Philosophy of Passing Over the Double Yellow

Considering the concept that one's perception of reality is based on one's perception of him/herself, it makes me wonder if I can change my reality by changing my view of myself.

What the #$*! Do We Know!? is an interesting documentary I watched the other night on Netflix. It's largely based on the teachings of Ramtha (JZ Knight). I don't know much about Ramtha, but I always find it entertaining to exercise concepts.

When you consider that emotions are just hormones released by the brain into our blood system, and subsequently absorbed into our cells, our cells become conditioned to receiving these hormones. That is, it's a chemical addiction that our body learns to crave. As cells divide, newer cells are more adapted to capturing these hormones.

The more time you spend feeling guilty, the more your body craves the feeling of guilt. Hence, that becomes your perception of reality. Everything you see, hear, touch, is all filtered by your body's need to feel guilty.

As I'm riding my motorcycle along a twisty road through hillsides and canyons, my eyes pick up a million pieces of information. But I may only perceive 20 pieces at any given second. For one, moving at an average of 50mph limits my ability to perceive, but two, how I see myself as an individual filters what I perceive.

I think about passing a slower-moving car in front of me. But I take notice of the double-yellow line and think twice about doing so. I look in my rear view mirror and see no cops. I look ahead and I see no on-coming cars. I take notice of upcoming curves and try to assess the safety of passing this guy.

Finally, I pull the trigger, twist the throttle and make my pass. All the while, I'm looking ahead down the road for any oncoming vehicles, until I move back into my lane.

Then I ease off on the throttle, and look in my rear view mirror at the guy I just passed, just in case he's pissed at me.

For me, being a law-abiding citizen is important, though not always the highest priority. Intellectually, I don't want trouble with the law. But emotionally, I find it alluring.  In the earlier part of my childhood, I went through a lot of physical abuse at the hands of my mother.  I didn't want my mother to beat me, but I grew up in a pattern of guilt and punishment.  My body became conditioned towards wanting this fix.

Hence, it all explains why I took notice of that double-yellow line.  I see it as an opportunity.

Someone else who sees himself as more important, who doesn't care about confrontation, and who may not even recognize boundaries, probably won't even know there is a double-yellow line there. All he may see is that there is someone in his way, and that someone is an "idiot" who needs to be laid to waste.

Had I not passed over the double yellow, I would have gotten to my destination a little bit more late, but I would've felt on edge, and more than likely would seek to get my fix some other way.

And if you ask Sash about this, she'll tell you that feelings of guilt can only accumulate for so long until the need for punishment takes over. At that point, what my eyes and ears perceive become filtered, yet again, looking to push her over the edge, just as I used to do with my mother.

So what about the motorcycle rider who decides to remain behind the slow-moving car? What's their hangup? Maybe he or she wants to feel meager, wants to feel like a sheep? Maybe these people seek out other slow-moving vehicles just so that they can remain stuck behind them?

Anyway, it's an interesting documentary with interesting ideas.

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Naming Your Motorcycle

Well it's always refreshing to ride a different motorcycle. The different seating position, the different weight, height and wheelbase, the different everything.

We picked up this 2006 Kawasaki Ninja 500R from a guy about 3 hours north of us. It had 11,000+ miles on it, but still looked and ran like new. It came with an extra windshield and a matching 3/4 helmet, for $2,400.00 USD.

This bike, of course, is for Sash.

The idea of her riding it home entered my mind, but considering she hadn't ridden anything for the last several months, perhaps as much as a year, it probably wasn't a good idea. I did, however, offer to ride it to a parking lot somewhere and let her try it out, but it was already getting late and the temperatures were only going to get more chilly from here. So I rode it back home.

Sash named the bike, "Katie Scarlet", which apparently is the name that Scarlet O'Hara was called in Gone with the Wind. I suppose it's fitting, considering that's what Sash want to do (disappear into the wind).

I guess she didn't like my suggestion, "Rat Fingers".

So, in following up on my last article about the scratches and dings we collect on our motorcycles, and how they reflect memories and experiences of riding, the fact that many of us give names to our motorcycles suggest a next logical step, that they're real, live beings.

It probably took me a couple of years to name my Honda ST1300 "Blackbird", only because it took that long for me to feel a kinship to it. It wasn't until Sash asked me what name I had given it that I finally settled on a name.

"Blackbird", I told her.

"Oh, that's a nice name", she said. "Blackbird!".

"Yeah, but I'm reluctant to name it that, because Honda actually makes a bike called "Blackbird", and I don't want people to keep pointing that out.

But, I like the idea of my motorcycle being a bird, and it's colored black. So, Blackbird it became.

Sash, on the other hand, named her bike the moment we brought it home, without ever having ridden it yet. It was already her baby and little girl. Perhaps it has something to do with motherhood and unconditional love, who knows.

My Yamaha Road Star I had named, "Roadie". Not very original, I know.

My Ultra Classic Electra Glide I had named, "Battlecruiser". It was more a of joke in reference to all the electronics and fairings the Ultra comes with.

Somehow we as riders develop an emotional or spiritual connection to our motorcycles, whether it takes several years or just a few minutes.  For me, it's stems from the "we're in this together" mentality when we're on a lonely road, a hundred miles from the next town. I'm no more a master of my motorcycle as I am a slave.  I may control the throttle and turn the handle bars, but I depend on Blackbird to run reliably and get me where I want to go.

For that, there is a level of respect I have in her, and with that I gave her a name.

Anyway, the Ninja 500 should be a good starter bike for Sash.

If you follow Sash's Blog, you'll know more about it.

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To Hell and Back On A Motorcycle

Had I had a chance to do it over, I would've hopped on Blackbird from the right instead of the left. Instead, my momentum tipped the bike over on its right, dropping it over on the shoulder.

I knew I shouldn't have parked the bike here.

The shoulder was uneven such that when I put the kickstand down and dismounted, the bike remained standing at a 90 degree angle, with no lean. Not wanting to leave it that way, I hopped right back on, which pushed the bike over to its right. I put my right foot down, but the wet ground was slick, and I lost traction. Blackbird kept going over and I couldn't save her.

The result was cracked mirror, broken mirror housing, cracked engine guard cover, and scrapes to the right saddle bag. Probably close to a $1,000.00 damage just for tipping it over.

I've since replaced the mirror and the mirror housing, but opted to leave the broken engine guard cover and right saddle bag as they are.

I still look at the cracks and scrapes and remember the incident as if it were only yesterday. It was raining fairly hard along Highway 36 through Trinity County, CA, on a March afternoon, 2011. Snow blanketed the sides along Horse Ridge, about 4,000 feet up. Brian wanted to stop to get a photograph of the bikes against the snow.

I just picked a bad place to park, that's all.

Replacing a busted mirror stands to reason, but I just didn't want to fork over the money to replace the other parts just because they're scuffed or cracked. As long as they work.

Somehow, I've become attached to the memories, even the bad ones. Heck, memories of me dropping my ST are not really bad anyway. But without the scratches, cracks, dents, and other blemishes, there wouldn't be any interesting stories to tell. They'd all be about sunshine and pretty flowers.

Even if I did have the money, I wouldn't want to erase the cracks and scratches. Blackbird and I have logged a lot of miles together, and that includes the right saddle bag and engine guard cover. Where other guys take pride in how perfect and cherry their bikes are, I kinda like showing off her old battle scars.

For a guy like me who grew up with little family, holding on to these blemishes somehow comforts me. They're my memories, they're my travels, and my bike is part of my family.

There's something humbling in seeing an old gray-haired biker whose motorcycle has as many scrapes and dents as his body has scars and limps. Going to Hell and back and then telling folks about the journey seems pretty cool. His old weathered and faded jacket smelling of old sweat and bug splatter is a canvass painted with the same memories.

It's only when you add the tens of thousands of miles that these things absorb our spirits and become a part of us that you'll remember forever.

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