A friend of my grandfather taught my dad to ride his motorcycle when my dad was 18, he's never said much about it but I get the sense he thought it was really fun. The next year in college my dad borrowed a friends motorcycle and crashed it, got pretty banged up. After that he didn't ride again for thirty years. At 50 he got the bug- maybe because his friends were all getting motorcycles, maybe it was part of some typical male midlife crisis, maybe he wanted some danger or excitement in his life, maybe he just wanted to live more- I don't know. This time he fell in love, for a couple years he ate, drank, and breathed motorcycles. During this honeymoon period he got me to get my motorcycle license, taught me a bit, and we started riding together.
Motorcycle riders are surprisingly inclusive, it's a distinct commonality that ties all kinds of people together. When I started riding I noticed my dad and other riders gesturing to each other when we'd pass. They would extend their left arms and point diagonally down or gesture with two fingers like a peace sign. I asked my dad about it and he just smiled and shrugged. It's the motorcyclists secret hand shake, the high sign, the password.
It says- I see you, we share this wonderful, dangerous thing, ride safe and ride well.
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