Moving On. . .Why I want to own a Harley Davidson
For a long while, I had been feeling afraid. At the same time, I was also feeling insecure, and down on myself for my many supposed failings. I chastised myself for every aspect of my flawed existence, and only saw things in a negative way.
I think this was a necessary journey for me to get to where I am now.
And where is that? Acceptance, for lack of a better term.
What I mean by this is that I reached a point recently when it all became so much, that it blew itself out. I had had enough, and I moved on. The big thing I had been fearing was inevitable, and realizing this simple truth was very liberating.
Now, I am shifting my focus, quite naturally, to things that have always interested me, but that I had ignored or stashed away due to circumstance or narrowmindedness. No more, I am allowing the natural progression to move me where it will, within reason, of course.
The most powerful trend these days is towards the more masculine side of my character. For a long while, I have been marveling at the changes in my outlook on things I used to deny within me. I fled from many aspects of my self in order to attempt to affect an idealized amalgam of an intellectual world traveler.
In the end, I could no longer hold up the facade, even to myself, and so I let it go. I can not forcefully construct my identity any longer. I can't pretend to be this or that, I must allow myself to just be who I am, with all its inherent contradictions.
Those supposedly masculine traits, such as being physically fit, being interested in firearms, working with tools, being interested in mechanical things, going out for a beer with the guys, etc., are things I can no longer deny myself for fear of looking simplistic or lower class (ironically, something I have always professed to be proud of.)
An example of this is my most recent obsession with Harley Davidson. But actually, this is not exactly recent, it's just something I had stashed away back in 1998 because my life just could not accommodate it at that point.
Recently, the desire to own a Harley was rekindled by my neighbor across the street. He comes from New Hampshire, and is very much like the people I grew up with. He's a working man, but he makes good money. He's loud, brash, and maybe a little insulting if you don't get his humor, but he is basically a really good guy.
This man has been selling me on Harleys almost like he was making a commission, but I am a willing mark, so I eat it up. He brought me to a shop where they work on Harleys, and my eyes gleamed with childlike avarice at all of the bikes I saw. But, I am a complete naif, knowing next to nothing about bikes. The closest I ever came to being a biker was when I was a teenager, riding my ten speed all over the place just for the thrill of being on the road and exploring what was around each bend.
Now, I think the obsession with owning a Harley is an extension of that love of being on the road, as well as the more masculine aspects involved with being a "biker".
However, I have been surprised at the negativity surrounding being a Harley enthusiast. It seems there is no positive way to be a Harley owner. If you are like me, a newby, knowing nothing of the mechanics of the bike, not wanting to participate in the more derring-do of alcohol, violence and the like, you are considered to be a poser, not a true biker. On the other hand, if you are a true biker, and adhere to the original badass credo, you are considered to be a simian-like oaf, adhering to a code that reeks of utter baseness. Actually, there are those out there who would assert that, be it poserish or simpish, both are just as gullible and cow-like for buying into the Harley myth that the bikes are the best, or the fastest.
But I meekly disagree with these views as being too narrow themselves. Owning a Harley may be able to be boiled down to a simplistic middle-aged attempt to display false virility, or to hide the fact that one is getting old, but I think there is more to it than just this, at least, for me.
I want to own a Harley, fundamentally, because I have always loved the road. I love the feeling of freedom you get when you are out on your bike with the wind in your hair, exploring roads you have never seen, looking for that perfect vista, enjoying that cool sip of Coke or beer at a small roadside place on a hot Summer day.
I understand that this could be accomplished just as well, and perhaps a lot more cheaply, by owning a Japanese bike, but I choose a Harley because of the feel of it. I like the way they look, I like the way they sound, and I don't care if a "rice rocket" can go 90 times faster. I am not out on the road to prove how fast my bike can go, or to prove how badass I am. I am out there because I love the road, it is just that simple.
Plus, there is a whole culture surrounding owning and riding a Harley. Very recently, I went to a roadside bar where there was a small contingent of "bikers". They looked like the creepy people you imagine when thinking of bikers. They had the stereotypical leather jackets, chaps, biker boots, sun glasses, facial hair, and all the other viewable items that make you think they are just out of prison, or just about to go back in. But in talking to them, I realized that they were just like me: in love with the road.
I immediately confessed my ignorance of everything to do with being a biker, and I spoke of my hope to learn as much as I could. Rather than snub me, or look down their noses at me, taking me for a poser, they embraced me, and encouraged me to become a biker as soon as possible. One man kept repeating that he regrets putting his biker-side away for 20 years to accommodate his wife, who didn't approve. He told me that life is far too short, and that you ought to indulge your love of the road, if you have it. It brings pleasure, and what is wrong with that so long as no one is suffering for it?!
I wholeheartedly agree. To some, I may just be an ESL teacher, I may just be a domesticated, suburban, commuting cow, but I don't care about definitions any more. If I want to own and ride a Harley, it is for my own reasons, for my own pleasure, and not for anyone else's approval. If I choose to wear the garb of a biker, I do so, not because I wish to fantasize about being a badass, not because I am professing a false individuality, but because I like the way the clothing looks, feels, smells, and, most of all, the fact that it is necessary protection in the event of a spill.
The danger of riding is also something with which I have had to come to terms. I know that I could injure myself or even get killed out there on a bike, especially with the amount of cars on the road and the amount of negligent drivers behind the wheel. I remember my mother expressing her worry back when I was a teenager. I told her that if I got killed, it would be while I was doing something I truly loved and wanted to do.
So, if you see me out there, looking both goofy and giddy in my new duds, cautiously negotiating turns on my newly purchased and barely understood 2003 Softail Standard, go ahead and laugh if you want to, but remember, at least I am doing what I want to do, following my own path, as I have always tried to do.
Please Drive Safely.
I think this was a necessary journey for me to get to where I am now.
And where is that? Acceptance, for lack of a better term.
What I mean by this is that I reached a point recently when it all became so much, that it blew itself out. I had had enough, and I moved on. The big thing I had been fearing was inevitable, and realizing this simple truth was very liberating.
Now, I am shifting my focus, quite naturally, to things that have always interested me, but that I had ignored or stashed away due to circumstance or narrowmindedness. No more, I am allowing the natural progression to move me where it will, within reason, of course.
The most powerful trend these days is towards the more masculine side of my character. For a long while, I have been marveling at the changes in my outlook on things I used to deny within me. I fled from many aspects of my self in order to attempt to affect an idealized amalgam of an intellectual world traveler.
In the end, I could no longer hold up the facade, even to myself, and so I let it go. I can not forcefully construct my identity any longer. I can't pretend to be this or that, I must allow myself to just be who I am, with all its inherent contradictions.
Those supposedly masculine traits, such as being physically fit, being interested in firearms, working with tools, being interested in mechanical things, going out for a beer with the guys, etc., are things I can no longer deny myself for fear of looking simplistic or lower class (ironically, something I have always professed to be proud of.)
An example of this is my most recent obsession with Harley Davidson. But actually, this is not exactly recent, it's just something I had stashed away back in 1998 because my life just could not accommodate it at that point.
Recently, the desire to own a Harley was rekindled by my neighbor across the street. He comes from New Hampshire, and is very much like the people I grew up with. He's a working man, but he makes good money. He's loud, brash, and maybe a little insulting if you don't get his humor, but he is basically a really good guy.
This man has been selling me on Harleys almost like he was making a commission, but I am a willing mark, so I eat it up. He brought me to a shop where they work on Harleys, and my eyes gleamed with childlike avarice at all of the bikes I saw. But, I am a complete naif, knowing next to nothing about bikes. The closest I ever came to being a biker was when I was a teenager, riding my ten speed all over the place just for the thrill of being on the road and exploring what was around each bend.
Now, I think the obsession with owning a Harley is an extension of that love of being on the road, as well as the more masculine aspects involved with being a "biker".
However, I have been surprised at the negativity surrounding being a Harley enthusiast. It seems there is no positive way to be a Harley owner. If you are like me, a newby, knowing nothing of the mechanics of the bike, not wanting to participate in the more derring-do of alcohol, violence and the like, you are considered to be a poser, not a true biker. On the other hand, if you are a true biker, and adhere to the original badass credo, you are considered to be a simian-like oaf, adhering to a code that reeks of utter baseness. Actually, there are those out there who would assert that, be it poserish or simpish, both are just as gullible and cow-like for buying into the Harley myth that the bikes are the best, or the fastest.
But I meekly disagree with these views as being too narrow themselves. Owning a Harley may be able to be boiled down to a simplistic middle-aged attempt to display false virility, or to hide the fact that one is getting old, but I think there is more to it than just this, at least, for me.
I want to own a Harley, fundamentally, because I have always loved the road. I love the feeling of freedom you get when you are out on your bike with the wind in your hair, exploring roads you have never seen, looking for that perfect vista, enjoying that cool sip of Coke or beer at a small roadside place on a hot Summer day.
I understand that this could be accomplished just as well, and perhaps a lot more cheaply, by owning a Japanese bike, but I choose a Harley because of the feel of it. I like the way they look, I like the way they sound, and I don't care if a "rice rocket" can go 90 times faster. I am not out on the road to prove how fast my bike can go, or to prove how badass I am. I am out there because I love the road, it is just that simple.
Plus, there is a whole culture surrounding owning and riding a Harley. Very recently, I went to a roadside bar where there was a small contingent of "bikers". They looked like the creepy people you imagine when thinking of bikers. They had the stereotypical leather jackets, chaps, biker boots, sun glasses, facial hair, and all the other viewable items that make you think they are just out of prison, or just about to go back in. But in talking to them, I realized that they were just like me: in love with the road.
I immediately confessed my ignorance of everything to do with being a biker, and I spoke of my hope to learn as much as I could. Rather than snub me, or look down their noses at me, taking me for a poser, they embraced me, and encouraged me to become a biker as soon as possible. One man kept repeating that he regrets putting his biker-side away for 20 years to accommodate his wife, who didn't approve. He told me that life is far too short, and that you ought to indulge your love of the road, if you have it. It brings pleasure, and what is wrong with that so long as no one is suffering for it?!
I wholeheartedly agree. To some, I may just be an ESL teacher, I may just be a domesticated, suburban, commuting cow, but I don't care about definitions any more. If I want to own and ride a Harley, it is for my own reasons, for my own pleasure, and not for anyone else's approval. If I choose to wear the garb of a biker, I do so, not because I wish to fantasize about being a badass, not because I am professing a false individuality, but because I like the way the clothing looks, feels, smells, and, most of all, the fact that it is necessary protection in the event of a spill.
The danger of riding is also something with which I have had to come to terms. I know that I could injure myself or even get killed out there on a bike, especially with the amount of cars on the road and the amount of negligent drivers behind the wheel. I remember my mother expressing her worry back when I was a teenager. I told her that if I got killed, it would be while I was doing something I truly loved and wanted to do.
So, if you see me out there, looking both goofy and giddy in my new duds, cautiously negotiating turns on my newly purchased and barely understood 2003 Softail Standard, go ahead and laugh if you want to, but remember, at least I am doing what I want to do, following my own path, as I have always tried to do.
Please Drive Safely.
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