Motorcycle Adventures

It was a glorious Friday afternoon in the middle of summer, and I was sitting at work. As lunch time approached, my thoughts wandered from Real-time Operating systems and embedded microchips to the question of where I should be going for my customary sumptuous Friday lunch and how I could fit in a siesta during my unavoidable afternoon team meeting. A voice suddenly came up behind me “Got any plans for lunch?”. I turned around to find a head popping over my cubicle wall. The head and voice both, coincidentally enough, belonged to the same person. Tony had been my off-campus student at UIC when I was a Teaching Assistant for a graduate level Advanced Wireless Communication Course. We had become good friends then. Later when he heard I was starting to look for a job, he forwarded my resume to his boss. The interview was a snap, and here I was at Motorola in the same team.

I replied “Not yet. How about 'I am Siam'?”, referring to the Thai place with the funny-sounding name that made a mean curry fried rice. I could feel his brain processing my words, retrieving memories of the restaurant and sending signals to his taste buds to salivate. But Tony bit his lip, held firm and said “Not today. We’re going somewhere else and you’re gonna love it. And by the way, we’re gonna ride our motorcycles there”. This was unexpected. I did not appreciate riding my motorcycle in 70F+ heat on an empty stomach, bundled in a thick protective leather jacket, gloves and helmet, to some place I had no clue about. But I knew that protesting would be of no avail, and with a big sigh that I made sure he heard, I picked up my helmet and jacket and followed him.

A few days earlier, I had acquired a used Yamaha Seca XJ600 from a friend’s friend. It was a sleek black mean-looking machine with an incredible 600cc engine (To put things in perspective, the legendary Enfield bullet is only 350 cc). There were quite a few bikers in my team. When they heard I’d literally grown up riding motorcycles, scooters, mopeds and all sorts of motored contraptions in India, they had coaxed, cajoled, blackmailed and tempted me into buying one myself. Ofcourse, I did not have a license yet. But you just needed a learner’s permit when you’re riding with other experienced bikers.

So we all started our bikes, idled them a bit and set off. There was Tony, Chris, Tommy, Dan, Troy and me. A bunch of bikers usually ride in a staggered formation because 1. they take less space that way and can use a single lane and 2. they are more visible to the regular auto traffic. I was the novice by a long way, so I brought up the rear. Once we passed the busy roads, we started taking back roads, and the passing scenery seemed to be getting more and more rural. Very soon, we were riding by country roads, passing farms and trucks and miles of nothing but just curvy roads. We were all in full flow now, taking on the curves, leaning into them at 45 degree angles, adjusting every so often to maintain our formation. For the first time, I could put my bike through a good hard ride, and could feel the power in my control. I went up all the way up to a 100 mph and the Yamaha showed no sign of misfiring or misbehaving.

After 45 minutes of the most enjoyable and thrilling ride of my life, we arrived at the destination. It was a lakeside restaurant/bar located in Wisconsin. Yes, believe it or not, the biker bhais had decided to come from Illinois to Wisconsin for lunch. We chilled by the water, watched the speedboats and jet skis race by and checked out the hundreds of different bikes and bikers around us. And we sat there, enjoying the warm summer afternoon, and sipping on chilled beers, I couldn't help thinking to myself a work day never felt so good!

Its hard to explain the thrill of a bike ride in America. The miles and miles of open roads, the powerful bikes, the camaraderie among bikers and the looks of appreciation and jealousy you get along the way, all make it worth it. However, there are always two sides to a coin, and so it is with motorcycling as well. With the possible exception of going quail hunting with rich Texans, motorcycling is probably the most dangerous sport out there if necessary precautions are not taken. Infact, bikers who ride without helmets are affectionately referred to as organ donors by many. The reason is that many states do not mandate helmets for bikers. And understandably, there are a lot more motorcycle-related deaths in these particular states. So people who need organs (you know - kidneys, heart, eyes and the like) relocate to these states since they have a better chance of receiving those organs from stupid dead bikers.

Consider the cast of colorful characters I was riding with and their misadventures.

Dan: After riding for years, he had a major bike accident on the freeway. His bike skidded and he went sliding and hit the steel fence on the side. He was not wearing his helmet, and was extremely lucky to survive. Had to get his jaw rewired though. You’ll never see him riding without a helmet these days.

Tony: After what happened to Dave, this relative newbie always makes sure he has the right protective gear. That was probably what saved him when he couldn’t handle a sharp turn and hit the ground at close to 90 mph on a country road. He managed to escape with a few ugly scars on his head.

Tommy: He’s a beginner as well and rides a relatively less powerful machine. But I cannot forget that day at work when he came back from lunch with the shirt sleeve on his right hand missing, and with bandages stained with blood in its place.

Troy: Built like a WWF wrestler, this guy can operate his 2-way pager while cruising on his sports bike. He’d recently bought a new Suzuki Ninja and was understandably proud of it. However, he went riding on a famous stretch somewhere in Tennessee (famous for the no. of twists per mile) and went flying off a curve. He managed to get off scot-free but his new bike went flying and hit a tree. Since it was completely totaled, the insurance company gave him a new bike.

Chris: A very experienced rider and a speed junkie. He had this habit of gunning his engine and speeding through a particular neighborhood at around 6AM everyday on his way to work. The residents grew to hate the sound, but never managed to catch him, usually because he was gone faster than the sound. So they went complaining to the cops. One fine morning, as he was raising hell as usual in that neighborhood, some 20 police vehicles surrounded him (he told me it looked straight out of a Hollywood chase). He was doing 90 on a 35 mph road! But he had a good lawyer and managed to get off with a speeding ticket and some community service.

Me: I’ve had my fair share of minor falls and bruises, and they did not bother me. But eventually, I had my big one too. Took a turn too fast, went flying through the air and landed on my right ankle tearing 3 major ligaments on it. After some crutches, cartisone injections, recurring pains and limping for a couple of years, I’m finally over it now. I still did not want to give up my bike, but I had to eventually sell it when I moved on an assignment to Kansas.

PS: Finally, last year, Ram and I completed a Motorcycle safety riding class conducted by the Illinois University, got our certificates and exchanged them for our motorcycle licenses at the Secretary of State office.

PPS: Unfortunately, neither of us have bikes to ride.

PPPS: Its been a year since we completed the class, and its safe to say we’ve forgotten everything we learnt there.

PPPPS (okay, I'll stop with this!): These days, I eat lunch in the same state I live in...