Brotherhood o' the bike.

There was a time long ago when riding your bike (bicycle) meant you were part of a very exclusive...or more accurately, a very rarefied....set of people. When I was a wee lad just waking up to all the wonderful, joyous, beautiful things associated with all things two wheeled, we all realized that there just weren't too many of us.

So, every time you would ride by another cyclist, you at least waved. In the early days (<1980) you would actually stop and talk. Because in Florida during the late 70s and early 80s you just didn't know when you would meet another brother o' the bike.

Time went on and I moved to California and I must have been such a Fred. I kept waving at every cyclist I saw. After about 30 min riding around Berkeley, I just got tired of waving because there were more cyclists that I could shake a stick at (and I am damn good at shaking sticks!).

Soon I realized that I was in a different world and on most rides, it would probably only be another 10-15min till I saw the next cyclist.

That was about 17 years ago and times have changed. Cyclists are almost a dime a dozen. I still wave or at least nod at every cyclist I see. I figure that it's the right thing to do. There are way too many snooty, elitist, "my carbon fiber super expensive bike is better than yours" yahoos who think they're too cool to wave at some gangly college kid having a good time on the bike because he's not riding a Cervelo. There are way too many of those people occupying the a-hole end of the spectrum and I feel it's my obligation to balance that out.

But I lament those old days where all cyclists were my friend.

But what is really interesting of late is I have found a new fraternity(maybe it's coed, too).

Since I have started riding motos, I have noticed that we all wave at each other. It's very distinctive. It's always the left hand and it's almost always the first two fingers of that hand pointed out low like you were pointing out a pot hole 4-5' to your left.

I was riding home from work the other day via Highland valley road and Hwy 67 and I was amazed on how consistent the moto-wave was. Even the CHP moto guys waved!

I wondered why this was. What is the connection that cyclist used to and Moto riders all feel?

I was listening to the radio about how Marines would be desperate to go back to that hellhole that is Iraq after suffering the most horrific injuries. Civilians stateside would be flabbergasted, bewildered and incredulous of why on Earth anyone would want to go back. Without fail the answer was: "My buddies are back there! I have to go back".

Having been in the service, I have an inkling of the connection that this battered, weary, scarred folks have: just an inkling, though.

Then it occurred to me. Cyclists are probably one of the most vulnerable folks on the road: We ride in and amongst 3000-5000lbs of steel, plastic and rubber driven by people who would rather finish their text message than actually pay attention to where they are going with little more than Lycra and 3-4oz of Styrofoam on our noggin'. Moto riders are similarly vulnerable except we are cooking along at 40-150mph: there is much more danger in that.

Albeit riding a bike or a moto are probably an order of magnitude or so safer than a Marine going door to door in the Anbar Province, we are still on the same continuum: for personal reasons we have made a life choice to put ourselves in danger on a daily basis. That risk of death and injury that is optional, that saddling up next to your own mortality and the grim reaper creates a bond.

Personally, if I had the choice of how I would want to leave this world I would choose standing between the reaper and those I love, defiantly saying "you gotta go through me, first!" In lieu of that it would be doing something I love. Much preferable than wasting away making my children's life miserable, draining their youth as they watch me waste away....a mere shell of the man I used to be.

I watched my parents go like that and the saddest thing was not that they passed. The saddest thing was that I knew of who these people were: Towering, defiant folk. People who bucked the trend, fought tooth and nail against the odds and then said "Bring it!"

The thing is, we have to wave at each other. Because that cyclist/moto-rider/marine we see has a non-trivial chance of meeting his/her doom around the next corner and the hindsight revelation that you should have said something to so-and-so before they were gone is far too common.