We continue with the Oresti’s Article, sorry for last week but we were out…
4. I sit down at the table, order a coffee, wait for a biker friend. He appears. The helmet on his arm, the brand sneakers, jeans three quarters, short sleeve t-shirt. Throw sunglasses on the table instead of gloves. He passes his helmet in front of me before placing it on the seat next to him and I notice that it is a nice one, which did not cost him more than 50 euros; but that really, nothing to reproach, it matchs perfect with the sunglasses. I sit and wonder: why am I a friend of this individual? He is clearly an idiot and I have tried my whole life to avoid idiots.
How can you give 12,000 euros on a motorcycle and not be willing to give 400 euros on a famous helmet that will clearly make all the money the moment you try to kill yourself? How stupid can you be to think that the skin on your knees is harder than the skin of a riding trouser or riding suit. Ah, I understood! The man smokes Marlboro. How stupid can you be to think that the slippers between your toes that extend them like the claws of a howl on the gearbox will not fly higher than the raptor at the moment of the impact?
Most motorcyclists do NOT realize the danger that grazes them when they are exposed to accidents without adequate gear and protection – and yet they continue to ride without protection and risk their health and life for some hundred euros. I understand. The riding suit does not look good on the pub’s terrace. Pectorals are not visible through the jacket. But the slapstick phase overcomes any ‘peasantism’.
However, is also interesting to look are the women we take for a ride on the top of the tail; they are MUCH worse than us. I don’t know where I read that women are a little smarter than men. Not in this case. How stupid to be, or rather to say: how much do you want to love him for being willing to risk your life or to stay in bed the rest of your life? He wears a helmet and invites her not to wear one, because friends must see how well the victim looks before being killed. She is very proud of the fact that she was taken into account by such an ‘important’ man. She warms his thong over the exhausts, and the idiot just turned his head after another girl – while the tram stopped in front of him. Nonsense and Nonsense.
Do you have money for motorcycle but not for equipment? My opinion is to buy your equipment first, a quality one. And then see what you intend to test that equipment with.
5. Speed. I start by reminding you that SPEED KILLS. More than anywhere: here in this country. Motorcycling has developed a little faster over the last 10 years. For those who have no idea what a motorcycle is and what it means to be a motorcyclist, the motorcycle is just a beautiful, dangerous object that costs a lot of money. Everyone knows the ‘idea’ of speed but put it in practice is a very different thing.
Mr. Nelu comes with his Dacia car and stops at the cross. Mr. Nelu has been a driver for 40 years; he is a professional truck driver, experienced driver. Mr. Nelu doesn’t make too many mistakes at the wheel. He is a man with his head on his shoulders, a man with responsibilities, his wife and 3 children. He is a man who works hard to support his family and grow up his children properly. Mr. Nelu is a man who does not need problems. Mr. Nelu can also be your father.
Mr. Nelu makes sure twice before entering the cross, as the law says. He looks long to the right, he sees nothing. He looks long to the left, sees a point of light. The point can be a light bulb flickering through the window of a house. Actually, Nelu doesn’t know that the light point is YOU, the idiot who crosses DN1 with 280km’h. Nelu stays, he does his calculations. Even if the point were a car, it would not be able to reach it in the next seconds. Impossible. Nelu, careful man, comes out in DN1 to take his children to the countryside. The idiot, riding with 280km / hour, crosses the 700m distance in 9 seconds and crashs in Nelu’s Dacia, passing through the door and exiting by the other side of the car with 2 of the Mr. Nelu’s 3 children. The children die. You idiot die. Nelu’s world is reversed. Nelu gets hung up. Your parents hang up because you are, or you were the only child. You are an idiot. Or rather you were an idiot. Friends are crying. The forums are written thousands and thousands of RIP as if you were a good boy. Everyone’s crying. The blame, of course: over Mr. Nelu. No one cry about Nelu and the 2 children. If I were Nelu, I wouldn’t have hanged myself but I’d have killed you with my hands. You were an idiot.
Speed KILLS. When you go at 200km/h, the reaction time is no longer the same. The motorcycle doesn’t react the same way. Not to mention for those who have no idea about motorcycling. Are you under the impression that the road belongs to you? Are you under the impression that we all have to avoid you on the road? Are you under the impression that if you crash in the back of my cart I will be worry about you more than I will be worry about my car damage? You are an idiot.
Do you want speed? Go on the circuit. Go with the guys who know what speed is and you’ll find that you don’t really know how to go fast. Go with those who know what speed is but don’t go fast on the street anymore. Go fast where you will not kill anyone, especially yourself. Don’t ruin my life, yours, your parents one … Mr. Nelu’s one. Don’t be an idiot. Speed kills. There are a lot of dead people waiting on forums for someone to remember them. We don’t have time enough, because we have to cry for those who will die tomorrow.
6. Lane splitting. I have been riding for 26 years. But today I drive my car. I’m behind the wheel and can’t say I’m careful. But I hear motorcycle sound coming from behind. I look in the mirror and see the rocket. I’m thinking: I’m going straight. I go as far as I can to avoid making mistakes that can disturb my colleague. My colleague is approaching. Intend to say hello. Maybe I know him and he knows me.
He swerves past me and break my sidemirror with his elbow. I become so angry. He slows down beside me pick up the visor and start to insult me. It is my fault in the end: I went too straight … he got no room between me and the car on the left. It is my fault and the one driving the car in the second lane because we were on the street at the same time with him. It’s actually his road and we had no idea. I stop at the traffic light next to him, thinking that the mirror will cost me about 250 euros. Shall I get down to slap him back the neck? Should I tell him how stupid he is while I catch his attention over that I am a motorcyclist also? I’m confused and I realize I don’t know how to react. He exempts me from all this by hitting my car with his leg while accelerating when traffic light become green. The car wing is bent… 400 euros more. I look at my driver left that let down the window and shout enmity: Motorcyclist miserable! Should I tell him I’m a biker too?
7. Respect for the sport / hobbie. In ’85, while becoming a motorcyclist on a Ninja 600, I had the opportunity to meet a special man. A person who helped me to realize what it means to love this sport, to dedicate yourself to this sport, not to regret that you practise it or practiced it. This person was and maybe is the greatest motorcyclist I knew because he was driving a Gsxr 1100 with only one hand. With left hand. The right hand was made of metal, a kind of hook, adapted to turn the throttle andpull the brake. He was 30+ years old at that time. We became friends, I started to have all kinds of discussions about this sport until he finally told me how a few years before, when it was considered “trickier”, riding on a wheele he scaped the motorcycle over his head, it falled on his right hand – which was crushed and subsequently amputated.
The months that followed were the hardest, being uncertain if he would still try to ride again. The passion was much greater than the fear of riding again and after a few months it was back. He was an experienced pilot. He rode hard when needed, but he was always clever. He didn’t take risks in all sorts of impossible situations. He had nothing to prove to his motorcycle friends. He simply loved the sport and practiced it that way he could get home after each ride.
I remember his words perfectly: Oresti, ride the motorcycle that way you never need to regret that you are a motorcyclist. No one will appreciate you if you have a broken spine or a missing leg. You will be the only one who will suffer endlessly. The people who love you will suffer with you. Think about them if you don’t care about yourself. Practice the sport in such a way you can enjoy it daily and not need to know what happened to me for realizing what should and should not be done on the motorcycle. Respect the sport and it will only bring you satisfaction.
To be contiued next week…
Oresti Marmara 1968-2012