Surprise! Motorcycling isn't dying

U.S. motorcycle sales are in sharp decline.
(Graphic from CanyonChasers)

 Today we're told that motorcycling in the U.S. is dying. Riders are aging out, young people are on their phones, motorcycle prices are high, and insurance costs crushing. The police are always watching, and everyone says motorcycles are dangerous killers. 

The joy is gone. 

Except, it's not. 

Surprise! Motorcycling is booming. 

And why not? Motorcycling is fun. You remember your first ride, don't you?

I still remember my first time. A high school friend took me for a ride, as the passenger, on the new Honda step-through his parents had bought him. The little white motorcycle wasn't fast, but I was thrilled. 

I had dreamed of owning a sports car some day but, in high school in the 1960s, a sports car was way out of reach for me. But here was a vehicle maneuverable enough to be exciting, easy to ride as my bicycle, and not impossibly expensive. 

I loved that it had a horn, lights, and even a tiny luggage compartment. It carried two, just as my imaginary sports car would, and, best of all, it could take me anywhere right now. 

We innocently rode without helmets or protective gear.

Of course, we didn't actually go anywhere; just around his neighborhood and briefly out on Sepulveda Boulevard with real traffic! The thrill was in imagining where it could take us.

It would be years before I would ride a motorcycle on my own, when my brother handed me the keys to his medium-sized Honda and told me to "ride around."

That was all the training I got. (I didn't even understand how a positive-stop gearbox worked. I had to figure it out).

Motorcycling is a blast. So why does everyone seem to think it's going away?

In a surprisingly upbeat and even comic YouTube video, "Dave" at CanyonChasers suggests that U.S. bikers treat motorcycling as "a nostalgic hobby."

Worse, old-time bikers treat newcomers on anything less than a liter bike as "cowards." Their little bikes won't do double the Interstate speed limit and, besides, they're too quiet.

Even worse? Newcomers are being gruffly clued in that they are unworthy: they haven't "paid their dues," with scars on their knees and grit under their fingernails.

We forget that, back in our day, someone (my brother to name one) handed us the keys for free and told us to "go ride around." No one demanded "dues."

So who is killing motorcycling in the U.S.? WE ARE, Dave says.

Our behavior is stupid. Luckily, it isn't working.

Because two-wheel ridership is exploding! Young people are riding and having a whale of a lot of fun. Their mounts are inexpensive to buy, incredibly cheap to run, require no registration, no insurance, no training and are astoundingly reliable even compared to a Honda. They park for free.

And, yes, they're quiet.

They're electric mopeds and scooters.

Oh God: those zippy little vehicles that so annoy me when I am a pedestrian. They may have pedals but everyone knows that's a gag. These are motorcycles.

They're everywhere, and I mean everywhere. On the streets. On the sidewalks. On the handicap ramps. In the bike lanes. Shoving foot traffic aside on running paths. Lane splitting and even riding the wrong way in traffic.

Red light? No problem: they run right through. Few bother with helmets, none bother with gear. These are the "outlaw bikers" of this era.

And the police don't care!  Enforcement is nonexistent because it's impossible and, yeah, it's all just "kid stuff" anyway.

The riders are mostly young and many are even girls. This is the new-birth future of motorcycling, Dave suggests.

Peering back through the mists of old age I recognize myself, riding back seat on that Honda step-through. That experience of freedom, possibility and joy. It's still happening for people.

We should celebrate this.

And if it goes against the grain a little bit, old-timer, I know how you feel.

Because going back to motorcycling at 50 was my attempt to re-capture a little bit of my youth. My interest in Royal Enfield motorcycles, particularly the retro-models, is that attempt to get back to those happy days.

Yes, it's my "nostalgic hobby." It works for me.

But look around, look around. Watch the video:

The Royal Enfield in the parking garage

A Royal Enfield Continental GT 650 turned up in my parking garage.

 Royal Enfield motorcycles exist in enormous numbers in India, in fair numbers in Britain, and remain relatively rare in the United States. 

But this is changing. 

A combination of reasonable prices, wide selection of models, very wide selection of colors and trims, vast improvements in features and reliability, and a fair amount of promotion have made them more visible on our streets. 

We're still at the level where friends of my wife will email her a picture of a Royal Enfield they encountered, to share with me. 

In fact we're still at the level that even I swivel my head when a Royal Enfield passes on the street. 

I didn't expect to park in our condo garage just the other day and find a Royal Enfield Continental GT 650 lodged in a nearby space.

I ride an old kick-start-only Royal Enfield Bullet, so I don't get much exposure to gleaming new 650 twins.

It felt odd to have one right under daily observation.

It felt impolite to stare.

It felt as though I should do something in regard to this. Leave a note? "Nice bike!"

Could I inquire at the condominium and find out which of my neighbors shares my interest in Royal Enfields? It's in space number 17, which must correspond to a particular apartment.

What would I do then? Leave a note on the guy's apartment door? "Nice bike. David in 304."

Suppose I arranged to meet the neighbor with the GT? It isn't like we could go for a ride. My bike is at our home in Florida. Even if it was here, with me, I could never keep up with him.

I could invite him down for a beer. Does the owner of a 100 mph 650 twin have anything to say to the owner of a clattering 50 mph single?

What do you say? Should I find out?

DC's Zero Mile marker is a real zero

Is Ground Zero for U.S. highways really this stone in Washington, D.C.?

 Like most motorcyclists, historic highways interest me. If there's a hiking trail somewhere on an abandoned highway, I'm ready to walk. 

I'd love to ride Old Highway 66 someday, but it's a long way from my Royal Enfield. 

So, as a tourist recently in Washington, D.C., I was interested to come on a little block of stone in the middle of a sidewalk near the White House. 

It proudly proclaims itself the "Point for the measurement of distances from Washington on highways of the United States." 

Wow! That's cool, I thought. 

According to the National Park Service website:

"This four-foot-high shaft of pink granite stands on the north and south meridian of the District of Columbia. It is symbolically the official starting point for measurement of highway distances from Washington, DC.

"On July 7, 1919, the first transcontinental military motor convoy (to) San Francisco, California, started from this spot. On June 5, 1920, Congress authorized the erection of a permanent monument here."

That sounds pretty important.

But I wondered why I had never heard of the monument.

After all, it's right in front of the south view of the White House! You can't miss it, if you want to stand at the best place for a picture of yourself with the White House in the background.

It even turns out that the Second Transcontinental Motor Convoy also started from this point, on June 14, 1920. (The first is the more famous of the two convoys, because a young officer named Dwight Eisenhower joined that expedition.)

In fact, the little stone had been dedicated on June 4,, 1923 by the president, Warren G. Harding. According to Richard F. Weingroff, of the Federal Highway Administration, Harding spoke of its importance:

"It marks the approximate meeting place of the Lincoln Highway and the Lee Highway; of the northern and southern systems of national roads. From it we may view the memorial to Lincoln and the home of Lee.* It marks the meeting point of those sections which once grappled in conflict, but now are happily united for all time in the bonds of national fraternity, of a single patriotism, and of a common destiny."

High hopes, if a little too much to expect from a rock the size of a drinking fountain.

The hopes might persist; but the whole "Zero" thing didn't work out.

Despite its claims, the Zero Point is pretty much a complete zero. Which explains why few people who bump into it have heard of it before.

WAMU 88.5, American University Radio, tells what actually happened, quoting Doug Hecox, a self-proclaimed history nerd and spokesperson for the Federal Highway Administration.

Basically, it suddenly seemed like a good time for everybody to get into the act. Marking highway mileage in the United States is a state function, not the job of federal authorities.

About a month after the dedication, Tennessee decided to launch its own zero milestone. Then so did several other states. Virginia established a zero milestone in Capital Square in Richmond in 1929.

"So the entire premise between the Zero Milestone and its intention absolutely fizzled," Hecox said.

Weingroff, of the Federal Highway Administration, concludes:

"And so it stands. The Zero Milestone in Washington never became the American equivalent of Rome's Golden Milestone. Today, it remains in place, baffling tourists and serving mainly as a resting place for their belongings while they take photographs of each other standing in front of the White House. It is forgotten for the most part. Periodically, it is threatened with removal by the National Park Service as it considers options for revitalizing the Ellipse. But for historians, the Zero Milestone marks the place where 'a new era' began."

*At the time of the dedication, the former Custis-Lee mansion at Arlington Cemetery might have been visible over the treeline, at least to President Harding, who would have had an elevated view when he was inside the White House.