The Hand

A few years ago I rode about an hour south of my home to meet up with a friend who had just bought his first bike.  It was a black Hayabusa.  It was brand new, showroom shiny, and ready to go.  We set off down the road.  He was in front and to the left of the lane, and I was behind him to the right.  I didn’t know my way around, and he knew where he was going, so I let him lead.  It was a sunny Florida day, just gorgeous without a cloud in the sky, so there were lots of other bikers out on the road. 

Now, I haven’t been many other places (yet), but here in Florida, if a biker passes another biker on the road, we signal each other.  A kind of peace sign you make with your left hand, but pointed at the ground.  Every time we passed another rider or group of bikes, I’d drop that left hand and they would drop it back.  Just a friendly hello, a sign of mutual understanding.  A small token of respect for the only people who really “get” you.  There were so many riders out enjoying the weather, and we cruised happily along, and so did they.

My friend and I came to a stop at a red light.  He looked down at his bike, examining it.  ‘Yes, it’s shiny and new and gorgeous.’ I thought.  At the next light, we caught the red again.  Again, he was looking down at his bike.  Was his chain loose?  Was he looking for the idle adjustment?  I looked at him and cocked my head as if to ask “What?”  He shrugged and shook his head and the light turned green, so off we went.  This happened again at the next light, and the next. 

Finally, we reached our destination, and he got off the bike, put the kickstand down, and knelt beside it, just staring at it, puzzled.  He started checking the tires, looking at the chain… 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“Trying to figure out what’s wrong with my bike.” he replied. 

“Why? Is it making a strange sound?  Is it riding funny?”

“No,” he said, “But every single biker we passed kept pointing at the bottom of my bike!”

I laughed and explained the ‘hand’ to him.  Welcome to the club, bro J

People who are passionate about motorcycles are their own breed.  We are thrill seekers.  Whether we require the adrenaline rush of being on one wheel or prefer the exhilaration of cresting a mountain ridge and absorbing the breathtaking view; whether we enjoy flying as fast as our machines will take us, or are addicted to swaying deep into those sharp curves; we get each other.  We’re on a whole different plane of existence.  We’re just a little different than everyone else, and only we really understand.

Whenever I’m driving in my car (a necessary evil, at times) and I see a group of motorcyclists, I can’t help but wish that I were on my bike, too, so I could give them the hand and see them give it right back.  We would both go on our merry ways, enjoying the beautiful day and the wind at our backs.  Taking in the sun and taking over the pavement one mile at a time. 

I was riding the bike just last week and in the opposite lane there was a silver fox-body Mustang.  It was gorgeous, obviously well taken care of, and it sounded amazing as it drove by.  Just before it passed me, the driver dropped that left hand out the window at me.  Realizing his mistake, he retracted it hastily, embarrassed.  He waved at me, and I nodded at him, just smiling inside my helmet.  ‘He gets it,’ I thought.  I wondered what kind of bike he must have.  It started me thinking about the hand drop, and its significance.  It was the inspiration for this article.

As cheesy as it may sound, really loving motorcycles is like being in a club.  The hand lets you know that you are part of something bigger than yourself.  A passion that has captured billions of people.  You know as well as the rest of us that once it has you, it doesn’t let go.  So to all of you who are in the club, to all of you who are just like me (in that way), I give you a great big……hand.

How’s that for cheesy?  J