Motorcyclist's Calendar
Motorcyclist’s calendar
LEANINGS
Peter Egan
ONE FINE DAY LAST APRIL, THE WIND suddenly quit blowing, the leaden skies slid east, the cold rain lifted and the sun came out. A week of rain had washed all the salt off the roads and they were clean and dry.
I looked out my window as I shaved in the morning, stared at the sun beaming down on impossible grass the color of Easter basket lining, turned to my befoamed visage in the mirror and said, simply, “It’s Gassing Day.”
And so it was. One by one, I started up my four motorcycles and took them to the gas station to put new fuel in their tanks. I rode over to a Mobil station in the nearby village of Brooklyn, Wisconsin, because it has pumps that take credit cards outdoors, so you don’t have to go inside to pay, standing in line behind some whiskey-voiced woman with a spare cigarette behind her ear who’s buying an endless succession of scratch-off lottery tickets.
Anyway, I got all the bikes gassed up, but when the job was done I felt somehow incomplete. It seemed a day as significant as the firing up and fueling of motorcycles in spring should be accompanied by some sort of gala festival or solemn ceremony to commemorate the moment.
The Pagans knew how to do this stuff, after all. They’d break into song and dance at the slightest provocation by Nature: winter solstice, summer solstice, running of the smelt, the festival of the turnip harvest, the molting of the vipers, etc. A few of them still linger on in Western culture. Until only a few decades ago, people in my hometown still danced around a maypole on May Day. What was that all about? An ancient spring fertility ritual, no doubt, whose symbolism modesty prevents me from even imagining.
What motorcyclists need, it seems to me, are a whole new set of festivals and holidays that have real meaning in our calendar lives, now that television and too much ambient light have made us largely unaware of the movements of planets and stars.
I’m open to suggestions before the calendar actually gets printed, but here are a few possibilities:
Gassing Day: Yes, let’s start with the one I’ve already mentioned. This could be a movable holiday, subject to weather, held on the first Thursday in April in northern climes, earlier elsewhere, and not at all in Florida or Southern California, where every day is Gassing Day. Parties held on Gassing Day should probably feature some high-octane libation, such as aquavit or mescal, which could be ceremonially tossed onto a bonfire, when not being downed, causing a huge flame-up and much applause, while symbolizing the miracle of combustion. Gifts of highquality neoprene fuel line and seethrough filters could be exchanged, as well as exquisitely crafted petcocks.
St. Siebkens Day: Usually celebrated the second weekend in June. This is a day many of us celebrate each year at Siebkens Hotel in Elkhart Lake on the weekend of the Superbike races. People in other parts of the country will have to pick a favorite racetrack, a notable race and a good hotel. Siebkens has an outdoor bar set up behind the courtyard of their charmingly old-fashioned hotel, so that guests can park their bikes along the alleyway across from the tables and bar. On a warm night, with a drink in your hand, old friends gathering and a row of 40 or 50 bikes to examine under the festive lights, it’s easy to see why the Greeks realized the gods occasionally relent and shower us with divine favor. Thanks should be given. I usually overtip the bartenders, and in the morning drink only strong coffee with aspirin, leaving my breakfast untouched as an offering to St. Siebken.
TT Senior Sunday: Unfortunately very close to St. Siebkens Day, it’s the holiest day in all motorcycling, marking the running of the Tourist Trophy Senior on the Isle of Man. Those who cannot attend are encouraged to hoist a pint of something dark and observe a moment of silence for those lost in the last great J real roadrace on Earth. It is also a day of atonement and pardon, in which American fans are admonished to forgive Carl Fogarty for complaining about Daytonahe did, after all, set a lap record on the Island when most Superbike riders wouldn’t even go near the place.
The Feast of St. Taglioni: Observed mainly by Ducatisti on the good Doctor’s birthday, this important feast, second only to TT Senior Sunday, is normally celebrated with fast rides on red bikes and symposia on desmodromics followed by a traditional dinner of pasta putanesca washed down with a good Barolo. Arias from Rossini, Verdi and Puccini should be sung, or at least listened to.
Wearin’ o’ the Aerostich: A postharvest celebration marking the first day of autumn on which you go for a ride and turn around after two miles to put on warmer clothes. Hot chocolate with marshmallows is the customary sacramental drink, after a steaming shower that turns your skin red.
Anointing of the Gas Tank: This marks the end of our ecclesiastical motorcycling year and is a time for reflection and thinking of moving to a warmer climate. While any layman can add Sta-Bil to a gas tank, this ceremony is best performed by someone with big, beefy arms who can shake the whole bike to mix the stabilizer in with the fuel. Any dirge or requiem can be used for background music. A shroud should be pulled over each motorcycle, unless the bike needs a total rebuild. Now’s the time.
Ah, I’ve run out of room, without even getting to the Seven Holy Days of Daytona or the Adoration of the Chromed Accessories in Sturgis. Next time. □
