Dancing the Polka

It took more than two years for me to fully share the story of riding to Britain’s furthest points. So, the decline started some time before that.

When I started this blog roughly 11 years ago, I named it The Motorcycle Obsession – reflecting the intensity of my interest in motorcycling. I could not sleep at times. I spent my nights staring at the ceiling, thinking: “How do I get these things into my life?”

I blogged about it constantly.

These days, not so much.

It’s January, so you can probably guess that one of my resolutions is to publish more. Before now, months went by without posting; in the whole of 2023, for example, I published just three stories. Only seven in 2022. Ditto for 2021. You have to go all the way back to 2020 to find a year in which I published with regularity. And even then, it wasn’t that much.

In trying to pin down when my obsession with motorcycles faded, I’d start then. But it doesn’t explain why.

The reason for the New Year’s resolution is that I’ve found myself kind of sort of interested in bikes again. A bit. Off and on. I spend time searching used bike listings for motos I can afford. I’m making headway into clearing the backlog of Bike magazines stacked on my desk (presently reading the July 2023 issue). I even went to a test-ride event back in the summer.

(I rode a Kawasaki Ninja 1000SX* and a Kawasaki Versys 1000**).

Not that any of this matters to you. This is one of those articles that’s mostly for me. Nonetheless, here – largely in the order in which they happened – are all the factors I can think of:

I STARTED BEING MORE FINANCIALLY RESPONSIBLE

Motorcycling is a relatively expensive hobby – one that can be challenging to support if you’re trying to live within your means (unless you’re Jay-Z). Cue the same old story of how I went bankrupt in 2019. That experience was painful but valuable; it taught/forced me to learn to budget. 

I’ve linked to this before: the UK government offers a free budgeting tool that is extensive and helpful. Getting to the point where you can weather the financial storms of life may take years, but, man, it is rewarding once you get there. You will walk around with such an arrogant swagger that you won’t mind that all your clothes are bought at charity shops.

Owning only two pairs of jeans may not bother you, but looking at all the new and fancy things that are happening in the motorcycling world – and knowing that you can’t have any of it – will slowly wear on your soul.

MOTO-JOURNALISM DOESN’T PAY

A clever work-around to the whole “motorcycles cost more than you have” dilemma is to become a moto-journalist. With luck and skill (and a bit more luck), you’ll get opportunities to ride all kinds of bikes for free. Sometimes major manufacturers will take you to fancy places and you’ll have life-affirming experiences.

I did that for a while; I loved it, and very much wish I still did it. I don’t miss airports. I don’t miss suffering a crippling sense of imposter syndrome on every damned press ride***. But, man, I miss everything else. 

I especially miss the camaraderie: riding bikes with a bunch of guys and (too few) gals who also love bikes. I miss sitting at some hotel bar after a ride and giggling like a fool. In all the places I went and people I met as a moto-journalist I only ever encountered one guy that I didn’t like. But I eventually changed my mind about him, too****.

And, of course, I miss getting to experience the latest, greatest machines. I miss being stupidly excited at the sound or feel of this or that motorcycle, and wanting urgently to share that experience with other people.

Unfortunately, it was completely unsustainable. For me, at least. There are a handful of people who manage to make a living as full-time moto-journalists but they are far fewer than you think. They work like absolute fiends and they do not get paid much. Somehow they manage to stay afloat. I couldn’t ever manage it.

Failing to get it right took the wind out of my sails.

I BOUGHT A 2006 HONDA CBF1000

When Black Horse financing reclaimed my Triumph Bonneville T120 back in 2020, I was left without a way to get to work. In a panic, I scraped together whatever I could, borrowed a little more from my dad, and bought a 2006 Honda CBF1000 as a kind of stop-gap measure.

The irony is: I never once rode that bike to the office. The pandemic changed how I work; I haven’t set foot in an office since 17 March 2020.

Meanwhile, the CBF1000 is an OK bike on paper – functional, reliable, and pretty easy to work on. It’s not as comfortable as it could be but I’ve ridden and loved bikes that were notably less comfy. Unlike those bikes, though, the CBF1000 is uninspiring in a very weird sort of way: it should be good but it just isn’t. 

There’s nothing really to complain about but there’s equally no character or style or feeling that keeps you coming back for more. If you don’t have to ride a CBF1000 (to get to work, for example), you probably won’t ride a CBF1000.

With a CBF1000 in your garage, every cloudy afternoon is too wet; every chilly morning is too cold; every Sunday is too busy. One can always find excuses not to ride and the CBF1000 makes it far too easy to give into them. From when I bought it in May 2020 to when I sold it in December 2023, I put just 5,757 miles on that bike’s odometer — less than 2,000 miles a year. In my moto-journo days I’d often ride twice that amount in a month.

I MOVED TO ENGLAND

My wife and I moved to West Sussex in January 2021. To our surprise, the weather here is markedly better than in Wales. I mean, yes, everyone knows that Wales is wet but I cannot believe what a difference there is in simply moving 120 miles southeast (as the crow flies; it’s a 180-mile journey by road).

The winters in Southern England are drier. The spring arrives sooner, the autumn lingers longer, and summer is not only warmer but more predictable. If you make plans to do something in July, there is a more than 60-percent chance that the weather will not suck.

You would think that having better weather would result in more riding. Annoyingly, it’s made me soft. Because I know there will be great days, I sometimes struggle to find motivation to go out on so-so days. 

For example, as I write this, it is dry, sunny, and 10°C (50°F) outside my window. There are wind gusts of up to 41 mph and the roads are mucky and wet from heavy overnight rain, but right now it is dry and sunny and not so cold that my hands will fall off. In Wales, that would be “GET OUTSIDE AND RIDE BEFORE IT GETS SHIT AGAIN!” weather. In West Sussex, it’s “Sit inside and complain about not riding” weather.

MOTORCYCLES GOT BORING

Things definitely improved in 2023, but there was a pretty long stretch – especially through the pandemic – when bikes got kind of boring. There was nothing new. Manufacturers fell into cycles of basic updates, like fresh paint and not much else. Some ‘old ideas repackaged’ were interesting, like the Suzuki GSX-S1000GT, but the only exciting bikes that I remember coming in that time were the Harley-Davidson Pan America and the Moto Guzzi V100 Mandello.

Of course, the reason motorcycles got so boring was the fact the pandemic kept a lot of people from riding and economic uncertainty kept them from buying; it didn’t make a lot of sense to try to offer them new things. Besides,supply-chain issues kept manufacturers from building.

But without a steady stream of new things to stare at I kind of lost interest in staring.

GIRLS ARE HIKING AMERICA’S NATIONAL TRAILS

While everyone else was learning how to make bread in the pandemic, I got into watching vlogs of people hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, the Appalachian Trail and the Continental Divide Trail.

Those are three of the longest national trails in the United States, running thousands of miles and generally taking up to half a year to complete.

I had first learned of the Pacific Crest Trail more than 20 years ago, when I lived in San Diego, California. I regularly hiked a 12-mile stretch of the PCT near Lake Morena County Park and was fascinated by the idea of doing the whole thing. But I couldn’t comprehend how such a thing could be done without survivalist training. 

No one was vlogging 20 years ago. The only knowledge that could be found on tackling national trails came from books written by dudes who were too intense – insisting that you needed to live on beef jerky alone and be able to navigate by the stars. 

But, turns out, there are lots of ordinary people hiking national trails. And because quite a lot of them are vlogging their experiences, I’m able to see that it’s not impossible.

I discovered thru-hiking vlogs during the pandemic but still watch a lot of them. I gravitate to the ones done by women because they don’t (usually) take themselves so seriously. Guys too often fill their vlogs with a mix of military speak, unsubtle bragging, and nonsense motivational stuff they’ve heard on podcasts. Women more often just enjoy the experience for what it is; they aren’t as keen to create a narrative in which they’re Jack Reacher.

Watching these vlogs made me want to do the same thing. I dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, or both. So far, I have only managed to hike England’s 100-mile South Downs Way. Completing it took several attempts. When I next have 9 days to spare, I want to travel up to Scotland and attempt the West Highland Way. At some point in the next few years I also want to hike Minnesota’s Superior Hiking Trail.

But all this means obsessing about camping gear rather than motorcycles, and spending vacation time hiking instead of riding.

I REMEMBERED THAT TROMBONES ARE FUN

Being a white man of a certain age, I decided a few years ago that I was going to relearn how to play guitar. Roughly a decade or so before that, I had taught myself to play a few chords, gotten good enough to sing Hank Williams’ “Ramblin’ Man,” then forgotten all about it as soon as my sex life improved.

In seeking to relearn, I signed up for one of those internet courses that promised I’d be playing like Stevie Ray Vaughan with just 10 minutes of practice a day. Not so much. Instead, I spent about three months practicing an hour a day and realizing that, in fact, I hate playing guitar. It is a deeply unsatisfying instrument.

But trying in earnest to learn (as well as the associated music theory and such) reminded me of how much I had enjoyed playing trombone in my teenage years. Cue a montage of Chris buying and selling a succession of trombones off eBay for about three years, until we arrive at the present: sitting next to me as I write this are a 1953 Cleveland Superior, a 1963 King 3B, a 1969 Yamaha YSL-352, and a 1975 Boosey & Hawkes Imperial. 

I perform regularly in two bands, occasionally sit in with a few others, and also participate in various ensembles. As much as I search the interwebs for deals on motorcycles, I do so doubly for trombones (right now I’ve got my eye on a King 4BF that’s at the edge of my price range). As with camping and camping gear, playing and buying trombones eats up time and money that I would have previously spent on motos.

IMPROVED MENTAL HEALTH

Moving to England brought us geographically closer to friends in London and West Sussex who are so emotionally close that we see them as family. Mix that with (slowly) improving financial health, better weather, getting outdoors regularly, being part of several musical groups, and a decent job (despite its not having anything to do with motorcycles). It all goes a long way toward helping a guy finally start to manage years and years of depression.

Some obsessions, meanwhile, are born of mental duress. I remember reading an article a few years ago by a guy who was traveling the world on a Harley. He observed that every global traveler he met, himself included, was suffering some kind of personal issue – more often than not running away from hardship or pain (in his case, the death of his parents). The gist of his observation was that you shouldn’t necessarily feel bad if you’re not also riding across the globe. Maybe you have something that’s worth staying put for.

So, I suppose that as my emotional state has become less chaotic, it’s only natural that motorcycles have become a part of a greater whole – rather than the whole of my personality.

I ACCIDENTALLY STARTED RUNNING MARATHONS

In autumn 2022, my wife and I traveled to Minnesota to attend my brother’s wedding. A week later, we ran in the Twin Cities Marathon – an event I had wanted to take part in ever since the early 2000s (I lived in St. Paul from 2003-2006, and the route went near my apartment). 

I had told myself that this, my fourth marathon, would be my last. But then my wife discovered afterward that she had run the race with Covid. She felt so empowered by this knowledge that she entered us both in the ballot for the 2023 London Marathon.

The odds of being successful in the London ballot are very low (more than half a million people enter the random draw), so Jenn wasn’t surprised when she didn’t get a spot. Even more surprising, though, was the fact I did get in.

My running two marathons in as many years seems to have inspired my brother and his wife; they have announced plans to tackle the 2024 Twin Cities Marathon. My brother is an athlete and the only thing I’ve ever been better than him at has been long-distance running. So, a few weeks ago, in a fit of ego, I signed up to run this year’s race. I shared my entry confirmation on our family WhatsApp group. Interestingly, neither have shared proof of their entry*****.

Whatever the case, I need to train, and that eats up A LOT of time. It also eats a lot of energy; if you run 18 miles on a Saturday morning you don’t really feel like going for a ride afterward. 

I NOW HAVE SOMETHING FAR MORE IMPORTANT TO OBSESS ABOUT

Connect all the things above. Even the trombones. In 2022, it combined to spark action on a conversation my wife and I had been having off and on for a very long time. Roughly a year after that, in October 2023, our first child was born. We named her after Bertie Wooster because we are not very serious people.

She is gorgeous. Even when she screams, which, it turns out, is something that 3-month-olds do often. But they also smile when you walk into the room, and squeal with delight when they play with their grandma, and melt your heart in approximately 80 million ways.

It’s difficult not to speak in cliches about parenthood. Harder still not to speak of it at all. It is such an intense experience that it seems wholly unique. So, you feel compelled to yammer on about it to just about every poor soul that stands still. 

In one way, yes, it is wholly unique; my daughter is the only version of herself that ever will or possibly could be. But I am also aware it is something that literally billions of people on the planet have experienced. So I’ll not drag this post out even more by offering 2,800 more words on fatherhood.

Suffice to say, though, her presence shifts motorcycling down the priority list. For the time being, at least. I daydream of introducing my daughter to a number of the things listed above: music, the outdoors, physical activity, and, of course, motorcycles.

At my current rate of savings, it would take me 14 years to save enough money to buy a Harley-Davidson Road King Special. Which is right about the time I reckon my daughter will be old enough to join me on motorcycling adventures.

——||||——

*One sentence review: Nifty and sexy but – much to my disappointment – uncomfortable and not my sort of thing.
**One sentence review: Massive thing that wasn’t as amazing as I’d been led to believe but that ride on a third-gen Versys 1000 (S) was still enjoyable enough that I ended up buying a first-gen Versys 1000 a few months later.
***The great and kind Ben Lindley once corrected my negative self-talk by saying: “I’m a faster rider than you. Not necessarily better. Faster and better are not the same thing.” But, uhm, yeah, he’s also still a better rider than me.
****I don’t think that guy changed his opinion of me, though. So, if you’re reading this, it wasn’t you.
*****In fairness, I signed up via early registration, which may only be open to past participants. Regular registration opens in March; I’ll be waiting to see what my brother and his wife do…