You never forget a cold ride according to Peter Egan, one of my favorite writers. With everything exposed to the wind at speed, the cold has a way of sharpening your senses and etching the experience forever in your memory. It was February and an ideal time to invite Scott, my 23 year old son, to do a road trip to the Texas Hill Country on the back of my BMW. We were forging a new relationship and I thought a bonding experience was just what we needed. Riding is life for me and this was a way of sharing my two wheeled world of adventure with him.
To my surprise and delight he accepted, so I set about getting him equipped for the ride. This involved sharing some of my protective riding gear because I promised my wife that I would bring him back with all of his limbs still attached. There are greater fears than my personal safety and crashing your expensive German bike after all. Thankfully, my wife is very supportive of my getting on a machine with 7 gallons of flammable liquid between my legs because it makes me a better person. Like the T-shirts says, “You never see a motorcycle parked outside of a psychiatrist’s office.”
When you’re a younger and beginning rider, it is so thrilling that you will put up with all kinds of creature discomforts. You’ll bend over in the child yoga position for hours on a sport bike with low handlebars. You’ll ride on seats designed by manufacturers to look good in the showroom that will set your rear end on fire after a few miles. This is also known as “Monkey Butt” in biker speak. When you get older and wiser, comfort on the ride becomes more important. The Germans have figured this out, so my BMW has heated hand grips and heated seats. The cold ride is when you want a simmering fire under your butt. Not being satisfied with the seat that came on the bike, I bought a more comfortable rider and passenger seat.
At this point it is important to note that the electrical connectors on the new seats were different so I had only changed the wiring for the front seat. When I pointed this out to Scott and offered to fix the wiring for the back seat, he just said, “Nah, I can handle it.” Purely out of respect, I didn’t argue or insist. After all, he is an adult and can make his own decisions. A rider should choose his gear. Who am I to interfere?
We took off on a crisp, beautiful Saturday morning to make a two day loop of the Texas Hill Country backroads. Scott is a great passenger because he has the two important qualities required. One, trust the one piloting the bike and two, sit still like a sack of potatoes. Motorcycles are sensitive to weight and position going around a corner. This is not where you need “help.” There is a certain joy when someone places their trust in you as a capable adventure guide; particularly when that person is your son. We were having a good time on the road where whatever you were worrying about is in a world behind you.
We had a great lunch stop in Llano and headed toward the great roads known as the Three Sisters also known as the Swiss Alps of Texas. Food always tastes better on the road. Drive up in a car and you get one flavor. Ride up on a motorcycle and it’s a different deal because you risked your life to get there. Anyway, while we were having lunch a cold front blew through. In Texas, the air temperature can drop more than 20 degrees in 20 minutes. Plus, there is a thing called wind chill that is greatly enhanced on a motorcycle. What I’m saying is that it got cold in a hurry.
The BMW has luggage so I brought my cold weather gear and put more if it on before we hit the road again. One of these is an electric vest that plugs into the bike. Essentially, you’re wearing an electric blanket that keeps your upper body toasty warm. Again, out of deference and respect for Scott I ask if he needs more gear which he declines. By this time, I’m thinking Scott is Jeremiah Johnson capable of climbing mountains in snow and howling winds. We took off down highway 16 and I dialed up the speed figuring we needed to get there faster. Riding only with a wool Army jacket in younger days proved that time of exposure to the cold matters more than speed. Go as fast as you can before you start feeling like a mannequin.
We couldn’t communicate from helmet to helmet, so I used hand signals to ask if he was OK. Seeing the outside temperature gauge on the bike display in the low 40 degrees by then, I wondered how he was doing. Without electric gear and layers of Dad bod fat, he must be an icicle inside an igloo in a blizzard. Really cold. Every time I held out a thumbs up though, he gave me the same. All good then. Hit the cruise button and ride on.
Somewhere along the way, my pea sized brain started carving back the original plan to go all the way to our intended destination. It was getting colder as we went along, even by my standards of having ridden in near freezing conditions. When the dashboard starts flashing that snowflake sign, that’s when you know. So, I made a command decision to stop in Kerrville first at a Starbucks for hot liquids, then the most obvious motel with heated rooms. This was not a time for scouting a view or finer amenities. As my frozen joints creaked getting off the bike, I noticed that Scott was not saying much. Clearly, this was a rite of passage moment when the toughness of the son exceeds that of the father. Memorable moments happen like that in parking lots apparently. Where is the string quartet and fireplace glow when you need them?
When you’re numb from cold everything slows down. Three hours feels like three days to thaw out. Then somewhere along, you realize your reaction time has been compromised while riding around other cars, trees, turns and buildings for who knows how long. For men on motorcycles, it’s hard to know when to quit, especially when your son is giving no indication of discomfort. It’s like two riders buzzing along both thinking that the other is setting the pace. A certain kind of shame to be avoided at all costs.
Our shortened trip with a stay in a one star motel turned out to be an opportunity to talk about life and connect with each other. This is gold for a father’s heart when your kids’ become adults and are moving on and away with their own lives. On a motorcycle trip there is a unique combination of the spoken, punctuated by the unspoken experience of risk and adventure. You discover things like the true level of trust. Before the BMW, I rode a sport bike capable of 172 miles per hour. It had explosive passing power, so when navigating traffic, you could pull the trigger and cannon ball past anything. Now on a touring bike with your son on the back, you had to plot these moves more carefully. On a weaving two lane road your passing opportunities are limited so after making a close call, I found myself at a head to head closing speed of 150 miles per hour with an oncoming car. Scott never flinched while I was thinking, “probably should not do that again.” This was possibly worse than the time I lost him as a 10 year old in NY on a business trip (this remained classified between us for years). Being keenly aware, he later commented that while he could clearly see the danger, he trusted that I knew what I was doing. Well, between he and my long suffering wife, that makes one of us.
In later years, your adult children start sharing their version of past experiences. Often, this is very different than your perception as a parent. This trip was no exception. It’s fun to explore this revisionist history to cement an even deeper friendship. You never forget the cold rides with those who warm your heart.
Here’s Scott’s version.
Back when I was a teenager, my dad wanted to take a motorcycle trip one weekend. We planned it ahead of time because I distinctly remember when we were talking about it he said with a kind of knowing smile, “You always remember the cold rides son.” I just sorta laughed it off and didn’t think much of it. So, when it came time to get ready for the trip, we went out to the garage to get the bike ready. The thing about my dad is that he gets ready for motorcycle trips the way NASA engineers prepare for space shuttle launches. It’s a very particular and very precise process where you have to have all the right equipment which was fascinating to watch. While I’m quietly observing him messing with the seats, he turns to me and asks, “Hey, do you want me to plug in your seat warmer?” Being young, full of bravado and thinking I’m an invincible teenager and all that stuff I said, “No dad I’ll be fine.” You know I’m the guy who wears T-shirts in the winter; it’s no problem for me. In a way that was really me trying to show him that I was a tough guy like he was a tough guy because my dad was one of these guys who didn’t show a lot of pain or discomfort, particularly on motorcycle rides. When we were doing anything, I learned from a young age that you follow the example of the chief which is what I still call him. What that means is that if he’s not complaining, you’re not complaining. I don’t know how I internalized that because he never articulated it at any point. It just was.
When I said, “No, I’m good” he paused which for him was unusual and said with a squint, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yeah of course, it’s fine” And he said, “Well I hope you don’t mind if I plug in my seat warmer.” At that point, there was just this little twinge of doubt wondering if I’d made the right choice but it was too late to back down.
We took off and it was OK up until we got on the highway for 20 or 30 minutes, then it was like Mike Tyson says, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” When the wind chill hit, two things occurred to me. One, the equipment I had on did not block the wind nearly enough with me only wearing jeans and sneakers down below. Two, I was determined not to say anything figuring the ride wouldn’t be that long. I’ll be alright.
About the time we got near Kerrville I realized that I had made a huge mistake. I could not feel the lower half my body. When you’re moving on a motorcycle you don’t notice it as quickly, but the cold goes all the way into your bones. Ever committed, I was not going to say a word because he was acting like it was the middle of summer, totally unbothered, not phased at all showing no indication of being the least bit uncomfortable. So, I just kept my mouth shut while my thoughts went from, “I might lose a toe but we can survive this” to, “This is not good; I really hope we stop soon because I don’t think I can make it.”
When we stopped, the relief that washed over me was palpable, yet I was still trying not to let my pain show. He hopped off the bike like butter, acting like it was just another day. I peeled myself off and remember distinctly the feeling of tingles and razor blades. I was still trying to put on a good show but I was thinking in the back of my head that he has got to be cold and looked for any sign that he feels this on some level. And… it wasn’t there. Taking off his helmet, he said, “What a great ride!” while through gritted teeth I said, “It’s all good.”
When we get inside, he must have known that I was not comfortable but we’re not showing or acknowledging it. It wasn’t until he took off his jacket and I saw something I didn’t recognize that he didn’t usually have on. It looked like a lining with a plug and I asked him, “Hey what’s that thing you’re messing with?” And he said, “Oh this? It’s my jacket warmer that works like an electric blanket.” At that point, I just cracked and said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. OK, you were talking about seat warmers and you’ve had an electric blanket on this whole time?!” He said, “What do you mean? Are you cold?” And at that point the whole illusion fell apart and he howled with laughter because he knew. He knew how cold I was and said, “Why didn’t you say anything?” And I said, “Because, I thought we were in the same boat, but you’re over here with your ‘old man tricks’ wearing an electric blanket in your jacket while I’m back here with teenage bravado losing my legs.”
We had a good laugh about it and I remembered his point, “You never forget the cold rides” because I never forgot that one. This spoke to a phrase he’s fond of, “Age and treachery trumps youthful exuberance every time.” I guess the lesson in that is, always say, “Yes” when asked if you want your seat warmer plugged in. And, don’t try to be a tough guy.