When is a Squid Not a Squid?

Me riding through Arches National Park, Utah, June 17, 2015

Can someone ever rightfully claim to be a safe motorcycle rider? Can someone ever point out another rider as being unsafe? Can ATGATTers pat themselves on the back for being safe riders? Are squids destined to die?

I go crazy when I hear a rider point out another rider as being a "squid", or publicly espousing the virtues of wearing ATGATT, because those terms are relative. In some respects, they're just fantasy.

Binary Opposition is a subject that has been much observed particularly in recent times through feminism, racism, religion, and politics. It's basically refers to polar opposites. Humans measure things linearly. We understand expressions of "up and down", "hot and cold", "white and black", "male and female", "God and Satan", "gay and straight", "liberal and conservative", et al. But we tend to prefer one opposite over the other. Males tend to dominate females. God is good, Satan is bad. Whites are priviledged, Blacks are discriminated.

Humans are social animals, and as such, we assemble into groups and look at the world as "us versus them".

In motorcycling, ATGATT is perceived more favorably than Squid. And while ATGATT proponents point to data in the course of defending their position, the data still remains relative and inconclusive. That is, there are many motorcyclists who died despite wearing a lot of gear. Moreover, many of those lives could have been spared, had they wore even more gear.

And that's why I go crazy when I hear people espouse the virtues of ATGATT. It's simply impossible to wear all the gear, all the time. A rider can never wear enough gear to be 100% safe. You can always put on more gear that will get you closer to 100%, but you can never get to 100%.

But, safety and death do not have a direct correlation to gear. How much more gear you wear does not equate to how much more safe you'll be. Likewise, how little gear you wear does not equate to how many more injuries you'll suffer. It's very possible for an ATGATTer to suffer more injuries than a squid over the course of 100,000 miles.

So why do ATGATT afficionados like to point fingers at squids?

Again, "binary opposition" is one of those things that make up humanity. We're obsessed with polar opposites. I think it's because humans can never be 100% neutral. We're always going to have some bias, somewhere. And because we want to assemble with like-minded persons, we tend to point out those who are opposite to us. Some of this opposition becomes highly emotional, particularly with religion, politics, racism, and sexuality. I tend to witness the same emotional level of opposition in motorcycling.

I mean, look at Harley versus Metric. Cruiser versus Sportbike. Leather versus Textile. I've been around enough BMW riders to know how much they despise Harley riders. This is all under the supposed, "brotherhood of motorcycling", and yet the mudslinging can get pretty passionate.

Meanwhile, it's impossible to be a squid, simply because by definition, a squid is the polar opposite of ATGATT. And if you're the opposite of being 100% safe, then you're 100% dead. In my opinion, if a rider traveled from Point A to Point B safely, then technically speaking, they rode safely. It doesn't matter how much gear they wore, or even how fast.

In reality, we all exist in the grey area. We all wear some amount of gear, even if it's just a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Even if you rode naked, you still have a brain that kept you safe.

Safety can only be declared at the end of the ride, and is not a reflection of how much gear you wear.

I will agree, however, that wearing more gear will reduce injury and the risk of death. But there's an irony in wearing more gear. If you agree that you can't wear enough gear to be 100% safe, then you're obviously willing to risk death. And if you're willing to risk death, are you not a squid?

Otherwise, the difference between ATGATT and squid is a sliding scale of risk, with each person getting to decide how risky they want to be. That's grey area. I can see how someone would "feel" more safe if they wore more gear, but does that make them more safe? Does that give them the right to declare someone else as unsafe?

So, when is a squid not a squid?

Well, we're all squids, and we're all ATGATTers. The sliding scale doesn't include or exclude us from either opposite. We can never be either or. That really ought to unite us all.

The terms "ATGATT" and "Squid" only end up dividing us.

11 comments | Post a Comment

---

The Conflict Between Love and Comfort

Sash and the Indian Scout along Palomar Mountain Road

Roads in and of themselves are not dangerous. They're simply layers of pavement that remain still. It's the riders themselves that lose control. Yet, motorcyclists often describe one road as being more dangerous than another, and often speak of roads reputed to be so dangerous that some riders refuse to ride them.

When I lead Sash to Palomar Mountain Road last winter, I felt compelled to pull off to the side to give her some tips about what she would encounter. I didn't want her to underestimate the switchbacks and decreasing radius curves and end up dead. Many riders have crashed and died along that road.

"Be careful" I said to her, thinking that somehow, she'd ride more carefully.

But in thinking it through, I felt a conflict. I love Sash for her tenacity, detemination, and guts, yet here I was asking her to be a little more intellectual so as to address my fear. The truth is, it's not fair to a rider that they tone down their enthusiasm to suit someone else's concerns, even if the sentiment was out of genuine care. When someone else asks me to "ride safe", I usually don't give it much thought, nor take any offense. But after having logged hundreds of thousands of miles myself, I like to think that I can make my own decisions on staying safe.

At the root of all this, is a conflict between love and comfort.

We all have things we love, but we also want to feel comfortable. Can we love something and set it free, but at the same time control it when we're worried?

We see it all the time in other facets of life...

• You love your new boyfriend because he's so creative, spontaneous, and free thinking, but you want him to put on a shirt and tie when taking him to meet your parents.

• We love sports figures who battle to the death, break records, and pump their fists in victory, but we want them to be humble and civil in public.

• You love having your buddies over for a night of poker, beer, and jokes, but you want them to keep it quiet because your wife is sleeping upstairs.

In fact, it was Sash who decided a couple years earlier that we ought to wish someone to "ride fun" instead of "ride safe" because it seems to be a more neutral valediction.

But that doesn't always relieve the conflict between love and comfort.

The more you love someone, the more you worry, and the more comfort you seek. Setting someone free is not that easy, yet it's the letting go that mysteriously makes them come back.

These days, I've become more conscious about bidding farewell to a fellow rider. I catch myself wanting to say, "ride safe", but instead say something like "catch you later".

3 comments | Post a Comment

---

The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions

Interstate 10, eastbound into Arizona

It's been said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. But while most of us mean to do good, in the end it's always what we failed to do that we're defined. It's always that one big opportunity we didn't make good on, that haunts us.

Good ideas always start out, of course, as good ideas. But science teaches us that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction". You can't put a good idea into place without pissing on someone else's Cheerios. And when naysayers make good on their equal and opposite reaction, you're on that road to Hell.

But it's all in how you handle the negativity that determines whether you're barbecued in Hades, or toasted on the morning show circuit; every dark cloud has a silver lining they say.

Meanwhile Interstate 10 through the State of Arizona offers its own little road to Hell. As I got into Phoenix this afternoon, the air temperature gauge on my Honda ST1300 read 108 degrees F (42.2 C). The thing is that it gets so hot in AZ, and getting to the Valley of the Sun requires hundreds of miles of empty desert, you don't want to take side roads. You just want to get there as fast as you can.

108 degrees. The "F" means "Fuck this shit"

Sash, on the other hand, is still in Southern California, continuing her commitment to doctors appointments. After spending so much time together on the road the past few years, living in hotel rooms, cabins, and vacation rentals, we need some time apart. Moreover, "I" need some time apart. I need that feeling of running away, being on my own, left to my own devices.

And we've talked a lot about spending more time apart as a way to maintain a healthy relationship. We've talked about it for a few years now. But it's always manifested as a few hours here or a day or two there; we've never spent weeks apart before, until now.

Looking back across my adult life, there were things I wanted to do that I never made good on. The reasons why are many. For one, I married young. And two, I spent my twenties chasing the approval of a mother and father who just weren't going to give it to me. But also, it was because I've been one to just let sleeping dogs lie. I didn't want to rock the boat, or disrupt the status quo with what I felt were good ideas. I didn't want to find myself on the road to Hell.

Sash, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be bothered with going to Hell because she's always managed to come back from it. I guess it's a good thing that I have her as a guide in my life. But then again, it might make me dangerous.

Dinner and brew, Uncle Bear's Brewery, Chandler, AZ

Meanwhile, my stay in the Phoenix area lasts only one night. By morning, I'm looking to avoid the road to Hell once more with some cooler AM temperatures as I make my way further east into New Mexico.

I've a balding front tire that needs replaced, and I'm certain no one's got something that'll match the Michelin PR4 on my rear wheel. So, I'm looking for a shop that can get one in a few days time and mount it on the spot.

1 comment | Post a Comment

---

The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same

US-191, south of Boulder, WY

Empty landscapes filled with green bushy flora and white bushy tails seem to suck out the clusterfuck of worry and obligation that collects in my neural pathways. I've seen these hills before even though I've never been on this road. But it doesn't matter, it still does the trick.

I don't care how cold it is out here, or even how wet.

I just want to get some distance.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. That is, asphalt is asphalt, whether it's laid down on Wyoming or Virginia, it still looks and feels the same. Even though I know each highway offers different scenery, different twisties, different road side eats, it only cements the fact that highway living is highway living, no matter where it is.

But even though I've seen so many landscapes and ridden along so many roads, I still want to experience more.

In our travels, Sash and I meet lots of people, and they're all the same in the sense that they love company, love to share stories, and want to get to know us better. But each time we meet people, there are different personalities, different attitudes, and different life experiences, that makes each moment unique. Yet in end, it's seeing these differences in people that allow us to arrive at what makes us all the same.

Each thing manages to maintain its own mystique that will keep us thinking and wondering until we finally experience it, and then we realize that there's only so much variation feasible. But it's not until after we experience the breadth of variation possible that we finally are able to arrive at a definition.

One cannot sit on a Harley-Davidson and describe motorcycling without having ridden BMWs, Hondas, or sportbikes and dirt bikes.

You have to ride different brands, different roads, different weather, and different styles. You have to put away at least tens of thousands of miles over dirt and pavement, city and country, twisty canyons and long straight Interstate just to know what it's like to be a "motorcyclist". It's not until after you've run the full course of variation that you can finally see how it translates to the same common demonimator.

And that's when we're able to say, "Yeah, I know all about it."

Road Pickle Update: Lately, I've become more busy with website work. The past few weeks have been spent converting a rather large website from an old page design to a responsive, mobile-friendly design. I've spent more time in front of this laptop, and less time going out.

Since my last post dated April 29, Sash and I have ridden from Seattle, WA, to Boise, ID, to Jackson, WY, to here in Denver, CO.

If you follow Sash closely, you've heard that she's having health issues and needs to return to San Diego for doctor appointments. We have one more week in Denver, and then we'll head back to SoCal over the next week or so. However, I'll only stay there for a couple of weeks, and then get back on the road until the warm weather runs out.

No comments | Post a Comment

---

Ran Out of Gas on My Motorcycle

County of Riverside has government-funded roadside assistance patrols

Ran out of gas on my motorcycle while riding this afternoon. Of course at first, the sputtering really catches me off guard, and then as I'm pulling off to the side, I keep wondering, "What the Hell is going on?"

Five years ago, I wrote about similar experiences in an article entitled, "Running Out of Gas on a Motorcycle". I mentioned that I have this habit of procrastinating a fill up until I absolutely need it. I keep running math calculations in my head by looking at the odometer and the mile marker signs to determine when I really, absolutely, without a doubt, gotta have to stop for gas.

Thus far, of the times I've actually drained the tank and had to pull over, I've been within walking distance to a gas station. It was labor enough to push a nearly 800 pound Electra Glide Ultra Classic in the past.

This time around, I had to push a 650 pound Honda ST1300 for about a mile.

I was actually about a mile and a half from the freeway offramp, where I knew there was a gas station.

"A mile and a half", I thought to myself. "I can do this."

Sash wanted to call her Triple A. But I don't think it would have helped, since I'm not on that policy. I actually do have an American Express Gold Card, which has built-in roadside assistance, up to $50.00, which should cover this particular circumstance. But, I knew that meant having to wait 30-60 minutes.

"Fuck it. I'm just gonna push it."

I got about a mile down the freeway, when I heard a "Beep!"

I figured it was a cop.

It turned out to be Roadside Assistance. Apparently, the County of Riverside, where I had been, has its own fleet of trucks that patrol the highways looking for vehicles in need of help. The guy was able to pour a gallon of gas to get me going.

Except, the bike didn't want to start.

It turned out that leaving the hazard lights on the entire mile of walking it drained the battery. You'd think that hazard lights wouldn't do that so quickly. But I guess Hondas have a way of killing batteries pretty fast.

So, I had to pull off the seat, pull off the right-side saddlebag, and screw off the right side panel, just to get to the battery. The guy hooked up his jumper cables, and I turned the key and got the bike running. Awesome.

Except, you can't remount the saddlebag without the key.

The ST1300 has a lock on the passenger hand rails that secure the saddlebags. That meant having to take the key out of the ignition and letting the engine die, to get the bag back on. I hoped for the sake my own sanity the engine would start back up.

Fortunately, it started right up.

So I got my exercise in for the day.

The roadside assistance guy didn't charge me since it was all government work. I didn't have any cash on hand to tip him. The libertarian in me is still not sure government should be competing against private enterprise. But then again, when you're in that situation, you're just happy to see someone pull up in a truck.

8 comments | Post a Comment

---

All Packed Up and Nowhere To Go

Sash poses along US-95 Arizona, at Kofa National Wildlife Refuge

For the first time since we started Road Pickle in March 2013, Sash and I found ourselves all packed up and ready to leave town without a destination in mind.

Our original plans after Las Vegas was to ride into Huntington Beach, CA, for a few weeks, deep in the heart of Orange County. We actually had a hotel booked there. However, an ear infection kept Sash resting in our Vegas hotel room longer than we had planned. So, we cancelled the hotel in Huntington Beach and stayed in Vegas for a few more days.

Instead, we looked at San Diego, and found a condo on Airbnb in the North Park community, just a block from the famed "30th & University" corner where all the cool bars are located. We booked it, but the owner declined, explaining that he was still living in it, and forgot to update Airbnb.

So when the few extra days in Las Vegas was finally up, and the hotel told us they couldn't extend our stay due to being booked for the weekend, we had to vacate.

I asked Sash if she was well enough to ride.  She said she was still dizzy and nauseous, but felt she could ride.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "We can just find another place here in Vegas."

"I'm sure", she said. "I'm sick of Vegas."

So, we sat at a bistro table next to our bikes right outside the hotel, trying to figure out where to go. We talked about St. George, UT. But I didn't care much for the idea, mainly because it would put us into colder weather. I had actually entertained Death Valley; there's a nice hotel at Furnace Creek, but I didn't mention it.

"What about Lake Havasu?" I asked.

"Where's that?" Sash asked.

"It's on the Colorado River, about a couple hours south of us."

"Yeah! That's sounds good!" she said.

"And there's also Yuma, about another couple hours south of Lake Havasu."

"Oh, Yuma!" she exclaimed with excitement. "I love Yuma, let's go there!"

"Are you sure?" I asked. "We're looking at about 300 miles. Can you make it?"

She insisted she could make it. She figured some time on the motorcycle would do her good. So, we jumped on our bikes, and took off.

I was nervous at first about Sash getting a dizzy spell and having her vision turn upside down while riding a motorcycle at 80 MPH. But she seemed just fine. Much the highway between Las Vegas to Yuma is sparsely driven, meaning little need to swing your head over your shoulder and shake up your balance.

Much of the route covered US-95 south, with a short stint along CA-62.  We got to see how the desert scrub of the Mojave Desert transitions itself to the Saguaro cacti of the Sonoran Desert. The former is more flat and arid while the latter is more colorful and rocky.

By the time we pulled into a hotel in Yuma, Sash's dizziness seemed gone. We checked in for a week here, hoping the serenity of a smaller, quieter town would do her good.

In the end I found that leaving town with no idea where to go gave me a great sense of freedom.  Most of the time we leave somewhere, we have plans and often commitments to uphold.  As a result, we end up feeling pressured to get there. It's like we lose some freedom that way. On the other hand, not having any place to be, feels liberating.

Photos of the ride from Las Vegas to Yuma...

Bikes are packed up & ready to go, just don't know where.	Decided to head south to Yuma, AZ.	Sash giving the A-OK on her dizziness.
The Searchlight Nugget Casino in Searchlight, NV	The casino serves up the best eats in Searchlight.	Sash and I continuing south along US-95 through NV
US-95 enters California for a short stretch.	The desert highway is full of dips and rises like these.	One of the best places to ride US-95, just north of Needles.
Ahh! The freedom of the open road.	Power lines cross US-95 and seemingly run forever.	Getting caught waiting for the train is fun in times like these.
Where CA-62 crosses the Colorado River into Arizona	The shone brightly on us today, but wasn't that hot.	We took a butt break at an old tire shop in Parker, AZ
Taking a photo op along the side of US-95 in Arizona	My shadow follows me close behind, just like Sash	Making the final stretch into Yuma, AZ

5 comments | Post a Comment

---

What's the Definition of a Motorcycle Nomad?

Heading southbound I-25 into Cheyenne, WY

We meet a lot of people over the course of our travels, and each time we meet someone, the question that always comes up is, "Where are you from?"

Several months ago, we used to say, "San Diego". But it's now been 18 months since we moved out of our permanent digs in the downtown of California's oldest city, and it's becoming harder and harder to say that we're actually from somewhere.

"OK, so where did you originally start from?" is the question that people will follow up with.

I guess we always have to come from somewhere. But technically, I'm not really from San Diego. It's just where I spent a lot of time growing up, and where my last permanent residence was. I was actually born in Honolulu, HI.

With the exception of those few people who never ever left the town they were born in, is it correct to say that we're all travelers?

Is it correct to say that we're all transitory, following the job market and moving from one place to another? Isn't that really what nomads are, following the caribou herd?

We'd like to think that civilization is a place where you can live all throughout the year, where you never have to leave, where food, water, and other necessities of life are perpetually brought to you. But now, people relocate from city to city, state to state, country to country. It's like we're still nomads.

A motorcycle nomad, on the other hand, I think, requires that we use a motorcycle to move from place to place, even if you're moving once every few years. I guess if you've since moved from your town of birth, and a motorcycle is how you move around, then you're a motorcycle nomad.

But I still like to call myself a Californian, and I still like to call myself an American. It helps people figure me out faster if I attach geographic labels to myself. Quite often, traveling across the country on a motorcycle leaves me with little time to have conversations with people. So, it saves me a lot of trouble explaining my perspectives if I just tell them, "I'm from California".

Where you started from, however, doesn't seem to matter much anyway, the language of motorcycling is universal.

Sash and I are now in Longmont, CO, and will be here until September 3.

Photos below are from our ride from Wheatland, WY to Longmont...

Western Sky's Family Diner, in Wheatland, WY for breakfast	It was a rough morning and I was getting hungry	Omelette smothered in green chile sauce was amazing here
The guy behind Sash was a loud mouthed Mr. Know It All	Chugwater Chili has to be the best name for chili.	I-25 southbound through Wyoming
This is where Western Sky's Family Diner got its name	Long stretch of interstate through Wyoming	The Yamaha V-Star 650 has held up well thus far
Sweet Jeezus likes the view of the mountains	Sash wanted to get a photo of Johnson's Corner	Welcome to Colorful Colorado!

5 comments | Post a Comment

---

2014 Sturgis, SD, Day 5, August 5

Rain on my windshield, Highway 385 south

Sash was absolutely giddy like a like a teenage girl getting sandwiched by Taylor Lautner and Robert Pattinson with all of her high school friends watching with jealousy.

The cause?

Getting to ride the 2015 Indian Scout for a full day.

Of course, it had to rain. Really rain.

The opportunity came because Women Riders Now got a chance to have the new motorcycle for a day for a ride review, and picked Sash to do the honors. Follow WRN to read Sash's review.

Part of the agreement was that Sash would participate in the 6th Annual Biker Belles Ride, a charity event created by The Legendary Buffalo Chip, to show off the bike. Biker Belles Ride is a ride for women that runs from Deadwood to Sturgis, and at the end of the ride they do a charity auction.

I didn't want to do the Biker Belles Ride, so I ran off on my own to check out the Needles Highway and Iron Mountain Road, two stretches of pavement that had been suggested to me as among the most technical in the Black Hills.

But alas, the rain.  I was still miles from Needles Highway, but I managed to weather it.  But then it really started to pour. I pulled off, and actually put on my helmet which I had stored in my saddlebag. But as I continued on, everything started to fog up, the windshield, my face shield, and my glasses. The water was soaking through my jacket, and suddenly it wasn't fun anymore.

So, I turned around and figured I would try it again later in the week.

The Biker Belles Ride ended up cancelled for rain too. Stephanie, our Vespa-riding cabin mate had joined Sash, as well as Jennifer, an old friend of Sash's who had ridden out to the Rally. The three of them were stuck at the Convention Center, waiting for the rain to go away.

I eventually joined them there.

Later on in the afternoon, Sash, Stephanie, and I rode back to our cabin in Sturgis.

The three of us were holed up in the cabin when we heard a crash outside. It turned out my Honda ST1300 fell over due to the dirt turning into soft mud. It suffered a broken left-mirror, but that's it. Everyone else in the campground started shoring up their bikes.

Unfortunately for Sash, she didn't get to ride the Indian Scout much today. It was like getting sandwiched by Taylor Lautner and Robert Pattinson, with all of her high school friends watching, and finding out that they were really only interested in each other.

At least she has a few hours the next morning to put some more miles on it.

Sash picking up the Scout at Indian's storage facility	Breakfast burrito and chai latte at Sturgis Coffee Company	Sash on the new Indian Scout
Sash really loves this new motorcycle and wants one bad	People crowd around the new Indian Scout	I took a ride to Needles Highway and it started raining
Having a beer and burger at Deadwood Dick's Saloon	Sash at the Biker Belle's Ride that got cancelled for rain	Stephanie on her Vespa riding back to our cabin

1 comment | Post a Comment

---

2014 Sturgis, SD, Day 2, August 2

Main Street Sturgis, SD

While the true spirit of a motorcycle rally is still here at the 2014 Black Hills Rally, it's like a tiny heartbeat smothered over with layers of pomp & circumstance.

I mean, in the middle of Main Street, Sturgis, Chevrolet has a huge spread with their 2015 model pickup trucks on display. I couldn't figure out what that was doing here, aside from taking advantage of the exposure.

But then again, there are probably just as many trailers and toy haulers here as there are motorcycles. I mean, who the Hell wants to ride all the way to Sturgis, when they can trailer their bikes instead? It's the reason why there are so many places selling patches and t-shirts saying, "I Rode Mine to Sturgis 2014".

The three of us, Sash, Stephanie, and myself hit Main Street Sturgis for a good look at the heart of the rally.

Stephanie, whom I mentioned in my last post, is riding a 250cc Vespa all across the country, trying to hit all 48 states in United States proper. She hails from Rhode Island, but that's only where she started. Like us, she dumped all of her belongings and her home, and kept only what she could carry on her scoot.

"I had this huge drink-my-booze-and-take-my-stuff party before I left!" she said, referring to a rather large collection of hard liquor she had once kept. "All I really want to do now is just ride."

Stephanie keeps a blog about her travels at: http://250superhero.blogspot.com/ She earns just enough money from doing illustrations for children's books, and taking advantage of what fellow riders offer her. She's staying in our cabin during the Rally.

Otherwise, it's hard to figure out really, what the heart of the Black Hills Rally is. I mean, downtown Sturgis looks like a giant street fair, not so much a "rally". Campgrounds like The Legendary Buffalo Chip have a lot of things going on, from concerts, to a giant pond, and several bars, but I'm not sure that the Chip is what defines the entire Rally. Every town in the Black Hills has its own street fair and series of concerts as well.

When you consider that there are just as many attendees traveling by RV, car, and with toy haulers, is it still a motorcycle rally? When there are so many celebrities from movies, television, music, and fashion, it makes you wonder if this is a little Hollywood instead.

Breakfast at Side Hack Saloon with Bloody Mary	This guy and his twin brother terrorized Main Street.	Stephanie considers a spiked bikini top
Some of the great food grilling on Main Street	Sash ran into her friend Joan Krenning on Main Street	Me at a biker gear shop along Main Street
This tattoo artist at The Tattoo Cellar attracted attention	Sash loved riding through Sturgis	Sash with Tiny, a 7'4" bouncer at The Legendary Buffalo Chip
This gal was carrying Sash's business card around Sturgis	Sash with Mike Wolfe from American Pickers	Sash attended the 2015 Indian Chief unveiling

3 comments | Post a Comment

---