How it is...

You can see it in their eyes.
You're sitting there at an intersection, waiting for the traffic signal to change when you notice the car next to you.
It's your average family car filled with your average dad and mom and the kids.
Maybe the kid are fussing at each other, but they're probably looking at you and your motorcycle.
Sometimes they smile and wave and other times they just stare. You look at their faces and see that look. It's a look that says if they could trade places with you - suddenly be transformed into licensed motorcycle operators with bikes just like yours - they'd give up their window seat in the back instantly and forever.
Then Dad turns and, if you look closely, you can see the same yearning in his face.
Maybe he's fed up with the yammering of the kids or maybe he's going somewhere he doesn't want to go.
Maybe he's got a motorcycle of his own in the garage at home and seeing you on your bike reminds him of how he'd rather be riding free instead of stuck in a stuffy steel box on four wheels.
But more likely, he's always wanted to ride but never had the time or the energy or the nerve to get into motorcycling. Never mind the reasons. All that matters at the moment is that he would change places with you just as quickly has his kids would.
The scene changes and you're riding along a residential street and suddenly you notice that your passage is a sort of minor neighborhood event.
Kids on bicycles watch admiringly as you ride by.
Their parents look up from their lawnmowers or sprinklers or other yardwork to take note of your passage.
It's an extraordinary car that gets that kind of attention just rolling down the street, but almost any motorcyclist can expect it, even if his bike is well-muffled and whisper-quiet.
And there and there you can see that look again. That look that reminds you you're doing something special. Something infinitely more fun than what anybody else is doing.
The scene changes again and you're riding down the interstate. Up ahead in the distance, through the shimmering waves of summer heat, you see the single headlight of another bike approaching.
Your eyes include the light in their scan of the scene ahead and details of a riding and motorcycle begin to materialize around it. You know that across the median and down the road the other rider is probably watching you and your bike take shape around the white fire of your headlight.
Just before you meet, you see the other rider's left hand come up in a friendly wave and, almost without thinking, you return the greeting.
So why did he wave and why did it seem so natural to wave back at this complete stranger? Chances are, if you knew the guy, you might not even like him.
You don't see car drivers waving at each other as they meet on the highway. If you met the other rider on a sidewalk or in an elevator, you wouldn't exchange greetings.
The reason for the wave and the admiring looks is the inescapable fact that, when you ride a motorcycle, every ride is an adventure, whether it's a transcontinental journey or a trip to the store for a loaf of bread.
Most non-riders sense it intuitively and it's practically an article of faith for those who ride.
Those who ride take a greater risk than those who don't.
But then, how many car drivers look forward to the drive to work and back or find themselves laughing out loud at the sheer joy of the road on a sunny day?