And so we continue to follow the fortunes of Mr. Sheppard as he winds down the path of novice motorcyclist. Readers will no doubt recall that Mr. Sheppard is now the owner of a Kawasaki EX500 and we left him pondering the possibilities of fitting a CBR600 front end. Will he, won't he? Uh ohh, look out, that thar philosophy's coming in, or as we in the journalistic trade like to refer to it "I ain't done it yet, so here's some bollocks".....

Philosophical Tripe

My father is a pilot; more importantly, he was also an aircraft mechanic. All the limited mechanical acumen I have, I owe to him. He was also kind enough to give me several thousand dollar's worth of tools after he retired, most of which I don't know how to use. Why I mention him, though, is because one day as I helped him in his shop, he told me of the joys of flying. Flying is something that always interested me, but time and lack of cash are the two main restraints on my becoming a pilot. I was helping dad stitch the fabric onto the bare ribs of a wing when he told me a story of when he was flying on a gorgeous summer day. The sky was an amazing shade of blue, dotted with puffy cumulous clouds. And up there, alone, in an airplane he built himself, he had a surge of emotions. Joy because of the beauty of flight, but also insignificance as he looked at the scenery below and the heavens above. Carefree enthusiasm as master of his own destiny as pilot, yet he was also well aware of the inherent dangers of flying. For him, he said, it was almost too good to be true, and that he didn't deserve that much fun. As I was in my early teens at the time, I thought this was a preface to the story of the birds and the bees. Little did Dad know I had discovered the birds couldn't "do it" with bees. THAT revelation had alreaddy gone the way of the Santa Claus myth (eh? Don't say it's true - RH).

His story came rushing back the other morning. I was heading north for a two-week conference in the Riding Mountains (BC readers scoff here) in Manitoba. After several days of rain, Thursday dawned on a cool but sunny note. After warming up the bike, I was on my way. The trip is about 100km one way, and follows Hwy 250 north from Rivers to Onanole. Along the way, there are some stretches in dire need of repair, but these areas are compensated by Hwy 45; a smooth strip of new pavement that connects 250 to Hwy 10. Tucking behind the fairing, it was this section of road I was waiting for as I dodged pot holes and frost heaves.

Being on a bike brings the senses alive; it is a far more invigoating way to travel. My trips via car earlier in the week saw the requisite travel mug full of strong coffee. Not so on the bike -- the car dulls your senses with music and window defrost, while the motorcycle brings comfort from within while the elements buffet helmet and body with wind, rain, and insects.

Before I reached Hwy 45, however, I descended into a valley. Large by prairie standards, I dropped about 300 feet in the space of a few seconds. The temperature cooled 10 degrees. The recent rains left the trees and grass a beautiful shade of forest green. I slowed. The bees were out, a few bouncing off my gloves and legs, stunned but not dead. As the cooler air sent a shiver through my body, I flipped up my visor and smelled the deep fragrance of nature in the morning. Suddenly, what my father had said years earlier came rushing back to me. I understood what he meant. Joy, insignificance, fear, and elation coursed through my veins, and I wondered if I desreved this.

Motorcycling and sport flying are similar in many ways. First, the pilot of each must appreciate the journey more than the destination. Friends or work may await at the end, but we choose to ride or fly because we like HOW we get there as much as WHY we are going.

Secondly, each travels in three dimensions -- a car goes either right or left, forward or back. Aircraft and bike add a third option: down. Planes may fall several thousand feet, but tipping a bike over at 60 mph may result in the same fate as a pilot that falls from the sky.

And lastly, small sportplanes are a novlety in modern commercial aviation. Light, agile, and quick, they are slowly being pushed into extinction by the jet age. Only a group of die-hard enthuiasts are keeping the spirit of flight for the everyman (or woman) alive. Likewise, especially in North America, motorcycles are struggling to exist. One may argue that recent new models from Italy and Japan show a growth in the sport. However, increasing insurance rates are making this form of transportation prohibitively expensive. The comforts of a modern automobile with its practicality and security MAY make the motorcycle obsolete. As I have just started riding (1500km and counting) I hope this never occurs.

The advantages far outweight the negatives. I will be realistic; cars are a neccessary evil, especially in -40 degree weather, with snow and ice on the roads (BC readers may scoff again). But this sport relies on enthusiasm and far more optimism than I've shown in the last few paragraphs.

It's up to us to keep motorcycling alive for future riders. I'll end this bit of preaching with a paraphrase of a quote from Orwell's Animal Farm: Four wheels good, two wheels Better! Keep riding comerades!

James Sheppard