By ERIC TROW
STAYINSAFE.COM
Muted n this age of connectivity, I often long for the solitude of being out on the road. I find peace in being disconnected from the clamor of daily digital interaction and the barrage of ceaseless broadcasts. At the risk of being cliché, if there’s any connection I want to make, it’s with the natural world around me and the motorcycle beneath me. I don’t seek to be alone, but I do want to unplug. I realize that many riders embrace the advancements of technology and the added connectivity it brings. I appreciate that we are now able to head off to distant places yet still be accessible at any moment. I also understand the allure of being able to share an experience in real-time with one or many comms-connected riders; it’s truly amazing how connected we can be. I don’t discount any rider’s fondness for adding a soundtrack to their sauntering. It’s purely a personal thing. And I hope you will forgive me if I go radio silent. Most riders might say communications technology has changed riding for the better and that it adds to the experience. For me, the radios and intercoms take something away. With radios, I begin missing the subtleties of riding that I have always found so rewarding. When the radio goes off, the world turns on for me. I tune in to the machine and to the road. I find that I am better able to take everything in as all my senses are dialed in to the riding experience. With just one person in my helmet, I can hear my own thoughts and internal monologue. As the world whirs by and the cadence of the engine beats steadily, for the first time in days I have a calm and quiet mind. I realized quite early on that riding with radios really isn’t my thing. Many (many) years ago when I was still in college, I dated a girl who loved to travel on the back of my motorcycle. We were tremendous riding companions, very much in tune with each other while we flicked through mountain backroads for hours. We traveled hundreds of idyllic miles together. Thinking I would take the experience to the next level, one day I introduced a helmet-to-helmet intercom. Within the first 20 (or perhaps two) miles of a planned multi-state ride, I realized the radio was a bad idea. For me, anyway. She thoroughly enjoyed the new ability to converse during the ride. For her, it added an element of connection and immediacy. I, on the other hand, found the wonder-
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ful experience of riding together was instantly upset. I hadn’t recognized it until that moment, but the magic of our rides had always been the silent sharing of the experience. We could travel for miles independently yet together. She might tap me on the shoulder and point out something interesting or unusual. I would occasionally gesture a thumbs-up followed by a thumbs-down – my inquiry as to how she was holding up. Provided everything was A-OK, she would respond with an enthusiastic thumbs-up to indicate that she was doing fine and we’d roll on quietly for a few more delightful miles together. As it turned out, that new intercom system broke, and I had to return it. Fast forward several years. My son Parker has been my riding companion since he was a kid riding pillion. We covered many miles riding quietly together, with occasional over-the-shoulder comments beneath a raised faceshield. That’s not to say that we didn’t periodically listen to music. I remember traveling with him when he was 12 years old. We cranked up the stereo on my gargantuan BMW K 1200 LT somewhere in rural West Virginia. The upbeat track got our heads moving. I set the bike in motion, weaving side to side within our lane to the beat of the music as Parker and I sang and “danced,” dipping our shoulders in exaggerated movement and bobbing our heads. Twenty years later, we still fondly remember that impromptu moment together. Even so, we both generally prefer to ride in silence. Parker graduated to his own motorcycles and, starting shortly after his 18th birthday, we began traveling together, including multiple cross-country trips. While we experimented briefly with bike-to-bike comms, we both agreed we get more from each experience by riding independently together. We like the bond of sharing an adventure while simultaneously enjoying a sense of solitude. We like to travel with our own silent thoughts and observations. We have personalized memories that are triggered as we see, smell, and feel each part of the ride independently. The scent of honeysuckle might transport me back to when I was a child visiting my grandparents’ house. For Parker, it might be something new that will later remind him of this day of traveling with his dad. One of our favorite aspects of every journey together is the time taken during breaks to share what we each saw, experienced, thought, or felt during the past few
When the radio goes off, the world turns on for me.
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