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Having, Being and Doing

Our brains constantly generate electrical activity at all the frequencies between zero and 40-some hertz. However, at any given moment, at any given location in the brain, certain frequencies dominate the others in amplitude. Slower frequency brainwaves prevail when we sleep, for example, but this is a matter of proportion, not exclusion. While we’re awake, some areas of the brain are more active (creating faster brainwaves) than others, depending on which structures are engaged in addressing the demands of the immediate situation. A similar phenomenon exists in our motorcycling lives. Instead of brainwave dominance, it involves the relative ascendance of three facets of our passion. They’re all present during our tenure as riders, but different ones take center stage during different epochs, or even from moment to moment.

Having

It’s hard to be a motorcyclist without a motorcycle—this seems obvious. It’s actually not so clear cut, though. When any of us are between bikes, we don’t cease considering ourselves riders; see the final category below. Aside from the special circumstance of not currently owning a motorcycle, the material possession aspect of being a motorcyclist can be foreground or background. Some people are always fascinated by the latest, greatest technology, and repeatedly stretch themselves financially to own it, whether it’s in the realm of machinery, accessories or gear. Others pay little attention to technical advances and latch onto other elements as “must haves,” like historical significance, idiosyncratic associations they attach to a particular model or bit of kit, or the image-defining style of a bike, helmet, farkle or whatever (again, there’s more on this in final category below). Some of us don’t care much about any of these factors, and are content to simply have a machine that runs and adequate gear to be legal—and perhaps marginally protected.

My guess is most of us rotate through these various positions. Sometimes we’re smitten with a new thing to buy and can’t rest until we make it our own. “Damn you, Craigslist!” Other times, our focus is elsewhere, either because our budgets prohibit such a purchase and indulging the infatuation is just too painful, or because our attention has been grabbed by something from one of the other categories.

Doing

You could argue not all motorcyclists spend time wrenching in the garage, but the act of riding seems like a requirement for membership in our group. On the other hand, nobody rides constantly (except extreme outliers such as Melissa Holbrook Pierson describes in The Man Who Would Stop at Nothing). For some of us, our motorcycles are our primary mode of transportation, serving both utilitarian and recreational purposes. For others, riding is strictly a leisure activity. The time and mileage a person spends with wheels turning varies across a huge range. It’s the same for related activities, like doing maintenance and modifications, attending rallies, schools and races, or getting together with riding buddies just to talk about curvy roads and carburetors. Sometimes obligations, terrible weather, poor health, and other noxious facts of life interfere with our involvement in motorcycling, and sometimes for extended periods. We don’t stop thinking of ourselves as motorcyclists when this happens. In fact, we may be even more acutely aware of this part of our identity because of how intensely we long to resume the actions we’ve been forced to suspend. One could argue daydreaming about such things is a legitimate form of moto-Doing (“daydreaming” is a verb, after all).

In any case, our participation in the multitude of options on the motorcycling menu fluctuates. We may go on an off-road tear for a while until we’ve satisfied the perverse need to pummel and exhaust our bodies, then return to the road to savor the challenges of high mileage or twisty corners for the next few months. We might forfeit a season in the saddle to devote all our spare time to a restoration, or travel weekend after weekend to help our amateur racer friend in the pits. Unwelcome circumstances will inevitably interrupt our flow, but we get back to it as soon as we can and make substitutions where possible. Maybe I couldn’t spend the whole day winding through the canyons with my gang, but I can re-watch one of the Romaniacs’ hard enduros after dinner. Is shopping online for gear on a stormy day more about Having or Doing? Hmm…

Being

This final category is at once both ethereal and concrete. As alluded to earlier, being a motorcyclist is a matter of identity. If I were to go years without a bike or riding opportunity, I would still be a motorcyclist. Whether or not I have or do the things mentioned above, the more fundamental question is, “If I’m a motorcyclist, what sort of motorcyclist am I?” My elaborate gear screams “hard-core!,” but maybe I’m a timid poseur hiding behind a facade. Am I a crusty dessert nomad or a balletic trials aficionado? Have I cultivated exceptional pavement-carving skills by attending track days and advanced training schools? Am I someone who has learned exactly what and how to pack for a ten-day tour? Are my navigational abilities sufficient for wandering comfortably through a web of unmarked trails? What characteristics have I developed – deliberately or unwittingly – over the course of my time in the two-wheeled world?

We each bring different talents, histories and current capacities to the table. Mistaking ourselves for the images we project, or the persons we were at a different point in time, can lead to disaster. Who we are changes over the years, for better and for worse. Hopefully, we know more and grow wiser with age, but eventually we must also contend with declining physical strength, slower reflexes, diminished vision, etc. We may be lots of different motorcyclists over the span of a lifetime, even though some threads surely remain constant throughout.

What kind of motorcyclist we are greatly influences which of the three categories we invest in most. For example, would I rather spend my hard-earned resources on Ohlins suspension (Having), an Edelweiss tour (Doing), or individualized instruction (Being)? Of course, these may be intertwined. Maybe I want the Ohlins suspension so I can go racing, or the Edelweiss tour so I can enjoy the prestige of being an international traveler. In addition to raising my level of expertise, individualized instruction might help me acquire an instructor position of my own, and it’s obviously an activity in itself. If you think too much about all this, it becomes a tangled mess because the distinctions I’ve made are somewhat contrived, much like many other models we use to talk about life’s complexities.

In my own life as a rider, I’ve devoted an excessive amount of energy to Having. I’m a tech geek who has squandered too much time and money chasing down shiny objects, only to replace each acquisition quickly with the next interesting target. I’ve owned a lot of really wonderful bikes and top-shelf accoutrements, and enjoyed most of them immensely, but this category definitely ranks third in terms of overall satisfaction. Next would have to be Doing. I have countless vivid memories of adventures large and small, interactions with other riders, moments of pure bliss in the saddle and on the garage floor. Even if I had to end all my involvement in motorcycling tomorrow, I’d carry these images and their attendant feelings with me to the grave; they are a source of richness beyond measure. Yet as fantastic as those are, I have to rank Being as the most rewarding of all. The experience of learning a technique and employing it with some measure of grace on subsequent rides (or mechanical projects) has changed my sense of who I am, what I’m capable of doing, and what I have to offer others. While I may carry memories of Doing with me, the investments I’ve made in Being have changed the person doing that carrying. Not only do I feel a sense of accomplishment in the specific capabilities related to riding, but the process of developing them has boosted my confidence in pursuing other areas of development as well.

Which of these categories has attracted your attention most during your years as a motorcyclist? Which is most important to you right now? Just as sophisticated neuroimaging technology can show our brainwave activity in flux with different colors, we can see our own—and each other’s—priorities shift back and forth if we look with these categories in mind.

Brain scan courtesy of Mart Production. Slipjaw pliers photo by Ksenia Chernaya. Ohlins screengrab courtesy of Ohlins.

Mark Barnes, PhD

Mark Barnes is a clinical psychologist and motojournalist. To read more of his writings, check out his book Why We Ride: A Psychologist Explains the Motorcyclist’s Mind and the Love Affair Between Rid-er, Bike and Road, currently available in paperback through Amazon and other retailers.