Accompanying article at the LATimes
"My mind just clears," says Rakan Talal, a 26-year-old from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia's capital, who was among a small but fervent crew of hog fanatics converging on Lebanon the first weekend of October for the country's first Harley-Davidson tour. "I don't think about anything. Just the road and feeling the wind. Riding on two wheels is something else. Riding a bike makes it all feel better."
Yes it does. Some things are universal.
I have maintained for 30 years that if everybody rode motorcycles, there wouldn't be any more wars. Here's my Cold War scenario, which could be updated for any clime and place:
A US Army rider in Germany, eastbound, is broke down by the side of the road. While he's on his knees investigating the problem he glances a hundred yards up the road and sees a Russian rider, westbound, also broke down by the side of the road, also on his knees investigating his problem. In a moment frozen in time, the Russian is looking back at him.
Both soldiers have the same thought: well, I ain't gettin' anywhere with this broke down piece o' shit anyway. Might as well try something else.
Both men lock and load, get to their feet, and approach one another warily, weapons at the ready just in case. The American G.I. breaks the ice:
"Hey, Ivan, ya got a 530 master link? Fuckin' chain broke."
"Da. Iss your lucky day, Tovarisch. Trade you for a set of points. The People's Points are donkey waste. I think a set from one of your Tschevies will fit."
"Yeah, a Chevy six. Same kind this sled takes. Got 'em."
The deal is done. The soldiers team up and help each other make repairs. Along the way, bottles of vodka and bourbon are broken out and shared. Talk turns to thoughts of home, girls, good food, and how totally fucked the whole idea of war is.
After a longer time than necessary, the soldiers regrettably part and go their separate ways, now brothers of the road instead of enemies. Like they should be.
Ah, to dream...
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