I was having a smoke today while hanging out in front of the office when I felt a pair of eyes looking me up and down. Swing around to find our next door neighbor in the office complex looking me over. He’s sort of aimlessly starring at me. Before I can say something he tosses out, ‘were those your bikes I saw the other day’. Beeming with pride I of course answer, ‘yes’. The guy then says, with that gruff disapproving tone in his voice, “those things are dangerous”.

Like no kidding? Who would have taught it? I tell the guy nicely that what I happen to personally believe is that “bikes aren’t dangerous, riders are” and “it’s all about risk management”. This clearly goes over his head. I add a bit more, telling him that, “I like to think there’s a difference between people who treat riding like a hobby and those who treat it like a skill”. Meanwhile as this pointless conversation muddles on I start trying to remember where I last heard this bit… and then I realize that Doug K. over at Forty Years on Two Wheels wrote about it the other day in his blog. Like the Flu, it must be going around…All of this of course got me thinking about the dangers of riding - how could it not, right? And the more I roll it over in my mind, the more I’ve come to realize that for me riding is the one thing, with the exception of my current smoking kick of course, that I knowingly do - matter of fact savor - where I know I’m putting myself in harms way.

Now I suppose there’s a number of ways to look at this; On one hand there’s a certain adrenaline rush from doing something dangerous. There’s also a certain joy about being one with your machine, out in the elements with it. For me there’s definitely a scenic kick, the where went and what you got to see aspect. There’s also the solitary nature of riding where you’re also alone, trapped inside this plastic shell, completely stuck living within yourself. But perhaps the biggest single reason I love to ride is the challenge of trying to master the skill of riding.