Size matters. 9/7/2005
After a meeting that dragged on beyond normal knocking off hours today evening, I was in a rush to get home. It was drizzling slightly, so I put the laptop into a black plastic garbage bag, and pulled on the rainsuit. I thanked the great god Speed that I was using the helmet with the clear visor today. Not the other helmet, the helmet, which is of course different from the the other helmet.
Sorry about that. That was a joke perhaps only Bikerwannabe is going to understand. And yes, I have more than one helmet.
Anyway, I headed down the road, and took the elevated highway which leads into the main highway heading home. I was lane splitting, as usual, when I noticed a whole bunch of bikes backed up in front of me. The usual cause for this is a car wanting to change lanes, and not being able to complete the maneuver, blocking the space between cars that bikers use to their advantage. I caught up with the pack, and slowed down. The long line of small bikes, mainly 100 c.c. step throughs, was moving slowly between the line of cars caught in the jam. I looked a little further ahead, and cursed.
The whole conga line of bikes was caused by one bike moving very slowly between the parked cars. Mainly because it was the biggest, heaviest production motorcycle on the planet.
The rider was probably intimidated by the size of the bike, and was really hesitant about going for the gaps in the traffic, even though from my vantage point, there was more than enough space for him to get pass the cars. This man had bought his bike, and for him it was a toy, hence his unfamiliarity with it, and lack of riding skill. A fair weather biker, or born again, as we say. Usually an older guy who has reached that stage in his career where he is able to afford big toys.
As I went past him, doing my usual fraction of local lightspeed, my suspicions were confirmed. I almost felt sorry for him, until I recalled that I used to ride one of these behemoths, on daily basis, and was known for scraping the footrests while canyon blasting. I certainly wasn’t known for being slow on it. And my sympathy evaporated.