Each year about this time, I receive The Letter. It arrives with IRS predictability from my insurance agent, demanding a copy of my driver's license at risk of canceling my policy. That would be majorly bad. All five of my motorcycles and my wife's car are covered by this policy, which after several accident-free years with no speeding tickets is also majorly affordable. But the suits refuse to believe that my license is only endorsed to operate a motorcycle. No one, they profess in bold print, can possibly hold a license for just a motorcycle. But a motorcycle-onlyendorsement is precisely what's printed on my Pennsylvania State driver's license. This is a narrow approach to transportation, for sure, but after 28 years resisting the allure of four-wheeled travel, a motorcycle-only license has become for me not just a lifestyle statement, but a source of pride.
There is no easier way to end a debate about who is more dedicated to biking. Even a co-worker who dresses like a contestant in a Sonny Barger Look-Alike Contest and loudly professes the alleged superiority of his designer chopper defers when I stroll into the office, covered in slush and salt from a winter commute. Without a car, I've learned to make concessions. When it snows, I walk or take public transportation. I've learned not to take tailgaters and inattentive drivers personally. And after so long without a car, I've learned to enjoy the endless questions from auto-driving friends concerning my ability to retrieve groceries (magnetic tank bag), ride in the rain (be smooth with the controls) and generally get by in a world designed for four-wheelers (you cope).
While it may appear uncomfortable, life outside the automobile fold can be both fun and challenging. And there are other perks:
Without a monthly car payment, I can afford almost any bike I desire. On the other hand, I've lost enough bungeed-on six-packs to fuel the party on Main Street, Sturgis. And there are cold, wet, lousy rides when precipitation dampens parts of my anatomy even my primary-care physician isn't familiar with. But despite the frustrations and mad props a carefree lifestyle affords, it is becoming something of a liability.
This first occurred to me last year during a trip to Pahrump, Nevada, to take Jason Pridmore's STAR Motorcycle School. Because I've never learned to drive a car, I coerced my brother Aaron into joining me. But he suffered a head injury some years ago and isn't comfortable driving after dark, so my school day was cut short to let us beat the sunset back to our hotel in Las Vegas. I could have called a limo or taxi, but at Vegas prices, buying a car would have been cheaper.
Oddly enough, track-day motorcycling may force me to buy a car or truck. How else can I transport my track-prepped bike to the raceway? Because I'm fortunate to live close to our local track just outside of Pittsburgh, I've simply unbolted the mirrors on my streetbike, slapped some duct tape over the lights and ridden there. Even veteran racers are impressed to learn that I remove the tape, hit the road and head for home on my blisteredand- blued tires after the last session.
But that approach doesn't always work. Riding to farther-away racetracks makes me hyper-conscious of crashing; wad my bike and I'd have a hard time getting home. So I've been perusing Auto Trader for the first time, trying to imagine myself driving one of those pickup trucks I've seen at track days with their rear windows plastered with motorcycle decals. Right now, that's a tough thing to imagine. But something tells me my insurance company won't mind.
By Mike Seate
Enjoyed this Post? Subscribe to our RSS Feed, or use your favorite social media to recommend us to friends and colleagues!