Die-hards check the Doppler on their iPhone before they zip themselves into neon yellow nylon. "You don’t look right on your GS if you aren’t in your Aerostich."
Pansies.
Me? My $30 LG doesn’t even have a camera, let alone an internet connection, and I’ve never owned a rain suit. I can’t bring myself to spend even a small amount of money (a cheap set can be had for around $20) on something that I’m only going to use a couple times a year.
Don’t get me wrong. A rain suit is on my list of things to buy, it just ranks below a new helmet, aftermarket pipes, fender eliminator, bar end mirrors, soft bags, Moto GP tickets, uh…fast food three times a week, and most every other whimsical useless item I see in Best Buy. As a matter of fact, I usually only think about a rain suit when it’s actually raining. I’m no boy scout.
One night a few years back, I was leaving work and was stopped by some people at the front door.
“You’re going to get soaked. Look at it out there! Do you want a ride home?”
“Nah. This’ll just wash my bike off!”
I have never been so scared in my life. Cats and Great Danes. The frequency of the lightning was biblical. I left the parking lot, which was standing under 3 inches of water, and headed home. It was a quick 15 minute ride, but there was nothing to hide under. No overpasses. No gas stations. Nothing. I made it about a mile before I started laughing inside my helmet. It was either that or cry. I couldn’t decide whether I was more frightened of the hydroplaning or Zeus’s bolts crashing down every half second. Just when I decided that the hydroplaning was too much and I’d better slow down, a lightning bolt struck the top of an unfinished billboard and sent a shower of sparks down about 10 feet in front of me.
Hydroplaning was acceptable.
As I pulled into the driveway, I that I knew I had married the right girl. Aimee was there on the covered porch waiting for me. She ran down the steps and threw open the garage door so I could pull in without getting off the bike. It was futile. I was already more soaked than if had I jumped in Lake Michigan. But that’s love, man.
The following year, a few of the supervisors in the plant I was working in were transferred to Charleston, South Carolina. We all had motorcycles and were excited about the weather. Most of the weather, anyway. Now, the rain coming off the ocean is…different. Thunder BOOMS and raindrops seem to be the size of extra large eggs. You get beat up by the rain in The Low Country.
Lee Smoot is a good friend and was one of supervisors who had transferred down to the new plant. He was thrilled to find there was no helmet law (I know…I know). So, anyway, one morning, Lee comes into the office having been blasted by rain, no helmet, on his GSXR 750. Now, how can I put this delicately? Lee is a black guy. So when he walked into the office and said “Man, that hurt my lips!” most of us fell on the floor laughing! Terrible, right? He laughed too, when he got the joke. Thing is, there was a time for me, a moment of weakness, when I decided I wanted to see what it was like to ride without a helmet too (I know…I know). Of course I got rained on, and you know what? It hurt my lips! One more reason to always wear a helmet. My bad, Lee.
Headed to bike week in Myrtle Beach that year, the skies opened up on me and another supervisor/buddy, Rich Kossen. I could just make out the stupid grin on Rich’s face as he yelled “Riders on the storm, Baby!” from the other lane. His Indian Chief didn’t even have a windshield. He was wearing a half helmet. I bet his lips were killing him! We arrived clammy. It sucked.
A year ago, and back in Michigan, I organized a rally that took friends and co-workers along Michigan’s West coast, and up and over the Mackinac Bridge before a return trip home. It started raining right away and didn’t stop for 6 hours. At one point we had to pull over because we couldn’t see. As we sat there on the side of the road, miserable, a guy who didn’t have a pot to piss in opens his front door and says “Hey! I opened the garage if you want to pull your bikes in!” Awesome. My faith in humanity had been given a boost. I discovered that my Alpinestars boots were indeed waterproof, though my blue jeans weren’t. So water ran down my shins and into my boots which were, as a co-worker put it “…water tight in both directions.” I poured them out in the driveway. It was comical. The guy who opened up his garage for us then brought me a slightly yellowed (but dry) pair of socks and asked if we wanted coffee. My faith in humanity? Completely restored, amigo.
I still don’t own a rain suit. I’d probably never wear it if I did have one. I’m dumb and lazy. Luckily, if I do get rained on, I don’t have any high class functions that I need to arrive prim and proper for. I’m not expected for that GQ photo shoot. Hell, I stuff a ball cap in my back pocket for the helmet hair.
This year’s Bridge Hop is coming up soon. I remembered back to the soaking we blasted through last year. It was miserable and isn’t something I’d want to relive. So, I did something even cheaper than buying a zippered poncho. I set a rain date.
Pansies.
Me? My $30 LG doesn’t even have a camera, let alone an internet connection, and I’ve never owned a rain suit. I can’t bring myself to spend even a small amount of money (a cheap set can be had for around $20) on something that I’m only going to use a couple times a year.
Don’t get me wrong. A rain suit is on my list of things to buy, it just ranks below a new helmet, aftermarket pipes, fender eliminator, bar end mirrors, soft bags, Moto GP tickets, uh…fast food three times a week, and most every other whimsical useless item I see in Best Buy. As a matter of fact, I usually only think about a rain suit when it’s actually raining. I’m no boy scout.
One night a few years back, I was leaving work and was stopped by some people at the front door.
“You’re going to get soaked. Look at it out there! Do you want a ride home?”
“Nah. This’ll just wash my bike off!”
I have never been so scared in my life. Cats and Great Danes. The frequency of the lightning was biblical. I left the parking lot, which was standing under 3 inches of water, and headed home. It was a quick 15 minute ride, but there was nothing to hide under. No overpasses. No gas stations. Nothing. I made it about a mile before I started laughing inside my helmet. It was either that or cry. I couldn’t decide whether I was more frightened of the hydroplaning or Zeus’s bolts crashing down every half second. Just when I decided that the hydroplaning was too much and I’d better slow down, a lightning bolt struck the top of an unfinished billboard and sent a shower of sparks down about 10 feet in front of me.
Hydroplaning was acceptable.
As I pulled into the driveway, I that I knew I had married the right girl. Aimee was there on the covered porch waiting for me. She ran down the steps and threw open the garage door so I could pull in without getting off the bike. It was futile. I was already more soaked than if had I jumped in Lake Michigan. But that’s love, man.
The following year, a few of the supervisors in the plant I was working in were transferred to Charleston, South Carolina. We all had motorcycles and were excited about the weather. Most of the weather, anyway. Now, the rain coming off the ocean is…different. Thunder BOOMS and raindrops seem to be the size of extra large eggs. You get beat up by the rain in The Low Country.
Lee Smoot is a good friend and was one of supervisors who had transferred down to the new plant. He was thrilled to find there was no helmet law (I know…I know). So, anyway, one morning, Lee comes into the office having been blasted by rain, no helmet, on his GSXR 750. Now, how can I put this delicately? Lee is a black guy. So when he walked into the office and said “Man, that hurt my lips!” most of us fell on the floor laughing! Terrible, right? He laughed too, when he got the joke. Thing is, there was a time for me, a moment of weakness, when I decided I wanted to see what it was like to ride without a helmet too (I know…I know). Of course I got rained on, and you know what? It hurt my lips! One more reason to always wear a helmet. My bad, Lee.
Headed to bike week in Myrtle Beach that year, the skies opened up on me and another supervisor/buddy, Rich Kossen. I could just make out the stupid grin on Rich’s face as he yelled “Riders on the storm, Baby!” from the other lane. His Indian Chief didn’t even have a windshield. He was wearing a half helmet. I bet his lips were killing him! We arrived clammy. It sucked.
A year ago, and back in Michigan, I organized a rally that took friends and co-workers along Michigan’s West coast, and up and over the Mackinac Bridge before a return trip home. It started raining right away and didn’t stop for 6 hours. At one point we had to pull over because we couldn’t see. As we sat there on the side of the road, miserable, a guy who didn’t have a pot to piss in opens his front door and says “Hey! I opened the garage if you want to pull your bikes in!” Awesome. My faith in humanity had been given a boost. I discovered that my Alpinestars boots were indeed waterproof, though my blue jeans weren’t. So water ran down my shins and into my boots which were, as a co-worker put it “…water tight in both directions.” I poured them out in the driveway. It was comical. The guy who opened up his garage for us then brought me a slightly yellowed (but dry) pair of socks and asked if we wanted coffee. My faith in humanity? Completely restored, amigo.
I still don’t own a rain suit. I’d probably never wear it if I did have one. I’m dumb and lazy. Luckily, if I do get rained on, I don’t have any high class functions that I need to arrive prim and proper for. I’m not expected for that GQ photo shoot. Hell, I stuff a ball cap in my back pocket for the helmet hair.
This year’s Bridge Hop is coming up soon. I remembered back to the soaking we blasted through last year. It was miserable and isn’t something I’d want to relive. So, I did something even cheaper than buying a zippered poncho. I set a rain date.
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