The Invisible Motorcyclist: Terrifying or Liberating?

DanF9 | Oct 20, 2025 — Today's grisly tale is a familiar one. I say this because there's a remake of The Invisible Man every other decade, or so it seems. Look, I get why you might prefer the Kevin Bacon version, and you can call me a hipster, but the one from 1933 is iconic. And I'm not just saying this because I can use copyright-free stills.

With so many films, it's easy to forget that The Invisible Man was first a book by H. G. Wells. It's a cautionary tale, one where social isolation, combined with the corrupting power of the unseen, make for the perfect ingredients to wreak havoc and exert one's cruelty without moral repercussions. The genius of Wells lies in materializing unseen forces, through the physicality of our protagonist. He's actually invisible, but he influences his surroundings just as much as anyone else, if not more.

Materialization of Invisible Terror

There is something unsettling about the manifestation of physical influence without a visual cue. And so, in a very roundabout way, this brings us to our protagonist: the invisible motorcyclist. Like the doctor from the novel, he or she is often unseen in the world of car drivers. One might hear an exhaust, or feel a rush of wind; hell, one might even see a car ahead swerve chaotically without really understanding why.

The reason? An invisible motorcyclist is "haunting" the road.

I paint our protagonist in a negative light. Of course, I could call the car drivers utter morons for having their head in the clouds, for not looking at their mirrors, and for concentrating more on which Taylor Swift song to play next (by the way, the only right answer is Love Story Medieval Bardcore Cover; thank me later). My problem with this is that it does absolutely nothing to improve the safety of motorcyclists.

Car drivers should be more aware. Reality check: they're not. And so, this leads me down a road where I select the most extreme attitude towards them, any time I decide to share the same space: I am invisible. I am not there. I am a ghost that haunts the road.

Becoming a Ghost

This is both a superpower and a curse. Armed with the attitude that no one sees me, I make more prudent choices. I remove the assumption of being seen from the equation, even if a particular driver has actually seen me. If this is more of an exception to the rule, I won't choose to live in the optimism of being seen. It would be nice, sure. But riding with reality on pillion saves your hide.

It's a curse because you become the only person to blame if things go south. You voluntarily choose the road of isolation, like the doctor, and its effects catch up eventually. This distance creates estrangement, and at times, it also creates a feeling of superiority. I am the one who sees everything, these damn car drivers are the blind ones, etc.

A Different Strategy

Here's how you can flip the switch. It's one thing to adopt the "ride like you're invisible" strategy, and it's another to let it consume you. You've created a separate space where you can better control the outcomes of disaster, but that's the bare minimum. You can populate this space; it doesn't have to stay empty.

What do I mean?

• Ride with trusted buddies. Share some of this space with others and alleviate the isolation. Bonus: you're actually more likely to be noticed riding with others.

• Make your presence known. The mystery and terror of the invisible man lies in the choice to remain invisible. The intoxicating power of acting upon the world and avoiding the consequences. But you can honk, you can politely wave, you can remind others that you are there. You do so from the distance of assuming car drivers don't see you at first, but they're not blind. They still have the ability to see you.

• In the same vein, donning a Las Vegas billboard for an outfit (hi-viz gear) does wonders to increase your visibility on the road. You don't have to cosplay Batman year-round, but if you insist, a good compromise is a hi-viz vest that you wear when conditions are poor.

The Monster, Unmasked

I feel like we're at the end of our Scooby-Doo episode, and the invisible motorcyclist has been unmasked, only to reveal he's Jim from accounting. There's nothing terrifying about him, but like all of us, he sometimes feels alone, unseen, and definitely doesn't receive enough thank-you cards for saving you money during tax season.

Our lives as motorcyclists can go down a path of loneliness, they can become so filled with anger and vengeance directed at the "less alert" ones, but they do so by your own volition. Assuming you're invisible, and resigning yourself to this fate are different things. You're actually there, you're part of the same story. You might be on a parallel line, but you can connect, you can wave hello... or yell "Boo!"

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