[Jeff Higgins]

I just had the misfortune of being re-introduced to one I met last summer. He still hates me, and apparently, all I represent. A little back story:

As mst of you know, my other passion beyond early 911 hot-rods is motorcycles. I have several, and ride one or the other virtually every nice day when I'm not in the 911. My riding style varies with my mood and choice of bike. On the Harleys, I tend to ride like the old fart I am, but on the Ducati - well, I ride it like I drive my 911. Pretty much balls out when and where I can.

So, last summer, I'm out on the Duc, on one of my weekend morning "constitutionals". I get up early and ride or drive, hitting the back roads in the river valley before the crowds start to clog them up and render my preferred riding/driving style even more "irresponsible" than it already is. Anyway, I get stuck behind a very slow moving car in one of my favorite sections of twisties. The guy is doing about half the speed limit, if that. We pass several sections with very wide shoulders, even some turnouts, and I "flash to pass" at the first couple, then toot my horn at the next several. It couldn't be more obvious that he is holding me up (at about half the limit). He steadfastly refuses to yield. So, at the next spot where I can see far enough ahead to do it safely, I goose it past him. No big deal, even though it was on a double yellow - I could get around him and back into our lane long before the next truly blind corner, especially at the speed he was traveling.

This "morning constitutional" usually has the same destination - a coffee shop down the valley. There I sit at one of the outdoor tables enjoying my coffee, some twenty minutes after this encounter, and in pulls the car that was dawdling along so slowly. A guy my age that looks like a Presbyterian minister or something gets out, along with his wife - one of the most stern, humorless looking women I think I have ever seen. They are both glaring at me and alternately looking at my bike as they head inside. Neither says a word. I smile at them, trying to look friendly.

When they come back out, they grab a table near mine. Then it starts:
"Pretty damn reckless riding around like that. Have a death wish or something? How old are you? Aren't you too old for that crap? Don't you have a wife, or kids, or something you care about? Does she know how you ride? Does she let you do this? What's the matter with you?" Yadda yadda yadda... I didn't even look at them - I just lifted a cheek and farted. "Think you're cute, do you? How many of your friends have died on those damn things?"

"This year, or all together?" I throw my cup in the trash, pull on my jacket and helmet, fire up the bike and leave.

End of back story... I'm sitting in the same chair, at the same table, tonight after work. The same car pulls in, with the same two humorless near-corpses in it. Their idea of "risk" or "adventure" must be doing it with the lights on... Anyway, they remember me, and appear, oddly enough, somewhat excited to see me. Opportunity, I guess - the guy starts in again, right where he left off last summer. The wife, like last summer, doesn't say a word, but nods approvingly all the while.

Oh well. I chalk it up to valuable insight as to how some folks must perceive us. What we do seems insane to them. Wildly irresponsible. Frightening. I have to wonder, though, if the guy secretly longs for the boldness he sees in others, resenting them for it. Or if the wife wonders what it must be like to do it with the lights on...