kind of damned it. Technology has injected motorcycling with a virus which has mutated the very essence of what motorcycling has always been. It’s turned it into a piss-weak and totally de-natured version of what was once a shit-eating, gimlet-eyed grin.
Certainly, there remains a wonderful unadulterated core of the two-wheeled cult. Otherwise I’d have no mates at all. And that will always be the case because motorcycling still attracts my kind of people. The right kind of people.
But thanks firstly to a misguided drive by a whole bunch of misguided imbeciles a few decades ago, who worked at making motorcycling “more accessible” to everyone, there’s a large assembly of piss-smelling cardigans, terrified children, and muffin-eating enthusiasts at the crease.
Do I need to tell you this proliferation of cos-players, dodderers, and safety-wonks is aided hugely by social media? Probably not.
I have always pissed from a great height at making motorcycling more accessible. I knew nothing good would come from such nonsense. And it hasn’t.
Gormless Facebook-based social associations now metastasise like shit-packed blastomas. They’re all about obeying rules, wearing the right safety gear, being inclusive, positive, welcoming, and (throwing up in my mouth) nurturing.
This is a bloodsport, you facile piles of effetely-laid bowel movements. It always has been. That is its nature and essence. Motorcycling was never meant for everybody. Trying to make it so is like trying to teach pigs to dance – funny and tragic at the same time. And pointless.
Motorcycling has reached a point where even the most clueless can manage to stay alive on the road for a while. The bikes and the gear are amazing. You might even start to believe you’re a “good” rider. You ride at the speed limit, wear all the gear, and rely heavily on other road users to do the right thing. You make an even heavier reliance on your bike’s electronics to keep you “safe”.
In reality, you’re actually rather shit at this whole motorcycling business. But no-one’s going to tell you that, because you surround yourself with similar unskilled idiots, so your entire motorcycling experience is an echo chamber of that. It’s never your fault when you crash. It’s the road surface, it’s the tyres, it’s the car, it’s the rain, and so on. Should someone point out you might be better served taking responsibility for falling off your bike, you retreat into your echo chamber which will validate your inability to ride well by agreeing with you and castigating the bastard who dared suggest it might be your fault.
And so the cycle goes on. You’re never going to get better at riding because you don’t ride enough, and you don’t ride with the right people.
And you never will.
Because all we will do is laugh and point at you. Your clown-like attempts at riding around corners, which you often fail at and ruin other peoples’ days by lying under the Armco and waiting for an ambulance, are hilarious. And sad.
And that’s the fetid swamp we’re all wallowing in.
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Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.