As motorcyclists you used to talk stupidly with a beer in your hand. As motorcyclists you tinkered with a beer at hand. Motorcycles used to break down. And you used to stop as a motorcyclist when you saw a fellow sufferer with bad luck.
Recently I stumbled across a motorcyclist forum online
That we greet each other brotherly. We are brothers. That we in 'Respect!' and 'Freedom!' go to the hole when it's on LIFE! arrives. That there were apparently a lot of different greetings in which motorcyclists with the same taste, engine or wonder could recognize each other. That a shawl tied to the wheel means you were out of luck. That a helmet on the ground a few meters behind the bike means that you are out of luck. That sticking out a leg after passing was not a threat or insult. But that's how we motorcyclists greet each other when we don't have our hands free. Ah… I only knew that sticking out that leg once in Southern Europe meant that you were mercilessly overtaken and therefore not worth a kick in the butt.
All that has been greeted has become empty symbolism
In the old days, again 'in the old days', motorcyclists greeted each other because they realized they were wobbly on motorcycles that could just quit. Motorcyclists knew they could need each other. And that created a bond.
The last time I was unlucky (but hey: is overheating due to piston rings worn out within 500 km bad or just funny?) There were two other road users who stopped. One was an ex-motorcyclist who, because of his fatherhood, had to stop riding his wife thirty years ago.
The second was a puppy with his cap on backwards. His car was so lowered that I had to stoop very seriously to make eye contact. The father of the GTI pilot had been a mechanic and he wanted to pick up his father to have a look at the case. I sincerely thanked the aspiring helpers and told them that I was on a sort of triple jump on my way home. Starting. Drive very slowly until the block was so hot again that I started to smell the paint on the dynamo. Stop. Refill oil. Quietly wait two cigars until the block had cooled down and then continue. The young man in the GTI asked concerned, "But do you have enough cigars?"
During those cooling and oil filling breaks (at home I turned out to have burned almost four liters of oil in more than 350 kilometers) no 'brother', motorcyclist or scooterist stopped. Fortunately, I am fully self-supporting on my Ural combination and only the clutch cable can break on a classic Guzzi.
On the other hand: What does stopping motorcyclists have for added value beyond the fact that you show interest. Well, maybe the bad luck phone is just empty. Then he can ask for help with my cell phone. Because the technology of a modern motorcycle goes too far for me at least two bridges. On the other hand: I once helped someone by putting the dead man's switch right again.
It is all beautiful
Motorcyclists are a fraternity M / V, motorcyclists are adventurous individualists, Harleys are the best motorcycles in the world. Shovelheads were the last Real Harleys, Italian motorcycles are electrically unreliable. BMWs are the best motorcycles in the world. The BMW two-valve boxers are the last Real BMWs. Japanese motorcycles are the best motorcycles in the world. Only bad motorcycles come from China. Bikers are supposed to have tattoos. And of course: Motorcycling is dangerous.
Fortunately, every time I ride one of my old RESTORATIONS: classic motorcycles, I forget how many important things are going on in life. I drive. And enjoy. Also stop when I see a motorcyclist M / V with bad luck. And you don't want to know how happy and happy you feel when you drag a broken Ducati Diavel to its destination on a KMZ 23 hp side valve.
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