The Nod, the Twitch, and Other Things Only Riders Do

Jul 24, 2022 — There’s a shared set of mannerisms that ties motorcyclists together. Like the look of steely determination we put on while squeezing into cold leather pants. Or the impatient stomping and rolling routine we perform every time our bike fails to trigger a traffic light sensor.

If you can think of a few more, then you’re probably one of us. And if you chuckle in recognition at the list to follow, you must know a thing or two about life in the saddle. Because above all else, this is what separates riders from the rest.

The Nod

Car drivers probably don’t know about this, but motorcyclists certainly do. Like the Pope in a parade or the Queen in public, we nod and wave at each other. Cruising along, you spot another rider in the opposite lane. Inevitably, a slight jerk of the helmet or a gloved wave will connect you two immediately.

In rainy conditions, when wiping out becomes a serious possibility, the waving hand is not so easily pried from the handlebars. In this case, the head jerk becomes more vigorous, like soldiers greeting one another in the trenches. It’s as if to say:

Hey comrade, keep fighting the good fight.

Now in snowy conditions, when wiping out becomes inevitable, the hand wave returns! It’s an exaggerated, devil-may-care gesture, as if to say:

Screw it, I’ll be happy to go down by your side.

The Twitch

Cocaine addicts are often identified by an involuntary, repetitive twitching motion. We think that motorcycles must be a bit like crack, because riders get the same symptom. After extended periods of riding — track days, road trips and the like — motorcyclists develop a distinct jerking motion of the left foot. To most, it looks like neurological damage. But to us, it looks like someone cycling through imaginary gears. They twitch into second. Then again into third, fourth, fifth…

This side effect of motorcycling is not rare, and often accompanies fits of daydreaming. Severe riding addicts have been known to change imaginary gears up to three hundred times per minute. Almost always, the twitches correspond to upshifts. Apparently, riders never daydream about slowing down.

In extreme cases — like boring days in the office or long winter off-seasons — motorcyclists have been known to hit the nine hundredth gear before muscle seizure and paralysis takes over. In embarrassing cases, the twitch becomes coupled to right-hand wrist movements that wind on an imaginary throttle. Additionally, the afflicted rider normally hums brrrr, Brrrrrr, BRRRRRRRR, increasing in pitch each time his or her foot changes gear.

The Low Peace Sign

Arm extended downward and at a 45 degree angle, fingers extended to form a peace sign, car drivers might think you are signaling right or left, or perhaps cutting an imaginary ribbon. This peace sign wave is like a silent conversation between riders, and a sort of salute. It might have originated as a greeting only addressed to fellow Harley riders, yet this exclusivity was not to remain.

The peace wave is now used by many road warriors: a sign of mutual respect — potential dangers of the road considered — though most importantly a wish that the journey ahead remains safe. Just don’t get caught waving this way to a cyclist, some might gasp in disbelief!

The Turn Signal Shame

We all do it. I don’t care how long you’ve been riding. You may have been born in a sidecar and raised in the saddle, but you’re still going to leave your blinker on once in a while. And who could blame you for it? Car drivers get a big stick that goes click click click every time you move it. All we have is a tiny thumb switch that — if you’re lucky — makes an even tinier light go on.

It’s not just the forgetting that ties motorcyclists together. It’s our response. As soon as we realize our mistake, shame wells up inside of us. We were so cool before — road racers, outlaw warriors — but now it has all come crashing down.

We ask ourselves, damn, when did I last turn right? Nervously, we start glancing around. Over our shoulders — did that pedestrian notice? Into our mirrors — how long has that Volvo been behind me?

I don’t know what we’re expecting. A part of me always assumes that it’s Valentino Rossi in that Volvo. And he’s going to get out of the car in his racing suit and start laughing at me.

Oh well, I tell myself. Rev your engine a bit, give it some time, and you’ll feel cool again.

The Bumble Bee Hatred

There was a time when I was okay with the little yellow bastards. They would buzz around, do their thing, and try not to sting me too often.

Then I got my motorcycle license.

Riders will know what I’m talking about. Every time we see a bee, we wince out of pure hatred and fear. Sure, they’re harmless enough at the beach or in the park. But when you’re riding at 120 km/h on the highway, a bee hitting your neck feels like a sucker punch to the jugular.

This is the point where some might say something like "but the bee died and you just got a little smack." To them, we have two responses:

1. If that bee hit me any harder, I probably would have lost control and died.

2. Never assume that the bumble bee perished. Ride long enough, and you’ll find that the initial impact is sometimes followed by a rather unnerving sensation somewhere inside your suit.

The Sneeze Dread

Motorcyclists are a tough bunch. But if we’re afraid of anything more than bumble bees, it’s sneezing.

When riding hard on a dark road, or in tight with traffic, motorcycling demands all of our attention. So, as soon as that tingly feeling starts creeping up the nasal cavity, bikers will do anything to keep from sneezing. We pinch our lips, stare at the sun, stop breathing — everyone has their own trick.

Why are we so worried? As soon as the sneeze occurs, our eyes close, our muscles seize up and our balance seems to vanish. In this moment of sheer incapacitation all sorts of things can go wrong. Plus, if you’re lucky enough to survive the sneeze, you’ll open your eyes to find a delightful spray all over the inside of your helmet.

Banded Together

There’s something beautiful about the camaraderie of motorcyclists. It’s comforting to find someone who hates bees as much as you do, or avoids sneezing like the plague. We understand each other’s shame when a blinker is left on, or when a co-worker catches us twitching and brrrrrr-ing our imaginary motorcycles. It’s a tight bond — something universally felt but rarely spoken.

No club memberships. No jackets. No secret handshakes, just a nod or a wave, exchanged as we pass each other, as if to wish safe passage for the journey ahead.