Men & motorbikes cruisin' in costume

It’s that time of year again when motorcycles are on the road and we hear the biker’s usual complaints of getting no respect from other drivers. Enough already, I suggest a lot of riders have no respect for us, the average motorist. A small but highly noticeable percentage, can be the single most annoying and dangerous demographic on the road, both the Harley bikes and crotch rocket racing bikes.

Spring also means an annihilation of our quiet tranquility, by the Harley riding malcontents who choose bikes with deafening mufflers and operate them with contempt for the neighbors and community around them.

Some of these riders must lack in self-identity, and subsequently thrive on us paying attention to their existence. Like children playing inappropriately loud to attract the displeasure of their parents; negative attention is still attention.

The Harley riding, unaffiliated, pseudo rebel, is a curious case of male midlife behavior. The attention to detail of the biker costume, the leather accessories, the cool cruising through the neighborhood, all to go five blocks, for a non-fat cinnamon latte.

If you’re compensating for a lack of virility, a motorcycle can be a dangerous machine to jolt the world with a dosage of arrogant attitude. Even some of the boomer cruisers, can show little respect for the law. No Mountie, no problem. The “open road” seems to mean impunity from road rules and general Canadian law. If sports cars and 4X4 drivers where to display the nuances of their individual identities, it would be roadway anarchy.

Even the real deal, biker gangs don’t seem to flaunt the traffic laws with such obvious disdain for the rights of the general public.

The media as always painted the image of bikers as rebels and outlaws, now we have an age compensating, and identity confused segment of society embracing this touring lifestyle. It’s not as if the disgruntled office guy persona, weekend warrior type, is really fooling anyone with his tough guy costume, but he is making some of us more adventure accomplished men cringe at the exaggerated attempt, of displaying his leather feathers of testosterone.

Give a boy a toy (a racing bike) and he will use it, or misuse it, within the parameters of his maturity, give a bored, henpecked husband, in the throes of a midlife identity crisis, a touring toy or Harley, and stand clear and plug your ears. The mundane sports potato just became a poster nerd in his own road movie, with an expensive get-up, cutting edge equipment and a big budget to play with for the weekend.

How do grown men bond and travel with such impunity to realism? If they are running away from some suburban, self-scripted misery they wrote years ago, how does a tribal, bonding and bitching session, help with stresses and divisions back home?

We men have a serious responsibility to the manner in which we conduct ourselves; to live and enjoy life in a personally authentic, and ethical fashion, or to live behind masks, costumes, and the antiquated mantra’s that “boys will be boys”. Why? Because we have the most important of followers; our son’s.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.