Every week, I and my teammates make the arduous trek from the Tulsa metro to the wilds on the very edge of Wagoner County, there to indulge in the epic highs and lows of amateur league bowling. The voyage, lengthy and regular as it is, provides an excellent opportunity for sober reflection and meditation upon our fellows.
You know: people watching.
In my time I’ve seen it all: bumper sticker collages, multiple pairs of truck nuts decorating a single vehicle, all kinds of obtuse religious messaging, and of course the ever-present thin blue line sticker and accompanying Punisher skull. But one type draws the attention more readily than any other, even the compact cars covered in borderline-pornographic anime stickers. This is the passively-suicidal motorcyclist.
The reader will likely be familiar with the type, as diverse as it is. Sometimes it’s two people huddling together on a crotch-rocket. Sometimes it’s a small group using the highway as a racetrack and cars as obstacles. Sometimes it’s a group of aging suburbanites doing their best to look like meth traffickers in the 70’s. You may see protective equipment, or even a helmet, but seldom together on the same person.