The Truth

I found this in a dirt bike magazine but it easily applies to any biking.

One universal truth

It's always better to go riding.

Trust me on this one. It's taken me years of mistakes to realize that universal truths as pure and simple and unassailable as this are rare. If you're trying to decide whether you should ride this weekend, the answer is always the same. Ride. It's who you are, it's what you do and it's how you renew.
This is the case 100 percent of the time. Let me give you examples of the worst reasons for not riding:

I CAN'T AFFORD IT. Yeah, yeah, your 401(k) is in the dumpster. Big deal. What you really mean is that you're stressed out because the man on Channel Four says you might lose your job, or that you might not be able to find a job, or something else that gets you to watch TV and worry. Stress is the enemy, not finances. Riding cures stress. For at least two hours, the man on Channel Four will disappear, and your head will be filled with rocks, roots and things that are real. The man on Channel Four can't hurt you if you don't let him in your head.

I'M HURT. No, you're not. There are guys with missing arms and legs who ride all the time. They would love to have a joint that hurts. If you're so injured that you can't crawl across the garage floor and drag yourself onto your bike, then I apologize. But you and I both now that's not the case. You're just afraid that your buddy who doesn't hurt as much will beat you to the top of Dead Rat Canyon and you'll have to hear about it all the way home. It's much better than hearing about how he beat your other buddy because you weren't there.

IT'S MY WIFE'S BIRTHDAY. Give her the gift of peace. This woman married you for a reason. Who knows what she was thinking? But I promise you that she will be a happier woman if you ride and let her be free to go to the day spa. If you spend the day gazing into her eyes and professing your love, you might as well report to divorce court right now. The secret to a long, happy marriage is long, happy periods apart

I RIDE TOO MUCH. Who told you that? Was it the same person who told you that your lawn needs to look better, that your car needs to be washed or that your Christmas lights shouldn't be up in February? Was it the little man in your head who thinks that you eat too much junk, that you don't make enough money and you aren't attractive enough? Bounce that little creep out of your skull in those Lucerne Valley truck whoops; the ones with all the other little creeps lying along the trail.

I'M OUT OF SHAPE. Let's ignore the obviously circular logic here. Being out of shape is the best thing that can happen to a man. Being out of shape is a license to sweat, suffer and torture yourself in a delightful way. Being out of shape is a divine gift to mankind that lends legitimacy to the otherwise absurd activities that fuel us.

I DON'T HAVE THE TIME. Time is all you have. It's the one thing that we were given to use as we choose. You can spend it sitting in traffic or watching TV. You can spend it staring at a little video-game man who's having more of a life than you are. You can spend it working yourself into a lifeless shell. Or you can spend it soaring over trails in a fashion that is more like flying than flying itself (ask any pilot who rides). Just understand that it is your choice.

MY BIKE'S BROKEN. Who broke it? Did it just break itself while you were out? Your bike is your friend, and leaving it broken is like leaving your loved ones in a burning house. It's not done. I'll forgive you if you broke your bike today. But if you broke it yesterday and nothing has been done, you should be turned in to the authorities.

I DON'T HAVE ANYONE TO RIDE WITH. What kind of losers do you have for friends? If you've fallen into a bad group, then you need to get out before it's too late. What do they do on weekends? Bowl? Do they wear bowling shirts with their names monogrammed on the sleeves? Promise me that if you see me in a bowling alley on a day I could be riding, you'll kill me. I give you permission.

I WAS INVITED TO THE WHITE HOUSE. What better place to ride? If the Secret Service won't let you unload on the White House lawn, then politely return the invitation and drive to the Hatfield-McCoy trails in West Virginia. They aren't that far.

I WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS. Aliens ride, too. I'm sure of it. Why else would they hang out in the desert and in secluded rural areas? Chances are you ran across the course pre-runners for the Venus to Dakar rally and they were afraid that you would ask for their environmental impact study. Make friends. Start a conversion about Husabergs. I'm almost certain that the FE570 is from outer space.

Ron Lawson – DirtBike Magazine