Motorcyclists explained (Pt. 2)

[VladTepes]

Still think we're all one big happy family of rainbow-coloured brothers? Think again...


Boris continues with his exploration of the diverse array of characters that make up the motorcycling galaxy. Click here to read his first instalment, or read on to seek enlightenment. Which category to do you fall into?

Long-distance Iron-Butters
Not one of these droners is right in the head. Dark demons possess the souls of riders who seek to ride 1200 kilometres in 12 hours. Or 2400 kilometres in 24 hours. Or 76,900 kilometres in 36 hours. Well, it's either demons or some kind of OCD cerebral damage that encourages these people to wallow in the hubris of long-distance riding... for the sake of long-distance riding. It's not like they actually have a destination. They just bang out the miles and might as well be riding in circles. They speak in nods and grunts and walk like penguins, smelling faintly of urine.

They can be found...
Koorawatha, Emerald, Kalgoorlie, Mt Augustus, Ivanhoe, Mataranka, Yungaburra, as well as isolated roadhouses and freeway overpasses where they have been known to lose consciousness while sitting on their bikes.

Supermotardmoto things
Invariably feckless, feral youths whose names exist both on their high school's roll of wastrels, and in the Bash On Sight guidebook of every Highway Patrol cop in Australia. They hear sirens in their sleep, wear hoodies, motocross helmets and hunted expressions, and spend most of their lives riding like bastards around hopefully deserted city streets after 2:00am, or being taken to gaol in the back of a paddy wagon, if they were doing it right.

They can be found...
In front of the local courthouse on Monday mornings, and in the waiting rooms of bone-graft surgeons.

Ulyssians
Largely peopled by old men who have chosen to ride motorcycles as an alternative to pointless onanism or suicide. They take pride in the motto 'Grow Old Disgracefully', even though not a single thing they do can be classed as disgraceful, apart from maybe the way they hesitantly negotiate winding roads. They shake their wrinkly grey-haired heads at every bike with a racing can, and will tell you, if you could ever be bothered to listen, they're the only people who care enough about the good name of motorcycling to care enough...um, about...erm, stuff and things (I really don't know because I always walk away at this point).

They can be found...
On committees, in roadside rest areas, and attending weekly meetings, monthly meetings, quarterly meetings and the Annual General Meeting.

HOG members
Very similar in self-righteous attitude to Ulysses members, they differentiate themselves from their similarly-aged compatriots by choosing to dress as gay pirates. Well, gay pirates with merit badges, and the more merit badges they can sew onto their cheap leather vests (which they wear so that car drivers will think them to be Hells Angels from a distance), the more HOGalicious they are deemed to be by their fellow members. It's like pig-heaven has been chromed.

They can be found...
At HOG rallies, Harley dealerships and any town with scones, tea and jam that is not more than an hour's ride from the GPO.

V-Rod pilots
These are the only people who wear tracksuit pants on a motorcycle, and who will soon disappear from the panoply of motorcycle riders now that Harley's V-ROD is no longer being made. They are also the only people who buy those close-fitting novelty open-face helmets and get into arguments with the police about their legality. Many of them boast Taser scars as a result.

They can be found...
At Friday prayers, talking to steroid dealers at the gym, or outside any inner city nightclub when the hotties are all lined up waiting to get in and are clearly just gagging to see fully sick burnouts as their ears explode.

Motorcycle couriers
They breathe rarified hard-city air, lane-split with the precision of laser beams, and smell like rotting dishcloths made from cheese. These are some of the very few motorcyclists capable of delivering a bunch of flowers to an office chick that still have blooms on them, and who can make sense of the squawking noise emanating from their radios, and make the rest of us look lame in traffic.

They can be found...
In front of you, behind you, beside you and leaving you for dead in peak hour.

Stunters
The older ones are all broken and limp, and the younger ones are busy breaking themselves and re-growing skin. They are crazed hooligans trying to monetise the ability to wheelie and stoppie, and boast huge collections of girls' underpants. It's OK to hate them because they can do things on a bike you will never be able to do and because your girlfriend secretly wants to pleasure them with her body while you watch.

They can be found... In deserted car-parks late at night, or on quiet streets in industrial zones. Or at your girlfriend's place.


http://www.bikesales.com.au/editorial/details/comment-motorcyclists-explained-pt-2-107011/

[Gra Har]

Well, cant seem to find my place in this lot either, I am a Ulyssian though, have been for 20 years, my interest in the club has dropped off a fair bit lately (been too much conflict within the club witch upsets me, getting too old to be upset anymore.) So, just find myself just wandering around the country with Wifey. If there is spot for a Husband and Wife riding combo? then that's for us.

[Kiwifruit]

Went for my first ride with the Ulysses Club on Sunday. Nice enough people. Bit stop start for me. We are in line astern and I'm following a mint looking Goldwing (if that's your thing) down a hill with a few bends, two lanes each way. I'm thinking.....mate that's a double yellow line you're getting real close to, no wait that's a double yellow line you've just crossed. Both wheels into the oncoming lane. This is a busy bit of road......State Highway 2. When we stop I ask were you scraping, yes he says !!
Scared me, bugger that.
Will stick with the bride on the back and just do our own thing. Unless as you say Gra Har we come across a group that is a bit of a husband and wife deal.

[Andre]

What kind of motorcyclist do I want to be today? Decisions, decisions...

[Rufus]

HOGS, the gay pirates thing is spot on, that's what we call them here.
I was one of them but I'm better now