Raven's Roads
Living an interesting life: the travels and musings
of motorcycling author Linda R. Moore

Apr 18, 2007

Thinking Out Loud: Be vewwy vewwy afraid

Some people find it strange that I don't drive cars. I have a motorcycle-only licence, which I gather (from people's reactions) is quite unusual. It's hard for others to comprehend that when I'm in a car I feel claustrophobic, both as a passenger and as a driver, and that when I'm on a bike I rarely feel any fear at all. But add two wheels, and I feel as though those four little metal walls are no real protection against the outside world; I fidget and feel uncomfortable and ill at ease.

It's not that I can't drive. I passed my UK driving test something like half a lifetime ago. It's just that I haven't driven, don't drive, and don't want to drive.

I've come up against resistance to this choice. You're “supposed” to learn, like you're “supposed” to learn to walk–but I've never needed to. I've always had two feet, a motorcycle, or a bus and train. But cars? No. Cars are for people who want to do serious damage to others–at least, that's what the little voices in my head tell me when I'm behind a wheel. Even if the engine is switched off, I feel my muscles tightening and the nerves gathering up in a scream.

There is so much that can go wrong in a car. So much havoc to wreak, and it would all be my fault.

In part, I think the difference is that when I'm on a bike, I know I'm unlikely to cause anybody else serious harm unless I'm either very unlucky or very stupid. Also, on a bike, there is never any doubt in my mind regarding the judging of widths and distances. I know that if I, as a person, can fit through a gap, then so can my bike. And yet, every day, I notice cars cutting over the line–not merging, but just aiming badly–and think, I bet I'll be like that. And that scares my chickens.

And then there's the matter of pride. Having that class-M only licence is a talking point, a point of pride, a badge of honor. It gives me a licence to be an all-weather biker (thank goodness it doesn't snow or ice up here). It makes me happy to be a Californian-in-training. There's something about it that, to me, seems fundamentally bound up in who I am. And I wonder whether getting a class C licence will suddenly make me feel different about myself. I suspect that it will.

I have an absolute horror of driving tests, too. I'm worried that the DMV will take away my Class M if I can't pass my Class C. But then, if we change our state of residence, other states might not recognize a Class M-only licence.

And yet I'm considering it. Why? Well, we're about to launch into a huge Adventure–getting an RV, towing the bikes, bringing along the cats. Who knows where that might take us? If we can earn enough along the way, there's a really good chance that we won't come back. And if we are full time RVers, then it stands to reason that I should learn how to drive. I really don't want to. But it would be unfair not to.

And if I do, I'll be in charge of a 27 foot monster towing a 10' trailer.

And you should be vewwy, vewwy afraid. Oh yes indeed you should.