Living large on wheels and wings

About 18 years before the birth of the airplane, the motorcycle was born.

That first model wasn’t exactly sleek, or fast, or easily manageable. The seat was closer to a domed footstool than a comfy chair. The wheels were made of wood. Steering was managed by a tiller that only roughly approximated modern handlebars. Brakes were an afterthought at best.

New technology often starts from a point of questionable safety that lacks aesthetic value and true practicality. That’s true of the microwave oven, the digital computer, the airplane, and so many other common tools. You have to start somewhere and that somewhere seldom bears any resemblance to where the technology ends up after a few generations of refinement.

The Wright brothers famously piloted their Wright Flyer, an unsightly machine that flew on the edge of disaster, just a handful of times before it was destroyed by a gust of wind that crumpled it into a ball on the sandy shores of North Carolina.

However, that modest start opened the floodgates of creative engineering that has led to the modern aircraft we fly with such high levels of comfort and safety today.

There is a common thread between the motorcycle and the airplane that perhaps deserves consideration. Both machines are so common we see them on an almost daily basis, tooling along the backroads of America or slipping through the ether above. Yet, a relatively few of us develop the skills to operate either of them.

While there are approximately 10 million motorcycles registered in the United States, many times the number of aircraft, there are literally millions of men and women with motorcycle endorsements who don’t actually own a motorcycle.

Like those who pursue a pilot certificate, many earn the endorsement but fall away from being active participants for a wide assortment of reasons. Some cite the cost of a machine that could be perceived as little more than an expensive and not entirely practical toy. Others find the risk too much to bear in the long term. Many succumb to the fears of friends or family and abandon the pursuit in an attempt to ease the worries of their loved ones.

And yet, the machines continue to be alluring to those who feel the pull of adventure in their souls, whether they be active participants or not.

The far more prevalent means of locomotion is the automobile. Four wheels resting beneath an enclosed box with airbags, a stereo sound system, myriad cup holders, and reliable environmental controls outnumber the aircraft and two-wheeled adventure machines many times over.

The automobile is everywhere. Karl Benz, Gottlieb Daimler, Henry Ford, and the Dodge brothers, Horace and John, would be pleased to see how well received their motorized dream machines have come to be.

For all their practicality and functionality, however, the car is a relatively boring piece of equipment. Perhaps because they are considered to be so safe, reliable, and common. If you drive most four wheelers into a parking lot somewhere, anywhere, climb out and go about your business, it is unlikely you will find yourself engaged by others who are intrigued by the machine itself or your decision to drive it.

Airplanes and motorcycles are different. I would argue that is because those of us who engage with these machines are considered to be adventurers. Some might call us daring, although the truth is most of us do our best to limit risk when riding or flying. It’s in our best interest to do so.

While riding from my home in central Florida to Woodruff, South Carolina, to stop into the much vaunted Triple Tree Fly-In in September 2023, it occurred to me that the social engagement pilots and motorcyclists enjoy is remarkably similar.

On every stop I made along my route, total strangers would approach me to ask how I liked riding my BMW R1200 RT, even if they had no idea what model they were looking at.

“Where did you come from?” is a common question. “How long have you been riding?” is another.

The same thing happens on ramps as I fold myself out of the C-152 I fly and wander to the FBO.

The conversations are frequent and friendly, instigated by genuinely curious men and women who invariably have a deep curiosity about the machine and the individual operating it. There is an unspoken longing in their tone of voice. They watch with imaginations firing on all cylinders as I saddle up for the next leg of my journey.

I can only imagine they are thinking, there but for the (insert your own self-limiting term here) go I.

We who fly, who ride motorcycles, who sail out of the harbor into the deep blue ocean, engage in life on a deeper level than most. It’s not the educational requirements that prevent their quest, or the cost, or the rigors of self-restraint that are required to keep ourselves safe. No, I think the reason people give up on their dreams is much more basic than that.

It’s fear. The simple, basic power of fear is so profound among the bulk of the population they short-circuit their own lives in a quest to be safe.

In truth, we are never safe. We can be safer, or less safe, but never truly safe. Not ever. The planet itself is trying to kill us with tornados, hurricanes, wildfires, mudslides, earthquakes, or a lake that suddenly emits a massive burp of carbon dioxide that suffocates all mammalian life in the immediate vicinity.

Life comes with risk. Those who accept that risk and the responsibility of protecting ourselves to the degree we have control of it live very different experiences than our curious, but cautious neighbors.

I started riding motorcycles 56 years ago. The pilot’s seat came into my life 37 years ago. I am cautious when engaged in either activity — as any rational person should be. I am fully aware that one day age and infirmity may require me to give up active participation in these endeavors.

But between Day 1 and that last day, I intend to live to the fullest. To experience life on two wheels and two wings with no regrets while wearing a big ol’ smile on my face and harboring a profound sense of satisfaction in my heart.