Some people are in it for the money. We do it because there's a difference in riding on something that came out of the work of your own hands, not in riding something that someone made for you.There's a difference in riding because people are watching, - and in finding peace in the solitude of a lonely stretch of road - where all you can hear around you is the whisper of the wind in your ears, and the rumble of the beast beneath you.
There's a difference in paying others to do the job for you, - and in getting your hands and knees dirty yourself.
There's a difference in being a keyboard warrior, equivalent to being an ass on the forums, slinging mud with other self proclaimed bikers, - and slipping into the garage to turn your parked bike on just so you can hear it rumble for a brief moment. Their mindset is in keeping their horse in top running shape, not caring so much as to how much chrome they have slapped on.
There's a difference in taking money and going to another builder to make a part, - and in making that part on your own. There is never a reward with the former. Anyone else can do that. This is how the men are separated from the boys - and the real ones separated from the posers.
They ride because they live to ride, and not because they belong to a motorcycle group. They go out riding alone one clear night while all the other groups are all bunched up in their cozy little living rooms playing video games. You can spot these renegades on some nights while you're sipping a Grande with your metrosexual friends inside a hip coffee joint, - they pass by you even before you can look. They are alone, and it is their zen.
They make up excuses - just so they can steal even a little reason to ride out however short, be it a trip to the barber or a voluntary trip to the store, while the others make up excuses to miss a ride, such as watching a sucky ball game or having their dog washed.
These people ride, and not wait around for one.
They take something and make it their own, always with their own personal flavor - while the rest buy boring stuff to slap on, only to see another biker having the same accessory on the next bike night.
These people never found the need to advertise themselves, and yet they are asked about, known by those who keep the same creed as they do. They do not ask for respect, and yet they get it. They need not promote, yet their names are carried on and on by eager mouths.
They speak and others listen. They pass by and people stop in awe. They rumble on the highways and cars give way. They look to the road, while people in cages take pictures along side them.
The action is in the backyards and garages, where the sickest bikes and coolest contraptions are born, and kids become men. Their bikes command attention without any promotional bull, and those who know will flock to ask about "how the heck did you pull that off?". This is how you will know them: The real ones leave a story, the posers are ridiculed behind their backs.
They leave their marks in each person behind the wake of their rumble. Their boasting is in the cloak of their silence, and their legacy in the beast that outlive them.
- Lifted from somewhere..
