Infrastructure and a space for maintenance

I moved. This is nothing new, as I’ve relocated a multitude of times during my 60-year sojourn on Earth, living in four very different areas of the country and remaining in no apartment or house longer than seven years, with some stays as brief as seven months. I’m really hoping this time will be my last, given how deeply I’m having to dig to find the motivation to once again pack up all my belongings and transport them elsewhere. There have been times when this was an energizing affair, full of excitement about the imagined advantages of my new home and a keen interest in redesigning the organization of routine existence. This iteration, however, whether due to advanced age or advanced hoarding, feels terribly wearisome. For the first time ever, I plan on hiring professional movers to share the burden.

Ironically, my dread exists alongside the fact the newest place is easily the pinnacle of my residential evolution, and ought to inspire the most vigorously positive anticipation. Maybe it’s not all the labor involved smothering my joy, but rather the ground-shaking disruptions I know are coming (indeed, have already begun). Whereas I’d always envisioned a life more streamlined and leisurely by my seventh decade, the opposite has been my fate. Somehow my days are more frantically packed now than ever before, with seemingly no margin for even small irregularities. No doubt, this is largely a problem of my own making, as well as an illusion rooted in my own declining capacities—just as a person losing their hearing initially complains everyone else is mumbling. Also illusory is my sense the world will fall apart if I don’t keep all my precious plates spinning at the same rate. These insights have yet to make much of a dent in my tension level, so I’ll do some deep breathing and focus on my garage-to-be.

Listen to this column as Episode 36 of The Ride Inside with Mark Barnes. Submit your questions to Mark for the podcast by emailing [email protected]. This episode will be available starting 25 August 2023.

It’s actually much more than a garage, but let’s start there. Despite the priority motorcycle storage and mechanical projects have held for me during the entirety of my adult life, I’ve rarely had a physical plant set up to facilitate these. Even when I’ve had a fairly large garage, the space has always been so densely jammed with other things that storing and working on my bikes involved perpetual Rubik’s Cube-like rearrangements to clear adequate space or access tools and supplies.

When I lacked enough room to work, or had no garage at all, motorcycles or portions thereof would be squeezed through doors and/or carried up and down stairs, with surgery performed on kitchen tables or living room floors. In college, my leaky motocrosser occupied what little floor space was available in my dorm room (and, yes, I rode it down the hall). In grad school, I completely disassembled my sport bike in the parking lot each fall, carried the pieces up to my tiny second floor apartment, and reassembled it there, then reversed the process each spring. My neighbors, shockingly, never complained about having a liter-bike with aftermarket exhaust fired up on the other side of their bedroom wall—or above their kitchen. (I had to confirm proper reassembly, right?)

I’ve worked in lean-to structures, metal sheds, wet basements, glorified tents, and breezeways, rain or shine, in sweltering heat or freezing cold. The detached garage at my current house (both 101 years old) features an impossibly uneven floor of king bricks I thought was cool until I realized I couldn’t roll anything across it. Even after cutting out a section and pouring a small concrete pad to create a level workspace, simple tasks I took for granted in real garages have been a tremendous nuisance here, like merely scooting my caster-equipped stool to the other end of a bike. My rolling toolboxes might as well be bolted in place. This cramped, ancient structure is less than half the square footage of my last garage, but I’d thought the addition of an extra-large basement would compensate. Of course, what it has meant instead is when I’m working in the garage, whatever tool I need is in the basement and vice versa. I’m always confident I’ll exceed my daily 10,000-step Fitbit goal anytime I start a project because of all the trips required in and out of the house to retrieve ill-distributed necessities.

Aside from all the structural deficiencies and geographical annoyances, a work area with climate control has always been a pie-in-the-sky fantasy for me. I long ago resigned myself to irritations like dripping sweat into/onto sensitive objects until I wipe/smear my brow with a grease-coated finger, or wondering when the frozen knuckle I just opened up with a fumbled wrench might thaw enough to unleash its inevitable torrent of blood. At least such injuries remain numb until I finish the job and return to a civilized environment. Of course, sweaty hands slip as much as frozen fingers, albeit without the anesthetic effect. I’ve developed great respect for the miniscule-yet-mighty mosquito, which can lite on me and locate a vein despite my position in the vortex of hurricane-esque turbulence betwixt three fans; said creatures also somehow retain the wherewithal to invite a swarm of friends and make it a party.

No more!

My new digs contain the largest garage yet, with enough space to house trailers, PWCs, motorcycles, shelves full of parts and supplies, and still have room for a—wait for it—a car! Who ever heard of fitting a car inside a garage?! Not only is this beauty mostly underground, and therefore insulated from the extremes of hot and cold weather, it connects to a fully finished basement workshop, which partakes in the rest of the home’s HVAC system and has lots of room for workbenches, cabinets, toolboxes, and gear. That’s right, gear. Now all my luggage, helmets, jackets, boots, and other riding apparel will no longer be crammed into various closets and shelving throughout the rest of my domicile. Theoretically, a visitor could walk through the living areas of my new house and not even know I’m a motorcyclist! I feel like some kind of secret agent.

With all the current talk of government spending on infrastructure, I’m even more keenly aware of the horribly deteriorated roads in my area. The health concerns, fitness headwinds, and mental funk accompanying the pandemic have made me even more sensitive to the contributions physical and mental wellness make to the enjoyment and capabilities involved in riding. There are so many foundational elements upon which the pyramid of motorcycling bliss is built. An awful lot has to be in place before we have the range of motion necessary to exploit all our beloved passion has to offer.

Like a business that needs transportation, utilities, and communication resources to operate, motorcycling has prerequisites we quickly lose sight of when they’re all where we need them to be. At such times, we’re free to focus on the tasks at the apex—route planning, riding technique, accessory selection, etc., which can easily fill up all our mental space. None of those matter, though, if one of the basics is missing—we’re pinned down by bad weather, our leg is in a cast, or we don’t have somewhere to install our fancy new farkle. Same goes for the business suddenly deprived of electricity or shipping options. We usually don’t know what we’ve got ’til it’s gone.

Ideally, we would all devote ourselves proactively to maintaining the fundamentals of optimal motorcycling. We’d stay in excellent shape, keep our equipment in top condition, constantly hone our skills, have a space where we can comfortably tend to maintenance, mods and repairs, and we’d stay alert and prepared for any conceivable disruption. I hope I’m not the first to break this news, but it turns out we live in a less than ideal world. We must often struggle through all sorts of inadequacies and frustrations to go riding or wrenching. Depending on our attitude, this can be part of the thrill. We might relish finding ways to overcome unexpected challenges and fulfill our mission, anyway; victory is thereby made that much sweeter. I’m sure a quarter of the time I’ve devoted to mechanical projects has been spent improvising or fabricating a missing tool or unavailable part, and some of the hardships listed above poured more fuel on the fire of my determination to get the job done. Obviously, however, some factors are truly beyond our control and we must wait to fight another day.

The Ride Inside with Mark Barnes is brought to you by the MOA Foundation. You can join the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America quickly and easily to better take advantage of the Paul B Grant program mentioned in this episode.

While I fully expect to encounter other barriers in my pursuit of moto-pleasure, it looks like one type may finally be behind me. I hope this means I’ll have more energy left over for dealing with what future hurdles pop up. Moving will subtract an excruciatingly large amount of time from what I can spend riding, right when springtime weather is most sublime. I’m definitely not happy about this aspect of it, but the process is also making me more appreciative of the myriad ingredients of being a happy motorcyclist. It’s the rare person who has every bit of infrastructure tuned to perfection, but the rest of us can take pride in making what improvements we can. Such investments always pay big dividends; without the basics, everything else suffers.

I wonder how my new neighbors will react to a liter-bike with aftermarket exhaust next door. I may have to explain things could be worse.

Photos courtesy of Pexels; taken by Andrea Piacquadio, Lisa, Micah Boerna and Thai Long Ly (from motorcycle.com).

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 Rider, Bike and Road, currently available in paperback through Amazon and other retailers.