In my experience, motorcycle riders are generally the most alert people on the road. The exceptions prove the rule, yadda yadda, but when you’re traveling at really any rate of speed atop just 400 pounds of vehicle that is mostly engine, all that is between you and the rest of the world a jacket, pants, boots, a helmet, a pair of gloves—welp, that’s plenty of incentive to ride heads-up. I had a riding instructor at Motorcycle Safety School, my beloved Jimmy Walsh, who gave me my favorite piece of riding advice, ever: Ride like everyone and everything around you is actively trying to kill you.
I like this advice not just because I am competitive—just TRY to kill me, world!—but because it describes the real dangers out there, which are the things other drivers would only do if they were intentionally trying to murder you, as opposed to just being careless/oblivious idiots. These include the vehicles that suddenly swerve into your lane, cars that pull out right in front of you, people who stop suddenly and inexplicably, those who block a road making a 17-point turn without a clear line of sight behind them, the ones who run stop signs and red lights, balloon heads who decide now is a good time to try to retrieve something from the passenger footwell, crossing the center line without even realizing it, and oh, oh, oh, OH so many more.
For a lot of us, I think this is a little bit part of the attraction of motorcycling. Not the danger, necessarily—we’ve all seen/heard too much to think that’s “fun”—but the level of alertness required, the way we are all constantly looking into the future, trying to imagine/predict/control what happens next. This is most apparent when setting up for a corner, as that is when the rider is most visibly processing inputs and projecting possible outcomes, especially when she hasn’t got a clear line of sight and can only guess at what might be in the road/crossing the road/where the road might be going, using everything she knows (or doesn’t) about the road, the weather, the geography, the time of day, what’s ahead of her or behind, all of these and more factoring into decisions about speed, gear, lean angle, and, of course, what her exit strategy will be if anything goes wrong.
It might not be everybody’s cup of Sunday afternoon tea, but there are a few of us out there who enjoy it—the perfect imperfection of trying to do the absolute best you can, living exactly in the moment while also thinking about how you’ll be living just a few minutes ahead.
I’m not always super with three-dimensional geometry (never, ever invite me to pack the car), but I am pretty into gauging relative speed, which is why another way to get those living-in-the-future kicks is moving through traffic. The notion of changing lanes can serve as all manner of extendible metaphors but sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes I take the Taconic Parkway just because it’s two (very) narrow lanes in each direction, first posted at 50, then 55, trafficked but not too heavily, and the cars (no trucks) go every possible speed from 40 miles per hour to 90, all of which is to say it is a perfect road for very often needing to change lanes.
I have a ready excuse for doing so, as in any scenario with more than one lane, riders should generally be moving just slightly faster than the normal pace of traffic—riding through the traffic, not in it. A group makes this harder but also somewhat less necessary as more bikes are more visible, but when I’m riding alone I take this advice seriously and, what is the term, enjoy the fuck out of it.
Hence, the Taconic. A mixture of vehicles and speeds but no trucks and enough cops that even the speeders don’t speed too much, plus plenty of idiots who were absent the day everyone else in the entire world learned to stay to the right unless passing, which means there are regular pockets of video-game-like set ups of cars, the challenge being to move through them easily and cleanly, ideally so if any driver were asked, they might not remember seeing you at all.
Depending on how the cars are staggered, the road conditions, the pace of traffic, etc., there are many ways to move through these periodic groupings. Well-spaced cars traveling at a consistent speed allow for the easy joy of the slalom, moving smoothly between lanes, just minute adjustments of the throttle keeping you pushing through the traffic without cutting anyone off or, the horror, having to use the brakes (that would bring much shame upon your motorcycle house). I like the rhythm of matching my blinkers to these movements, sliding my thumb left, then right, then click to cancel, then left again, then click, then right. I rented a bike once which had the controls for the indicators on their respective sides of the handlebars and I felt a fool the whole ride, elbows flapping as I thumbed this one then that one, as inelegant an experience as I could imagine. My bike, like most, has a tidy little set up: a slidery guy just a whisper above my left thumb which I just nudge to one side to activate and then push the center button on to cancel. The button goes down with a satisfying click I can feel through my glove and if you don’t know what “haptics” is, I hope you have a spare 30 minutes for that internet rabbit hole!
It should be clear that changing lanes is best done smoothly, elegantly, even gracefully. However, there are times when a sharper, tidier movement feels more appropriate. I use this mainly when I’m just moving over once, not slaloming through, because it signals precision and control: I am here and now—a quick dart—I am here. Bikes have so much lane to occupy, compared to cars, and I like to use a confident touch to show that yes, I have chosen this exact six-inch path, thankyouverymuch.
Another fun lane change is in a curve. This one feels thrillingly odd, as I spend so much time focused on keeping a line in a curve, and now here I am adjusting my pressure on the bars just so, deliberately drifting wide then pulling back into the shape of the curve again. In the right circumstance, this can be accomplished without noticeably picking the bike up from the lean, which gives it almost a dreamy feeling—taking this curve, sliding over ten feet, still taking this curve. It gives a different frisson when it’s going from the inside lane to the outside versus adjusting a line to move from the outside line to the inside while still respecting the integrity of the laws of physics, but either way for it to work it has to be done coolly, calmly, and there is so much to aspire to and enjoy about that.
When changing lanes is not a metaphor it’s possible the same guidelines apply: strive for elegance, for precision; be clinical and confident; and under almost no circumstances should you have to use the brakes. Keep moving forward, keep your head up, be smooth and controlled and know there will always be another move you can make. Perhaps most of all, do it because you enjoy the experience—as those great philosophers from Boston once sang, “life’s a journey, not a destination”—and for the love of all that is holy, do check your mirrors and consider using your blinkers.
I like this advice not just because I am competitive—just TRY to kill me, world!—but because it describes the real dangers out there, which are the things other drivers would only do if they were intentionally trying to murder you, as opposed to just being careless/oblivious idiots. These include the vehicles that suddenly swerve into your lane, cars that pull out right in front of you, people who stop suddenly and inexplicably, those who block a road making a 17-point turn without a clear line of sight behind them, the ones who run stop signs and red lights, balloon heads who decide now is a good time to try to retrieve something from the passenger footwell, crossing the center line without even realizing it, and oh, oh, oh, OH so many more.
For a lot of us, I think this is a little bit part of the attraction of motorcycling. Not the danger, necessarily—we’ve all seen/heard too much to think that’s “fun”—but the level of alertness required, the way we are all constantly looking into the future, trying to imagine/predict/control what happens next. This is most apparent when setting up for a corner, as that is when the rider is most visibly processing inputs and projecting possible outcomes, especially when she hasn’t got a clear line of sight and can only guess at what might be in the road/crossing the road/where the road might be going, using everything she knows (or doesn’t) about the road, the weather, the geography, the time of day, what’s ahead of her or behind, all of these and more factoring into decisions about speed, gear, lean angle, and, of course, what her exit strategy will be if anything goes wrong.
See? Cornering is easy and fun! (image credit this 30-minute long video all about cornering.)
It might not be everybody’s cup of Sunday afternoon tea, but there are a few of us out there who enjoy it—the perfect imperfection of trying to do the absolute best you can, living exactly in the moment while also thinking about how you’ll be living just a few minutes ahead.
I’m not always super with three-dimensional geometry (never, ever invite me to pack the car), but I am pretty into gauging relative speed, which is why another way to get those living-in-the-future kicks is moving through traffic. The notion of changing lanes can serve as all manner of extendible metaphors but sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes I take the Taconic Parkway just because it’s two (very) narrow lanes in each direction, first posted at 50, then 55, trafficked but not too heavily, and the cars (no trucks) go every possible speed from 40 miles per hour to 90, all of which is to say it is a perfect road for very often needing to change lanes.
I have a ready excuse for doing so, as in any scenario with more than one lane, riders should generally be moving just slightly faster than the normal pace of traffic—riding through the traffic, not in it. A group makes this harder but also somewhat less necessary as more bikes are more visible, but when I’m riding alone I take this advice seriously and, what is the term, enjoy the fuck out of it.
Hence, the Taconic. A mixture of vehicles and speeds but no trucks and enough cops that even the speeders don’t speed too much, plus plenty of idiots who were absent the day everyone else in the entire world learned to stay to the right unless passing, which means there are regular pockets of video-game-like set ups of cars, the challenge being to move through them easily and cleanly, ideally so if any driver were asked, they might not remember seeing you at all.
Depending on how the cars are staggered, the road conditions, the pace of traffic, etc., there are many ways to move through these periodic groupings. Well-spaced cars traveling at a consistent speed allow for the easy joy of the slalom, moving smoothly between lanes, just minute adjustments of the throttle keeping you pushing through the traffic without cutting anyone off or, the horror, having to use the brakes (that would bring much shame upon your motorcycle house). I like the rhythm of matching my blinkers to these movements, sliding my thumb left, then right, then click to cancel, then left again, then click, then right. I rented a bike once which had the controls for the indicators on their respective sides of the handlebars and I felt a fool the whole ride, elbows flapping as I thumbed this one then that one, as inelegant an experience as I could imagine. My bike, like most, has a tidy little set up: a slidery guy just a whisper above my left thumb which I just nudge to one side to activate and then push the center button on to cancel. The button goes down with a satisfying click I can feel through my glove and if you don’t know what “haptics” is, I hope you have a spare 30 minutes for that internet rabbit hole!
It should be clear that changing lanes is best done smoothly, elegantly, even gracefully. However, there are times when a sharper, tidier movement feels more appropriate. I use this mainly when I’m just moving over once, not slaloming through, because it signals precision and control: I am here and now—a quick dart—I am here. Bikes have so much lane to occupy, compared to cars, and I like to use a confident touch to show that yes, I have chosen this exact six-inch path, thankyouverymuch.
Another fun lane change is in a curve. This one feels thrillingly odd, as I spend so much time focused on keeping a line in a curve, and now here I am adjusting my pressure on the bars just so, deliberately drifting wide then pulling back into the shape of the curve again. In the right circumstance, this can be accomplished without noticeably picking the bike up from the lean, which gives it almost a dreamy feeling—taking this curve, sliding over ten feet, still taking this curve. It gives a different frisson when it’s going from the inside lane to the outside versus adjusting a line to move from the outside line to the inside while still respecting the integrity of the laws of physics, but either way for it to work it has to be done coolly, calmly, and there is so much to aspire to and enjoy about that.
When changing lanes is not a metaphor it’s possible the same guidelines apply: strive for elegance, for precision; be clinical and confident; and under almost no circumstances should you have to use the brakes. Keep moving forward, keep your head up, be smooth and controlled and know there will always be another move you can make. Perhaps most of all, do it because you enjoy the experience—as those great philosophers from Boston once sang, “life’s a journey, not a destination”—and for the love of all that is holy, do check your mirrors and consider using your blinkers.
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