Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Easy Rider Randall Lang Explains His Motorcycle Addiction

I am now and have been, for what seems an eternity, a motorcycle rider.  From the first time I sat on the back of a classmate’s Honda 350 Super Hawk, helmetless and clinging desperately to the driver to avoid slipping off of the back of the seat, I was hooked.  Until you have experienced the freedom of motorcycle travel, it is difficult to understand the addiction.  And although it was several years before I was able to get my first motorcycle, the desire for one never left me.

In 1971 my first real pay check went to help pay for a new four cylinder, 75 horsepower, 700 pound beauty with chrome fenders and exhaust pipes that wrapped like chrome snakes beneath the frame of the machine.  Over the next 20 something years I logged 15,000 miles of bug-eating while experiencing lead butt, unexpected  rain storms, clueless drivers, flat tires, and a myriad of other unpleasantness without ever losing the enthusiasm for the ride.  Eventually my ol’ hoss surrendered to deterioration and antiquation, becoming resigned to a dusty corner of the garage because I didn’t have the heart to scrap it.
 There is an exhilaration that goes with feeling the warm, fresh air against your skin.  Going from a warm hilltop to a chilly, fog-laden valley sends a tingle through your body that is hard to explain.  On the breeze are the scents of mint, blossoms, pine and other natural aromas, admittedly accompanied by shots of road kill, diesel, and dairy farm.  But it is the endless variety that makes the journey colorful.  Those who travel in cars (cagers), breathing chilled, recycled air and listening to artificial sounds are truly missing the depth of experience that is out there for the taking.
One of the few benefits of age is that mortgages get paid off, children complete their education and get jobs, weddings get paid off, and finally the big house is sold to be replaced by a smaller, more efficient, and less tax-burdensome accommodation.  When you stop writing checks to everyone else, you get to buy toys.  Nice, comfortable, sexy toys that almost make getting older worthwhile. As my years wind toward their inevitable end, I include among my toys a machine that is as powerful, luxurious, and high tech as the mind of man can create.  I can now travel many miles over many hours in comfort, yet still experience the sensory delights that the outdoors has to offer. 
Next time you see one or a couple of ‘spunky seniors’ cruising by on a nicely equipped motorcycle, you can be sure that they’re diggin’ it. You are cordially invited...

Randall Lang


  1. Welcome to Spunky Seniors, Randall. That sure is a pretty motorcycle. I haven't been on the back of a motorcycle since my college days - that would be about 40 years ago!

    Morgan Mandel

  2. Sweet ride! My husband wants to get one of his own but I'm PETRIFIED! Even if my 65yr old mom rides on the back of my step-dad's Vulcan! LOL

  3. I can live vicariously through you and your bike. I'm too afraid of others on the road to get back on one.

  4. Thank you Morgan, Farrah, and John for your comments. Fear on a motorcycle is a necessary component for without it, you will surely become the victim of a clueless driver or unforseen hazard. But there is a degree of fear in any action in life. Fear of being fired from a job, fear of contracting an illness, fear of being in a building collapse, any number of fearful thoughts can occupy our thoughts on any given day. The key is to set aside the remote, the unnecessary, and the unavoidable to launch into the adventure before you, taking with you only that which is necessaryto keep you alert and alive. As I said are cordially invited...


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