Brotherhood of Motorcyclists

When Gary and I took our first motorcycle trip 4 years ago I noticed very quickly that there was some kind of camaraderie between motorcyclists that is not shared with people riding in cars, saved exclusively for fellow motorcyclists. This happens everywhere, but is especially apparent on any given sunny day on the Blue Ridge Parkway where motorcyclists are drawn from all over to the curvy, lightly traveled roads winding through the hills and meadows that make up the natural beauty of the mountains. Simply enjoying the open road and the great outdoors.



You will pass many, many motorcycles of all types - but mostly BMW touring cycles, Harleys and Goldwings (the kind we have). When passing one another, there is a nearly imperceptible, yet all important exchange. It’s not a wave, but a slight flick of the hand still perched on the handlebar, or a “low five” gesture, or a “peace” sign - as if to say - we know something the people in the cars don’t know… I know that you march to a different drummer like me… and isn’t this the greatest sense of freedom one can experience on the open road?! THAT is the brotherhood of the motorcyclists.



For the vast majority of my life I have looked at motorcycles as something dangerous, somewhat of an annoyance on the road. But since I’ve gotten comfortable touring on the back of a Goldwing, wearing my very own motorcycle jacket with all the hard padding (“space age” Kevlar technology, ballistic nylon, etc. - like in a bullet proof vest - that create a “crush zone” in the event of a crash). It transforms me into a Billy Badass the moment I put it on, that whenever I see a couple on a motorcycle from the comfort zone of my car I now think to myself how much more fun they‘re having (unless it‘s raining, of course) than I am. From the back of a motorcycle you see more, feel more and my favorite sensory experience - you smell more. This weekend we rode past a number of Christmas Tree farms and it occurred to me that the distinct smell of North Carolina Frazier Firs is one of my most cherished olfactory memories. Right up there with fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and puppy breath.



The gear is not glamorous. And this is definitely where the term "helmet head" came from. But boy is it fun.