QUERY: Why are there so many people who leave their homes, get in
their cars, trucks and motorhomes and travel out onto the backroads
of our nation to go to some destination that they so obviously do
not want to reach? How else can one explain the endless strings of
vehicles that meander so slowly up and down the asphalt pathways?
Not only do they not want to get there, but they (presumably knowing
what horrible fate awaits those who arrive at the other end of this
road) wish to spare you the agony of arrival and thus, like the defenders
of the Maiginot Line, make sure that none shall pass.
Now I'm not a particularly slow rider, but I'm not a fast rider either
(I've often been called a half-fast rider, but it seemed to me
that they pronounced it a bit too quickly, actually) and so I don't
think
it's unreasonable of me to expect others on the road to lead, follow
or get the heck out of the way. The Europeans have the system down
pat....they always pull over to the side to give way when they
see a motorcycle approach from the rear (I've often over there
seen cars
in both directions give clearance so that an oncoming bike could "lane
split" a pass) and of course they expect you to do the same.
I still remember my initiation into this routine when, as I was meandering
in clueless-tourist fashion up the road by the Mosel River on our
first day out in Germany, I looked down to check the mirror and discovered
the fender of a BMW 7-series about six inches from my left thigh.
He was coming around the slow-going bike and just assumed that I
was going to do the right thing and give way. I did, but screaming
and leaping straight up off the seat probably wasn't what he had
in mind.
It seems to be a particularly American thing, this " Yes, as
a matter of fact, I do own the road" attitude. Only here I believe
will someone mosey down a two-lane road lined with pulloffs and wide
shoulders, oblivious to the mile-long string of vehicles queuing
up behind---and then get incensed when one of the captives has the
audacity to try to pass at the first straight stretch in the last
fifteen miles. On the straight, this car that seemed to be permanently
stuck in first can now go one and a half times the speed limit with
ease...until the first curve. Then its back to Sloth-Mode for fifteen
more miles.
This isn't innocent ignorance either. I recall vividly the car
my brother-in-law Jay and I followed along Route 58 from Volney
to Damascus,
a wonderful bike road, if one can ride it at a pace sufficient
to avoid falling asleep. We got behind a white Ford sedan, meandering
along at about 20mph, the only car on the road. There was no place
to pass and so, after several pulloffs were ignored by the Ford,
we pulled into one ourselves to wait it out. We stopped, pulled
off
our helmets, disscussed the automobile driver's parentage and prospects
for future residence in a very hot place, consulted a map and finally
got back out on the pavement...only to find at the next set of
curves, not a half mile down the route, The White Ford. We pulled
off again,
waited for a bit and tried once more....and there it was again.
It was like in the movie "Duel", where Dennis Weaver is menaced
by the sinister anonymous 18 wheeler that's always behind him, only
this was the reverse. I started looking around for Rod Serling or
Allen Funt.
No, it isn't innocent ignorance and it isn't a TV practical joke.
It's a conspiracy. Somewhere, even as you read this, there is a
meeting going on, a cell group of determined individuals who are
bent on
destroying the sanity of motorcyclists everywhere. They are like
Puritans, those people defined as "Someone who lives in dread
fear that somewhere, someone is having a good time".
They have organized and planned to frustrate us into oblivion,
thereby eliminating this source of the most fun an adult can have
with clothes
on. These Glacial Pacers have purchased those books of "Best
Motorcycling Roads" and they read the articles in the magazines
about the Blue Ridge and California Highway One. They take their
vacations on a planned schedule so that at least one of their number
is always on any given five mile stretch of these targeted roads.
It's true...think about the last time you ever saw a slow driver
like that on an interstate or a straight two lane road with a passing
lane. They don't hang out there because it doesn't serve the Purpose---to
drive us all nuts. And from reading this article this far, you can
see they've succeeded with me.
