I very nearly put this book down a few pages into reading the Foreword, which describes what it's like to ride a motorcycle, but reads like a poorly executed creative writing class exercise. Pierson's ability to touch on answers both concrete and abstract, historical and personal, only adds to the obsession. As those who have also fallen for a motorcycle know, there IS something about bikes. The subtitle of the book is: "What it is about bikes", and that is exactly what Pierson delves into with soul and insight. She writes a lot about what it is like to be a woman rider, and how the men she dated lead to her interest in bikes, which other reviewers found "too personal" but which I enjoyed nonetheless (all the history would've been dry otherwise). It's like a long courting process, and much of the excitement comes from the reserve and patience that allow anticipation to build.Īnyway, where was I? Ah yes, Pierson writes intelligently about riding, intermixing history nicely with her own personal head first dive.
How do you tentatively dive in head first? With floaties on - or, by being cautious, and a little terrified, and taking all the necessary courses and precautions, and doing your research, and falling in love with the activity in spite of (or because of) its inherent danger. Pierson, like me, found herself suddenly infatuated with bikes, and tentatively dived in head first. Melissa Holbrook Pierson's book notwithstanding. I can't quite speak to the veracity of that statement, but based on what's available out there to read about motorcycles it seems to be pretty accurate. As I've heard stated elsewhere, those who ride don't often like to write, and those who write don't often like to ride. Quality motorcycle writing is not too common. And, since it's winter, and I can't ride them, I'm doing the next best thing, and gobbling up motorcycle related reading. I now own not one, but two motorcycles (anyone interested in a 1996 Yamaha Virago XV250 in near mint condition?). Due in part to my AOOCD (Adult Onset OCD (which, parenthetical within a parenthetical, is not a real disorder)), when I get hooked on something I voraciously consume all there is to consume about it until I have exhausted that particular interest and move on (I think that's exactly how viruses work, actually).
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