The other day someone had the nerve to call me a "do-gooder." I'm not exactly sure why it ruffled me so much, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the connotation that I'm nun-like. Or maybe how it implies that you're the type of person who would happily pay a dodgeable tax, or tattle on a friend, or kiss the boss's ass. It just didn't sound much like me. But then again, maybe he had a point.
The conversation was about motorcycles and riding apparel. My next-door neighbor here in Los Angeles, the guy in unit 6, had recently gotten back into riding after God knows how long off. He bought a used Virago 1100 and I'd applauded the choice. It's a great bike and a big value if you find a clean one with low mileage. Every time I was in town he'd knock on my door with a million questions about traffic etiquette, maintenance, tires, luggage, windshields and so on. (Not the most balanced deal perhaps, since his occupation as produce buyer doesn't elicit many life-altering questions from me. I mean, I already asked him how to check the cantaloupe.) So, we've been dusting off his skills and personalizing his new-old cruiser since summertime. It's been especially fun for me because I only live in L.A. part time, so when I do come home I get to see the new do-dads and hear the latest tales.
I was looking forward to the usual light-hearted catching up when I arrived in town last week, and it did start out like that. He'd joined a local club and been meeting up with them on Sundays. He said they were cool guys, good riders and they only ended up at bars at the end of the day. We laughed about that, and also about how he said they dressed like outlaws even though all were white-collar types. "They act like they own pit bulls," he said, "but for sure they've got golden retrievers at home." I was happy he'd found some friends to ride with, because that's one of the best things about the sport. Sharing the passion with people who understand it.
It was all easy, the conversation, at least until he showed me his latest purchase: A pair of new helmets-one for himself and the would-be passenger he'd one day woo. OK, I'm a bit of a helmet snob, I'll admit to this, but what he pulled out of his saddlebag should not even be called a helmet. They were two plastic lids, all metallic and shiny, with nifty silver-on-silver flames. "You're joking," I said. "We're going to wear these for Halloween, right?" The look of bafflement on his face surprised me. "These aren't even real helmets," I tried, "They are not even DOT approved. Please tell me you don't plan to wear one of these." He put the helmets back in the bag so he'd have both hands to use for gesticulation as he laid into me. "You're just a do-gooder, Jamie! Everything's got to be safe, lots of armor, bright colors, you wear an effing Aerostich suit on your cruisers! Maybe I just want to do it my way!"
I was still stuck on the do-gooder part.We had some more words, but they weren't the friendly ones I enjoy. I told him I knew he was a smart guy and doing it "his way" would certainly involve making good choices...ones that would support his mortality and ability to enjoy life. Up until the helmet purchase he'd been making a lot of choices based on my opinions and maybe not his own, that's true. That's why I tried not to give him a bad time when he put aftermarket pipes on the Virago that tested the heart meds of the old couple in 9 every time he fired up the bike. I wouldn't have done it. But I was worried that he was falling into that age-old trap of bikerdom: The black (shirt) hole. The void you're sucked into when you want to shake off normality and feel like a rebel. So you copy all the guys that look like they might be feeling that way. But they've just copied a bunch of other guys who copied other guys.
There are so many useful, fulfilling and even glorious things about riding motorcycles, but that one snag has always bothered me. The style versus efficiency issue. For example, why do people buy those silly little helmets when they can be more comfortable and actually protect their heads for the same amount of money? I hope my friend in 6 comes to his senses about head protection. He doesn't have to do it my way, but I truly hope that he-and all cruiser riders-own the choices they make. That's the hallmark of being a rebel.
And about my being a do-gooder? Maybe I am when it comes to riding, but at least wanting to be smart is more original than wanting to be something I'm not.
Certainly there are worse things.-Jamie Elvidge