How To Read A Motorcycle Magazine

Read at your own peril.

   Okay, I know this is a motorcycle magazine. I know you are reading it. Obviously, you know how to read a motorcycle magazine. But, if you are one of those who (like me) is truly obsessed with reading everything and anything connected with motorcycles (especially in the winter months), you have probably begun to suspect that there may be certain hazards, certain pitfalls, associated with your habit. So with apologies to the publishers of all those magazines to which I’m hopelessly addicted, let my scribblings be a warning of what you, the pitiful slave of all things bike, can expect:  

1. The Blank look. You’ve seen it. At parties. Around the watercooler, the bar, or just about anywhere you talk to people not of our persuasion. Their eyes narrow, possibly dart back and forth as if looking for an escape route. Hard as it may be to believe, some people just aren’t interested in a comparison between the dyno ratings for the 2003 vs. 2008 Hayabusa. In fact, you may have to explain what a “Hayabusa” is, and unless you mention the connection to Ben Roethlisberger, their sudden need to call the babysitter might lead you to suspect they don’t really care what it is. Who can begin to explain the lack of enthusiasm for a spirited debate on the true origin of BMW’s roundel or the initial shear rate of Castrol vs. Mobil 1? Being unable to resist injecting motorcycling analogies into conversations isn’t going to help: “Oh yeah, the adjustment to the prime rate, well, that’s just like the time I tried to remap my Multistrada after hanging on that Akropovic, kept getting that surge around 2,000 rpm’s…” (Listeners begin giving each other knowing glances of desperation.) And of course there’s no better way to wind up talking to the tropical fish at a party than to fall into one of your tirades about road hazards: “The driver never even looked, except at his cell phone!” (Listeners offer a quick prayer that their cell doesn’t choose this moment to ring.)

2. Over/understatement. I don’t want to say that magazines aren’t always truthful, but any seasoned reader would probably agree that just about any article should be approached covering the front brake lever of skepticism. For instance, when reading a review of a new bike in a mag that accepts advertising, it might be wise to remember who’s paying to keep the lights on, the word processors booted up, and that article in your hands. Also, when a writer is testing a bike (already feeling generous for having the whole day to tool up and down Highway 1) his opinions may be, let’s say, shaded. A line like “the ergos weren’t quite right for my height” may be translated as “The first of my 12 chiropractor appointments began shortly after my run to San Simeon.” Or: “Some riders may have an issue with the heat issues emanating from the left manifold.” Translation: “Aerostich voided my warranty, stating their suits should not be worn while welding.” Also, In a bike review, cliches like  “a rocket on steroids” sound much better to readers (and marquees) than lines like “capable of getting you a speeding ticket in any state in the union.” (Incidentally, any prospective writer for moto-magazines should know “on steroids” can be attached to just about any noun for an always startling effect. For instance, “A tankbag—On Steroids!” or “a keychain—ON STEROIDS!”)

3. Ads.Those girls and guys in the ads for leathers, helmets, and pipes? No, sadly, they aren’t included in the purchase price, and, no, you won’t even see them at the dealership, nor will you begin to even faintly resemble them if you buy the product they’re hawking. Which of course raises the question of the need for the mysterious, oft-advertised pheromones, and, is there any relationship between them and pervasive ads for radar detectors and that stuff that makes your license plate hard to photograph? I have to admit I’m a gadget junkie of the highest order, but do I really need chartreuse flames for my fuel tank? Well, probably. A multi-tool/flashlight that translates my voice into morse code? Why not? Color-coordinated reservoir caps? Of course! Can I possibly continue to make my seven mile commute to work on County Trunk B without hearing a bluetooth update on my tire pressures every seven seconds? No, obviously I can’t.

4. Becoming a one percent-er. Be aware that, of all the information you absorb from reading bike magazines, ninety-nine percent may turn out to be totally useless. Forever. So, let’s say after all these years, you finally discovered the definitive last word on the bore/stroke ratio of that 1975 Honda CB200 you used to own? Not only that, but you breathessly read how both plugs fired on every upstroke. How could you have not known that before? The fact that possibly none of this information may come up in Trivia Pursuit or even Jeopardy may leave you asking, “Who’s writing those questions, anyway?”

5. Lest we forget. And, of all the countless bits of useless information you absorb, rest assured 98% has a respectable chance of being forgotten. And of that remaining two percent, let’s face it, if memory retention studies are any indication, at least 75 percent will be remembered incorrectly. Ever pick up a two year old copy of your favorite bike mag? (Don’t stop to wonder why you’re saving them.) Did you read that travel piece about Nova Scotia before? The pages are crinkled, the type’s a little smudged, hmmm, didn’t you resolve to ride to Halifax once? How could you forget first reading about the switch from female-slider front ends to male-sliders and the subsequent rise in the natural flexural frequency of clavicle wear?

6. The Wishing/Buying Continuum. Not only will you spend much of your time reading information you’ll never use, probably forget, or remember incorrectly, but many of the bikes you intently read about have about as much chance of sitting on a cycle stand in your garage as Tiger Woods practicing chipping on your front lawn. Don’t get me wrong, I never miss a story about any stunning one-off museum piece meticulously-hand built by little old men in Milan or a fire-breathing board tracker from the deep south hand-hammered out of an International Harvester combine, but in my heart I know I’ll have to be satisfied with a bike that starts every time, runs as long as I ask it too, and leaves me just enough in my checkbook to make the house payment and take my wife to dinner.

So, am I against reading motorcycle magazines? Hardly. In fact, it’s no accident that the end of each month finds me hovering around the mailbox, waiting for the next new issue. But notwithstanding my wife’s puzzling suggestion to, in her words, “get a life,” I must admit it’s a curious and remotely dangerous compulsion. You have been warned.

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