[Ikonification]

For the moment of serenity which only a bike can give. For the de-stressing effect it has on me after a hard day at work. And ofcourse, it is the best place to introspect

[FasterSon]

This thread is to celebrate the joy of 'riding', no matter on what.
Why is that we enjoy riding so much?
What is the biker psyche in general and what is it for you, in person?
Your type of biking?
Momentary memories past and recent which defined biking for you?

Somebody's description of his friend's RD350 calling onto him to ride her as if in a hallucination, or, a Classic bikes lover questioning the dignity of a questionably odd bottoms up position a sports biker takes up, intrigues me, humours me, sticks in my mind. The human mind is as beautiful as complicated it is.

I know if there is one place where there are no judgemental cramming, it is this place. So feel free to express.
If I had to choose one wish only, I would choose 'parakaya pravesha'. All the joys have already been had and I just need to be in the right memory lane to relive those, right? Let me start off with my thoughts.

Medically speaking, I presume, a different part of our brain takes over the proceedings when we drive. Not all, but we, the motorheads. We function at a different platform, the conscious is not driven by the everyday drama of life. It is driven by the etiquettes of a good driver, driving to a happy place.
May be driven by our pleasure centres, which were modelled in our psyche when we drove our cycles home from school on a half day Saturday?! Unclogged roads, friends driving alongside, may be a small detour around to a street wit tamarind trees, may be a glance sneaked from the corner of the eyes of someone special as you drove by and your ride swayed as you rode a happy wave?!

Or am I just romanticising it? May be it is just plain chemical effect on our proprioceptive system, when the effect of gravity is meddled with and we feel the rush of the chemicals released to compensate the seemingly 'loss of balance'?!
Can't put a finger on it but I am sure we got modelled to be riders somewhere then.

I remember learning cycling on rented cycles and went round and round the same set of roads around my house for hours on end. My friends would get bored of seeing my stupidly happy smiling face showing off my newly acquired skill over and over, everytime I came a circle!

I get transformed into a better myself when I drive, to a better me. A fitter stronger sharper taller me! I am a doctor, expected to hire a driver and sit passenger but here I am, feeling like I was born to be a transporter!
I traverse a more vivid, different world as I drive along.
I enjoy following the correct driver etiquettes climbing up a twisty mountain road.
A beautiful radium lit night time mountain highway makes me feel like i am a pilot and I manoeuvre my ride right along the markings.
Morning dew hanging down the trees on insect webs makes me forget all my worries and I float along, in unison with Mother Nature.
A ride on my 35 yr old 2 stroke bike convinces me that I should plan a trip around the world! (With a lawyer and an engineer, so that I could start telling a joke to my grandkid - 3 Indians, a doctor a lawyer and an engineer went on a bike trip. The doctor said..)

Your turn.

[comfortablynumb]

Originally Posted by FasterSon

...Your turn.

Similar thread exists:

http://www.team-bhp.com/forum/motorb...moves-you.html

Cheers,
Vikram

[vigneshkumar31]

I wrote this piece many years ago ...but it's relevant even when I ride today!

I am alone.Nothing but a patch of light ahead to follow.Nothing around,except crickets clinking and clattering.I chase the light, keep up with it.My only companion.The beat of my engine,my second heartbeat. I admit, I have revved it up many times in the past few hours.Just to beat solitude.To fake an entity,riding along with me,roaring,talking,just being there.
Look up and I find purple.Stealing the night away from black.It's there all around me.I cut through the ink, so fast, as if afraid, it were to devour me in its hue.
First Light kisses chrome. The sky wakes up,to another day.Stretching its arms lazily,slowly,out into sunshine.Reclaiming its rightful territory, from darkness.The Master's first stroke, a splash of blue on his canvas. I 'hear' the world wake up.In the lady with the water pot.In the cattle rhythmically chewing gut.In the smiles of kids, joyously waving at anything that passes by.In those eager faces, with hay strewn on the ground, looking for vehicles, praying for heavier ones. In those young men, arrogantly striding with a twig carelessly clenched between their teeth.In the radio, blaring a vaguely familiar tune, from a faraway teashop.
Another stroke on the Master's canvas.This time a bright splash of yellow.The cool breeze that rode all night with me, reluctantly brushing away, fading. The second heartbeat drowns, amidst the din of familiar sounds. More companions join me on my ride.More real (or are they?). Shadows shorten under me. The sun creeps up overhead.The yellow brightens. Faces, I see a lot of them.Everywhere, all around me. Riding with me.Each a different colour in itself.Colour, of a different kind,The kind you cannot see, just feel.Some colours intrigue me.There are others that enchant me, still others I detest, a few I cant stand. The few that I really love. Faces, join the ride and disappear along the trail. They all join and leave.But leave,they do, they must. I remember some faces, more clearly than others.They leave, as randomly as the serpentine trail ahead, no reason, no order in its sweeps and curves.
The trail, its curves,yes,it draws my attention to it.Puts me in a trance, hypnotic.As I lose myself to it, it reveals the rhythm in its randomness.
I look up to find myself, for a moment,still.The world and all its splendid landscape moving in a screen past me.I watch, merely a mute spectator, as the scene changes past me so fast.I see the trail change into a narrow path.Even quicker it morphs into a jungle, primitive and untouched. Im as afraid of it as much as I love it. I shut my eyes, open throttle and deafen myself to all the cacaphony around. Until, I hear only my heartbeat again.Both of them.
I open my eyes.The Master's been busy.Im swept into a crimson tide.The road ahead is straight.And long, really long.Seemingly flowing into the cleft between two mountains.And in this melange, I witness the Master's masterpiece. The sun is a majestic, soothing amber.Splendid, as I ride into it.I am alone.I am... the last cowboy.

[ashwinprakas]

Gets the adrenaline flowing.

And by riding I don't mean a short sprint, you ain't living the lifestyle unless you walk funny after getting off the saddle swearing to never do it again but end up back there a lot sooner than expected gunning at your own personal record, for absolutely no logical reason at all.

The way I see it, it's a man's life, but then of course the lack of extended social interaction ensures that I'll die lonely.

But hey! At least I'll only die once.

[Ironhide]

I was going through one of the ride reports in in advrider.com, and it was a fairly long one. The OP has ridden across Continental United States and some parts of Canada on his Ducati 1199 Panigale S, and during the course of the report about the ride, he talks about philosophy and why he needs to ride. It is a l-o-n-g post, and quite philosophical (& incredible & bizarre at the same time), but it's worth a read . Quoting him here:

Two ideas I've been wrestling with finally collided while on my way from Detroit to Toronto. It took me a while to piece it all together. It's still not as 'clean' and precise as I'd like, but I'm still going to throw it out there there as-is. There's more to it than this, but I have to save something for the book.

A psychoanalyst named Spitz in the 40s studied the extremely high mortality rates among children in institutions and discovered that without touching, goochie-gooing, laughing or cuddling, children became sick, lost weight and died. His research led to the development of attachment theory and the realization that an infant “needs to develop a relationship with at least one primary caregiver for mental, social and emotional development to occur normally.” (This, in turn, led to the seemingly obvious result: solid parental affection leads to emotional balance and a child that grows up feeling secure.) The child who grows up with intermittent affection – or is abused and neglected – will suffer from a life-long sense of insecurity, feelings of doom, lack of confidence and inadequacy (despite what he/she accomplishes) as well as a whole host of other possible behavioral, psychological and health issues. The part of our brain responsible for everything we consider human—love, tenderness, emotions, reciprocity—is called the limbic brain (vs. the reptilian one that controls our vitals and the neocortical brain that is responsible for thought and language).

For those who do suffer limbic deprivation when young (which can come from enforced isolation, neglect or abuse) life can be a living physiological hell: the desire for love and affection still exists (and is in a lot of cases even greater than in well-adjusted counterparts), but the capacity to actually FEEL loved is greatly diminished. Depression, anxiety, ennui, weariness, despair, aggression, etc. are the easy-to-recognize consequences, but there are others that are not typically seen as a result of the deprivation. Though healthy limbic systems can deal with emotional pain internally by releasing small amounts of opiates (there are more opiate receptors in the limbic brain than anywhere else) when needed; an undeveloped or damaged limbic system cannot. Drug and alcohol use, for instance, perform surrogate limbic regulation that modulate, suppress and compensate for what the limbic brain didn’t ‘learn’ in infancy and can lead to a chronic, lifelong separation-anxiety. Other methods of self-regulation include self-mutilation (an act that is not specific just to humans), which seems like a desperate cry for help, but topical injuries are actually a way to release natural analgesics and opiates. (In one sentence the mystery of why acupuncture works and why people hit walls when they’re angry have been resolved!).

So why this Neurology 101 lesson?

I haven’t not felt at peace on my bike ever. One more time: I haven’t NOT felt peace—at any time--while riding. I think clearer on the bike, the symptoms of post-brainiotomy are reduced and, aside from my hamstrings and glutes being cooked, I physically and emotionally feel far healthier on the bike than off. The anxieties and disappointments of ‘real life’ are diminished, I can think about problems without being affected by them and simply feel as if everything is going to be ok. It’s a mild euphoria—and I’m not talking about the excitement that comes from nailing an apex or spinning the back out of a turn without crashing. There’s a connection between man and machine unlike anything I’ve ever had with another non-living thing. We’ve all felt it, but in all the years I’ve been riding, I’ve never heard or read anyone go in depth as to why. It would be easy to assume it’s a psychological result of the freedom we feel on a bike—or perhaps it’s the exhilaration that comes from taking risks--and nothing more.

But if we examine the stereotypical motorcyclist (rebellious, recalcitrant, problems with the authorities, hard-drinking, self-sabotaging, dissatisfied, frustrated, empty, adrenaline-seeking, tattooed loners who-if they find their place in society-still will never feel like they belong) we witness textbook examples of what? Limbic malfunction. (If there ever was a poster child for this it'd be Leonard Smalls, who, not coincidentally is inked with a "Mama Didn't Love Me" tattoo.)

So why is it that so many people who have similar symptoms to those with limbic malfunction choose motorcycles? Why not scooters or RVs? My theory is this: Motorcycles function as limbic system regulators and those who have the most difficulty regulating their own internal states gravitate to a piece of machinery that do it for them.

A quick examination of mammalian limbic synchronicity reveals some striking parallels with characteristics of motorcycles. There are specific sensory inputs that function as stimulators and regulators of internal systems in mammals. For instance, warmth and smells cue activity and metabolic levels, tactile stimulation increases growth hormone levels, feeling the heart rate and rise and fall of another’s chest regulates heart rate, respiration and circadian cadences, and immune system strength increases or decreases based on sensory stimulation. And if you look at the external cues that influence positive internal changes in mammals, we see how motorcycles produce mammalian signals that we desire with human physical contact. An engine is a pulsing heartbeat we feel, rpms rise and fall like air in and out of lungs, the wind caresses our hair and face and bodies like a lover would (a reason why so many riders ride helmetless even though it makes no ‘sense’?), there’s warmth from the engine, the bike embraces our bodies (sportbikes put us in the a fetal position, a Harley spoons you from behind), and perhaps most important the bike reacts to our every input and responds to our inner states—if we’re restless it speeds up, if relaxed, it slows down.

And when we talk about being “one” with the bike or the road, what we’re actually experiencing is a limbic resonance in which our physiological rhythms are adjusted and modified through synchronized contact with our beloved motorbikes. (And while we’re talking about being “one” with the bike, it is interesting to note that the term “stress” originates from the Latin word meaning “to pull apart” or “separate”. Basically, stress is the result of being separated from an attachment figure and, in their absence, our bodies physically feel the separation, which leads to illness and disease. It’s the exact opposite feeling we obtain when riding. And if stress and not feeling complete lead to illness, it’s not a stretch to assume that feeling one with the bike will lead to better health and longevity.)

In short, neural and physiological stability requires synchronization from an outside source. Many of our internal processes are not self-regulating. Motorbikes provide a surrogate regulator that modify everything from cardiovascular health to immune function, hormone levels and circadian rhythms. It’s only natural to become attached to such an object, going so far as to refer to them with names and attributing gender (nearly always female, no coincidence).

Funny enough--my whole life I refused to name any of my cars or bikes. I referred to them simply as “it,” because I thought I loved them precisely because they weren’t people. But the whole time my beloved vehicles provided me with the mammalian contact and regulatory synchronization I desperately needed.

And why is this topic so important to me you might be wondering? I wasn’t abused as a child, but as a newborn I spent 14 days isolated in an oxygen tent. It was an event I’ll never be able to remember, but the impact of those two weeks have persisted my whole life.



So now, for the first time in my life, it’s time for me to give her a name she deserves.

Cheers !

Article courtesy : www.advrider.com
Author id: AntiHero
Link : https://advrider.com/f/threads/coast...#post-19687678

[Ironhide]

Originally Posted by Ironhide

These words by Robert M Pirsig, in his iconic work, more than sum up why we ride motorcycles .

Cheers !

Here's a small but evocative video about the joy, and emotions associated with riding motorcycles.
And, the oft cliched word used by riders - Freedom.


All the same, it's a fun to watch video that brings another angle of recreational riding. Though Ryan doesn't say it in so many words, he indicates that riding may be meditative. I'd be inclined to agree.

Cheers !

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLOlPBGlq0U

[no_fear]

Nothing symbolizes life and death as clearly as riding a motorbike. You are straddled on an engine with 2 wheels. The whole apparatus is under your legs. There is no cage or safety net. You are at your purest, and your rawest. You trust your life on a machine that you control and you know where the edge starts and stops.

Other than flying and blasting off to space, I think motorcycling is the only activity that crystallizes this feeling of being alive.

Enough with the psychoanalysis.

I love motorcycling coz I look good in a leather jacket and girls check me out. Double the fun when other guys' girlfriends check me out. Never had that happen when I drove a Maruti 800.

[nutcracker]

Why does a motorcycle move me?

Because it has two wheels, an engine that runs on petrochemicals to propel itself, a frame that keeps all the parts together. A little jig of the throttle and voila, I'm moved. By the fundamental mechanisms of this put-together-assembly.