"Oh you ride a motorcycle? My first cousin's sister's brother's roommate in college was killed on one. Took his head clean off!"
"Our next door neighbor three doors down in 1996 had a son who got paralyzed on one of those crotch rockets."
"I always wanted one, but my dad wouldn't let me because I'd get killed."
Time and time again, different variations on the same tired old theme. It happened just the other day, two people stood in front of me after learning I rode and proceeded to recount every horrible tale involving two-wheels they could think of. Thanks.
Motorcycles are dangerous. And the non-riding public loves to tell riders just that, usually while swilling down a beer or stuffing their pie holes with an artery clogging cheeseburger, after rushing home changing lanes without signalling and texting.
You are welcome to your opinion. Lord knows everyone certainly feels entitled to voice theirs, constantly, ad nauseam. That's fine. But don't be surprised the next time you do so when I simply walk away. You see, I'm entitled to do that too. I'm done justifying it. I'm done explaining it.
You either get it.
Or you don't.
Most people don't.
|The king of cool gets it.|