If Motorcycling Is a Gamble, Are You an Addict?

DanF9 | Aug 22, 2025 — Helmet on, visor down. The road ahead feels like a fresh hand of cards, or a spin of the roulette wheel. ABBA hums in the background: Take a chance on me.

Two circles turn: the roulette wheel and the motorcycle’s front tire. It feels thrilling, captivating... addictive. Question is:

How much are you willing to risk for the feeling of being alive?

The Gambler

In the book with the same title, Dostoevsky deals with the struggle of addiction. It is described as the illusion of mastery, as if the addict were looking to control his fate through the repetition of wagers. After all, he's bound to win at some point, right?

As a motorcycle rider, the expression "Ride or die!" is all-too familiar. This echoes the bravado of an addict, as if sheer will were enough to conquer the road; and if it isn't, go down in flames, boy. It's a die-hard attitude that's often flattered in romantic philosophies of motorcycling. Think Easy Rider's highway baptism, the pure freedom of the open road, until fate catches up and eliminates the player, or in this case, the rider.

Except, what's left isn't easy. When you peel away the layers and look at the "game," it's bloody rigged. The odds are never in your favour, and what you're chasing is uncertain to begin with.

Some days, the road is your playground. You carve the perfect sequence of corners, nothing is in your way, and the shifts are smooth throughout. Other days, literally anything else humbles you in an instant. In gambling terms, this would be called "chasing streaks," a series of wins not-so-evenly spaced out, and sometimes more spread out the longer you've been chasing them. Sound familiar?

The logic of an addict, in short. I'd argue chasing the next high comes with a certain loss of perspective. Many times, the same goal requires more effort or simply more of [insert dangerous activity here] to pay off, to hit in the same way it once did.

You're tilted, pushing harder than ever to obtain a feeling that's slipped through your fingers. And here's where your losses start to affect others. Dostoevsky tragically demonstrates, through his narrative, that the debts you collect as a gambler spill into every relationship.

Riding risk is written similarly. Any decision we make on the road—i.e. speeding, riding tipsy (don't do this), going gearless to feel the wind on your face, etc.—is signed not just by us, but by families, friends, and even strangers. Think of a father who commutes daily and does 80 while lane splitting to get to work on time. Think of a beginner rider testing the speeds of their new bike on the freeway. Heck, think of yourself!

The Die Is Cast

We can’t eliminate chance, but we can alter the odds. Fresh tires, extra safety courses, ATGATT, and eyes scanning further ahead than ego wants to look. Track days for skill, slow practice for humility. Preparation doesn’t dilute the thrill, it purifies it. Like Dostoevsky himself, who turned compulsion into literature, a rider can turn the itch for risk into the craft of control.

And then there are the people around us. Every casino has its chorus of enablers, and its quiet voices of reason. Riding groups are no different. Some will egg you on, some will steady your hand.

Choose your table carefully. The company you keep decides what kind of gambler you’ll become.

So yeah, take a chance. Just don’t donate your agency. If riding is a gamble, place your bet on attention, restraint, and the kind of preparation that lets you roll home like the closing shot of Easy Rider we deserved: sunrise, not sirens.

Your Turn to Bet

• What was your closest brush with death or collision, and how did you reset?

• Which habit actually improved your riding?

• Where’s your line between care and compulsion?

Join the discussion here!