It was cold and drizzling hard as my Yamaha approached the international border crossing. There was no line of vehicles in front of me, in fact, I had not seen other vehicle for the last 20 miles. I picked this particular crossing to get back into Maine because I knew it was never busy. Although I do not mind riding in rain, I hate just sitting idle in a storm because I get twice as wet and my face shield and glasses fog up.
A look at my passport was followed by a few official questions about my citizenship and my motorcycle trip from the Pacific Northwest across almost all of Canada.
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“Your license plate reads NOCAR. So you really don’t have a car?”
“Well, to be completely honest, I do have a car, but I don’t use it much.”
“So, your license plate is a deception?
Because I had to open my visor, it was no longer keeping the rain outside my helmet and drops were rolling down my face, both sides of my glasses and the inside of the plastic face shield. Blinking away the water from my good eye, I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
I was either getting stripped searched or it was just a real slow day because the US Customs officer stood up and exited his port-a-potty sized guard shack to have a look at me and my well-travelled motorcycle. No longer worried, I recognized his sincere curiosity. I often see it when people realize I just travelled across the entire continent in a short time, alone, on a motorcycle.
However, it was raining and I had hoped his unprotected head getting pelted would clue him in that I was getting wetter by the second and just wanted to get on my way. Out of habit, I kept looking at my right side mirror for approaching vehicles, but there were none in sight. Normally, I enjoy meeting strangers and talking about bikes, but I had been away from my wife and our dog for almost two weeks, and I was hoping to make it home in a few hours for dinner. Did I mention I was getting very wet without the benefit of speed blowing it off my Gore-tex riding suit?
I may have dozed off at one point, but I will swear on a bible after he showed me the pictures of his motorcycle on his phone, he proceeded to show me photos of his grandchildren.
After what seemed like three weeks, a red Toyota Corolla with Maine plates pulled up gently behind me and my Federally employed friend quickly went back into his Fotomat Booth and with a raised arm gesture, waved me into the USA.
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He really was a nice guy, and if I really wanted the conversation to continue, I would have liked to explore the real reasons he feels unsafe riding his motorcycle. It makes me sad to hear people giving up something they once enjoyed and are passionate about. It is not an uncommon statement and I hear it from many motorcycle owners all across the county. They feel it’s only a matter of when, so they think they are being safer by riding their motorcycles infrequently, sometimes only a few hundred miles a year.
I would have shared how I just spent ten days on the road covering over 8,000 miles sharing the road with hundreds of thousands of other drivers and not once did I have a close call or even had to hit my horn! This was not unusual for me at all, as I always ride aware that my safety is my responsibility and I ride as if the drivers in the other vehicles not only do not see me, but they do not NEED to see me.
“I have a 10 year old Honda. It’s got 3500 miles on it. I only ride it once in a while, because people are always on their cell phones today and as I’m sure you know, every one of them is trying to kill us.”
Had our conversation been in the dry over a cup of coffee or a beer, I might have mentioned the more miles I ride, the safer I am. Learning the skills needed to ride a motorcycle properly and then keeping those skills sharp by riding every day is the best way to not feel so vulnerable on two wheels. I could tell he was in awe of my trip and journey, and my only regret is that I did not spend the time to convince him to get out and spend more time on the motorcycle he clearly loved. I bet it wouldn’t take him long before he felt comfortable enough to enjoy traveling the country the best way possible, on two wheels.
I know how lucky I am, getting to travel across the county on a motorcycle, sharing my story with others who have chronic illness. However, I also hope my travels inspire motorcyclists to dust off their two wheeled machines and go get some saddle time.
