The joys and burdens of sharing our love of motorcycling

Some by way of sparkling discourse, some by way of my buying a Royal Enfield Himalayan and "renting" an abandoned parking lot so they could try it firsthand. Now I know there are probably more noble pursuits in life than getting people to ride motorcycles but I tell you what, short of oxycodone (allegedly) there's rarely a deeper satisfaction than witnessing that first time they pull the helmet off and smile. Welcome aboard, you just experienced physics gifting us functional two-wheeled vehicles apropos of nothing. I may not make art worthy of forging, but in this way I can add a little joy to the world.

Occasionally, though, I think there's — maybe — more to this rush. It's all well and good to imagine that I'm helping folks self actualize for the price of a little danger, like some inverse Doctors Without Borders operating at the top of Maslow's pyramid, but at what point does someone's experience become my responsibility? What if I cause some suffering and danger as a result of spreading the good word? One night in the Alps started me questioning whether I was willing to live with that.

I invited my friend to ride around northern Italy, Switzerland, and southern Germany with me, a fantastic trip through beautiful places, winding roads, and fresh cultures that would swap our Dodger Dog brains for currywurst, at a minimum. I was relatively undaunted, having ridden the Alps before in my 10 years and maybe 150,000 miles of motorcycling. It was with this special blindness and a dash of optimism that I invited this friend, whom I had gotten into bikes some four months and 700 miles earlier. She had been learning fast, and I counseled her through a great first purchase (Husqvarna Svartpilen 401), high-quality gear, and a crash course in cornering fundamentals. Smooth sailing then, right? Wrong.

One day into her time with a rented Suzuki V-Strom 650, following my Ducati Multistrada 950S, things were looking dire. Exhausted from catching the wrong train from Rome to Milan, in pain from a new helmet that she hadn't tested enough, and on dark, cold, twisting roads, the rain disabling our comms units was the rotten cherry on top of this particular stretch of the trip. I was cognizant that although this was all within my personal limits, my sizable discomfort at the conditions meant that I was probably putting my friend in danger. It was my call to press on to our destination in Lucerne, but that kind of get-there-itis is the variety that has killed aviators and I'm sure many riders. It came down to me, and despite my noble intentions in steering a new rider right, I made the wrong call.

The rest of the trip worked out without any major travel hazards and I made sure never to demand that kind of mental workload from either of us again.

At the risk of sounding like a Bad™ individual, I have to admit this was not the first such incident. Whether honest mistakes, things in or out of my control, I believe in always learning and improving by way of good-faith efforts, so I did my best to examine the more suspect experiences of new riders I had taken under my wing or otherwise encouraged to get into the hobby. Otherwise, would I really living by my ideals?

Questionable moments in mentorship

One of the earliest such memories was that of my side mirror filled with a good friend approaching 45 degrees of slide as he piled on too much rear brake. The truck that pulled out into the canyon in front of us had me reaching into some well developed muscle memory, but his new-rider instincts were not as developed. To my surprise, the preternatural stability of the Honda CBR600 F1 reeled him in, but that could have been nasty. I remember some years later observing my coworker, who finally caved to the moto urge after my encouragement, making an absolute mockery of traffic laws on his way to the office. I watched another friend's father tear off onto a busy street on a Honda Grom wearing nothing but a smile and gear that wouldn't protect you from spilled milk.

The incident that really roused these ghosts for me was a recent canyon jaunt with a friend who picked up a Triumph Trident as his first steed. After a mostly pretty steady ride, he was seasoning his corners with some attack and testing the upper-body movement I had demoed earlier. In a half second's contemplation of his lane position and speed on a trickier corner, I realized that he was going to run wide. He did, right into the oncoming lane and at the wrong end of a blind corner. He swiftly wheeled back across the centerline, but seconds later a truck rolled past us going the opposite direction.

Sobering trip down memory lane concluded, is there anything I can take forward into my so-called life's mission?

It's most evident to me that my exuberance to get new riders out there and living it up is, if anything, too strong. From deep into my riding career, it's hard to remember just how daunting the early days were and how lucky I was to have the time and space to figure it out (mostly) for and by myself. I worry that the side of me that hungers for life is maybe rubbing off a little too much on people just getting their toes wet. In my defense, I think my friends and associates tend to share that quality, so I'm not sure there's much I can do other than point them in the right directions and harp on them about getting really good gear.

The older I get, the less I want to apply "died doing what they loved" to anyone I care about, despite knowing that they're adults who have weighed the risks and made their own decisions.

The other side of this is understanding and supporting friends who have tried riding and decided it's not for them, or they want to pursue it ways different from mine. How can I disagree when I've known how it feels to have the ground break my bones? When I meet people who only ride on occasion, I know how it feels to juggle a non-motorcycling job, a marriage, and a child with anything else you want to do with your time. If I'm handing someone that cheap tin of lighter fluid and a matchbox, it's only because the fire that it started for me has seen me through some of the most beautiful moments I think a person can experience. How could I not want to share that? But if it happens that they go in a direction I wouldn't, then I would be wrong to try and change it. I think the best we can strive for is to guide it. This is where you come in!

When your friends turn to you looking for their entry point into the magic, will you be ready? Not simply to steer them right and deliver quality recommendations, but ready to live with the consequences of your influence and let them grow their own branches? I am, but if I ever get the wrong call I may change my mind and evangelize something a little tamer.

Until then, well, just wait until I tell you about the exciting new crop of small-displacement machines perfect for new riders. Did I mention there's never been a better time to get into the hobby? Stick around, this is a very important subject for me.