Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Spearing Mastodons and Self-Inflicted Cutting




Well I made it home, safe and sound and I asked myself, why in the hell would I voluntarily do something like that? These rides, whether it’s around the block or around the world always have their moments of horror ranging from, “Oh shit, I forgot my sunglasses,” to being taken hostage by cruel Columbian rebels, like Glen Haggstad, author of the book, Two Wheels Through Terror.

Do bikers, (along with rock-climbers, base-jumpers and those dudes who get the shit stomped out of them by bulls in Pamplona) punish ourselves, in perverse self-hatred, for some deep, unexpressed guilt? Or, is taking risk a manifestation of something built into our psyche?
The answer may be both and lies at the very root of our existence. Mankind was originally designed to live, half-naked, in unheated mud huts, engaging in bloody, territorial battles with murderous, neighboring tribes and securing dinner by killing large, pissed-off, prehistoric beasts using sticks and sharp stones.

Modern Western Culture has turned us from nomadic, savage, hunter-gatherers into a bunch of pasty, timid, well-groomed sheep. Seat belts, air bags and warning labels all mandated in the name of “Safety.” Hell, we even have Nanny-State assholes trying to tell us how big a soft drink we’re allowed to have! We’ve been programmed to avoid danger while, deep down, in the primal cavities of our selves, in the very depths of our Neanderthalic depravity, we crave it! We lust for the taste of mastodon blood!

I’m no badass, and I’ve never killed a mastodon with a stick, and in the years I’ve been riding I’ve had some scary shit happen, including going down hard on asphalt and even going over the trunk of a Buick that ran a stop sign, and I realize there are guys in hospital beds and wheel chairs who went through far worse shit, but those moments of blind terror while crossing the Ohio River, in heavy traffic and icy rain scared the f@#k out of me worse than anything else ever had.

That said, the worst part of the trip was getting sick and having to come home early. But, now that it’s all over, I have no regrets and I’d do it all again ‘cause I’m a dumb ass and I love this shit.


There is a macabre practice among emotionally troubled teenage girls called “cutting” where they periodically use razors to slice their skin. They often report that, though painful, they feel a sense of euphoria after it’s all over. I guess I can kinda’ relate.

8 comments:

  1. Herm, my friend, you have a talent for both staying alive and some seriously decent wordsmithing, the first time I read one of your comments, maybe two years ago, the sensors went off as I recognised the genius within . . . this piece is extraordinary mate, brilliant in fact, it gets to the nub of it all. I'm stoked your home safe and sound buddy, Hermit 1, Mastadons 0 . . . I recognise the painting from the kids 'Time/Life' books from the sixties, they were real favourites of mine in the library.

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    1. Kind words from the prolific, hyper-blogging Rocker from Down Under. Thanks Mate.

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  2. Damn Dude! You got Balls of Steel Brother, you rode through the worst shit I've ever imagined and helt the throttle down through the edge of deaths door and made it!!! The truth of the matter is this... You choose the path you ride and it may have been some really bad shit but you continued on homeward and made it and you said it yourself you would do it again (In so many words)and many envy you. Ride-on!

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    1. Some would call me an idiot, and I couldn't argue.

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  3. Our hero hath returned from his perilous journey. Now go for broke and drag that unsuspecting woman back to your cave to celebrate, champ.

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    1. At least I knock 'em out with NyQuil as opposed to a club. 'Cause I'm chivalrous like that.

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  4. It's Mr.Dumbass now...you made it back.

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