The Wave

Nobody told me about it.

The biker wave.

Have you seen it?

Stick out your arm, low by your waist with your hand kinda flat like you’re gonna pet your dog. If you’re feeling a little adventurous, stick out two fingers.

That’s it.

Unfortunately, nobody told me about it.

So last summer, when I finally felt confident enough to acknowledge other riders, I was waving like Forrest at Lieutenant Dan every time a bike went by.

I’m better now. Really.

But sometimes, I’m just so goddamn happy to be riding I still cut loose and wave, all big and goofy.
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Of course, there are some who would not deign to wave at the likes of me and the aforementioned zippy Suzuki.

The angry minority of bikers who refuse to wave have two things in common: they ride Harleys and they have teeny tiny wieners.

Okay, maybe the tiny wiener thing is pure speculation on my part, but they have to be angry over something and having a tiny wiener is as likely a reason as any, don’t you think?

In truth, it’s a very small percentage of Harley riders who refuse to acknowledge non-Harley riding bikers.

All the Harley guys I know are friendly and have ginormous wieners (again with the speculation. Gee, isn’t this fun?)

Seriously, it’s just plain silly to be divisive over something as pure and blissful as riding a motorcycle.
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The bus driver I pass every morning on my way out of the subdivision. The large, sad-eyed old man who sits behind the security desk in the lobby of my office building. The street vendor at the corner of Madison and Wacker selling copies of the Sun-Times.

I smile and wave at these people pretty much every day.

It’s friendly, yes.

But on a deeper level, it’s a way of acknowledging our humanity, our common bond.

There are two types of people: uniters and dividers. Uniters always see the things they have in common with others; the dividers only see the differences.

Most days I try to be a uniter. Thus the wave.
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I am reading: Nothing :(
I am listening to: Black Eyed Peas – Pump It
And I am: Waving