Unity on Two Wheels

A funny thing happens when you get on a bike and ride for great distances: you suddenly become a member of a club you didn't know existed. The Two Wheel Club. I am now a member.

It started subtly at first. Nods and waves from touring cyclists heading in the opposite direction. Calls of "hey biker!" as I entered a Washington state park, leading to a pleasant conversation with two mildly attractive yet unavailable female cyclists. Once I hit Portland, a very bike-friendly city, the esteem I received from my two-wheeled colleagues swelled my heart with pride. A guy on a very nice, very hip fixie took one look at the load on my bike and raised his fist in a sort of Black Panther salute. As I was leaving Portland, two guys on fancy road bikes out for the day helped me plan my route to the coast. Everyone wants to know where I started, where I've been, and where I'm going.

But it doesn't stop there. As I approached the middle of Oregon, it became apparent that a BMW motorcycle rally was taking place in the region. Never have I received so many waves, fists, smiles, and words of encouragement. Previous to this trip I would have assumed that motorcyclists were more on board with the motor and less with the cycle. I was wrong. Some motorbikers even pulled over to ask if I needed help changing a tire.

Something about the freedom and understated risk to one's personal wellbeing seems to be at play with all two-wheeled travelers. The ability to see 360 degrees; feel the wind and bugs in your hair, eyes, and mouth; the searing sun; outrunning thunderstorms; these are just some of the kinds of fun not afforded to drivers of cars.

I also saw a guy on what was essentially a big motorized tricycle. He stared straight ahead. Bastard.