Gurg and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I fixed my right rear turn signal. After spending quite some time checking fuses, plugging and unplugging wires, and wiggling a lot of other electronicky looking stuff, I gave up and started smacking the light. After a few whacks it began blinking steadily.

I was pleased. I also made a note of which wires I should pull out to kill all my lights should I ever need to operate the bike in "stealth mode." Most modern vehicles infuriate me in that they automatically turn on running lights and brake lights. Not designed for the day-to-day and night-to-night mischief maker.

My license plate also came in the mail. It is customized to say "GURG". It was a toss-up between that and "ITS 42". I do not yet know if I made the right choice.

It feels odd to be completely legal now. I had ordered my plates in January and I never received them. I also ordered a replacement and didn't receive that. But "GURG" showed up eventually, acting like it was right on time. GURG always does.

Motorcycling has expanded my perspective. I'm not protected from the elements; I'm right out in the thick of things. I feel which way the wind is blowing, if the air is dusty, the sun on my back. I hear everything. The roars and whines of engines, tires purring along the asphalt, people laughing or singing along with their radios.

As I ride with traffic, I feel the other vehicles. It feels more like swimming. I imagine I'm some super-fast cyborg Mexican dolphin-boy swimming furiously along the floor of a sunken city in a polluted, futuristic ocean.

Semi-trailers are like the whales. I can hang out just behind them and ride in their wake. There is also a nice little pocket just at their back corners, an invisible swirling that seems to tug me along.

Most cars behave like schools of fish, always clumping together, speeding up and slowing down almost in unison.

Scooters are like the little retarded manatee that you try to be nice to but fervently hope it doesn't try to be your friend because it's really annoying.

Hummers are like sharks. Big, dumb, Hollywood movie sharks. I go out of my way to pester them, cutting them off when we're the only two vehicles around, making stupid faces at their tinted windows, and waggling at them (shifting my weight rapidly from side to side to lean the bike.) They are the only vehicles I harass because I retain a bit of elitism from my bygone days of driving Army Humvees and because I know that most people will find it socially acceptable. I will not bother any Hummer that appears to have been off-roading. Or I won't, if I ever see one.

In the vastness of the concrete ocean there are other cybernetic dolphins from unknown pods. I wave a glove/flipper at them as we pass each other. Often they wave back. Cruisers and choppers ignore me about half the time. Many don't care for my street-bike styling. I have yet to get a friendly response from anyone riding one of those decked-out touring bikes. Maybe they are too busy watching DVD's in their dashboard or something.

Scooters are pretty slow on the draw. I may be the only motorcyclist who has ever waved at them, or more likely if they take a hand off the handles the scooter will flip over and toss them awkwardly onto their satchels.

I really don't understand scooters. So much more dangerous than motorcycles. Much like my retarded manatee simile, they're Nature's speedbumps. They can probably spot danger okay, but they have no chance of maneuvering out of the way.

I bet manatees flip over if they try to turn too suddenly.

Ah yes, the police. They are like...priests. Their authority comes from a bunch of paper I don't believe in and you can usually lose their helicopters by riding through the airport.