Recently, in one of her email updates, Erika Napoletano asked the question “What scares you?” and solicited responses from her readers.
I’m not usually one to respond to these types of things, nor do I think of myself as particularly fearful. But strangely, I immediately responded. Since my fear is pretty specific to my experience, I think she’s unlikely to write about it, so I thought I’d throw it in here.
These days, it’s my mortality. I’m a motorcyclist. It’s a part of my identity, to be honest. I ride a lot of places, a lot of miles. I have years of experience. I’ve got hours of track time under my belt. But lately, when I get on the highway, I have visions of my body scattered across the pavement as I approach 80mph. I fear the pain of not only hitting the asphalt, but of being run over by cars. I fear what my daughter will go through knowing how I died, especially since she rides too… and I taught her. It’s a weird space for me to be in, since I can’t stop riding, but I have these horrid visions on the highway.
Weirder is this – I survived cancer, and it didn’t scare me the way this everyday activity does.
After I shipped that off to Erika, I didn’t think a whole lot about it. Reading it now, I have to say I’m surprised at my willingness to show that vulnerable side, but it’s the honest truth. It doesn’t keep me off the bike, and it doesn’t slow me down, but I do have these thoughts and visions.
Last weekend, there was an accident involving a motorcycle right at the entrance to our neighborhood. From what I can gather, the motorcyclist T-boned a car that was entering the road from our subdivision, and lost his life for that mistake.
This morning, a memorial cross and flowers were placed. When you exit our neighborhood, they’re right in front of you, a reminder of your mortality as you leave.
I know of a half-dozen motorcyclists in this neighborhood. The grim marker of what happened here serves to remind us: you may not come back from this ride.
I know that I’m as likely, if not more so, to die in my car as on my bike. I’m not a fear-monger, nor am I going to get scared into giving it up. I truly love to ride, and it really is a part of my identity – a part that I love and cherish and enjoy. I’m proud to have taught others to enjoy motorcycling. I’m proud of my daughter as she gains skills in the dirt, and I look forward both with anticipation and trepidation to her being able to join me on the street. And in spite of the fear and the grim reminders, I’m still going to be there. Because love is greater than fear.