Psycho Killer ... Qu'est-ce que c'est ... Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better ... Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, away oh oh oh
I playfully call it ‘psycho’ therapy, dealing with the plentiful talking heads during a week’s work … something that cures a racing mind and soothes my often-restless soul.
To be honest I have always been a loner … group rides, rides with friends … they have their place.
But it is those solo two-wheeled jaunts, the smell of gasoline, and oil as it heats up, the feel of rubber on asphalt in sharp turns – grips and slips, the roar of a twin hitting top gear at high revs early in the morning before cagers congest the streets … and the sound of my favorite tunes filling my helmet and mind with positive bliss as I watch the tach needle bob up and down.
It’s a freedom and luxury that is often sidelined by a busy week’s work of shooting, editing, writing and designing.
But all it takes is 30 minutes on my Thruxton to make it all go away.
My co-riders on the trip are Telegram Sam (Bauhaus), Ziggy Stardust (Bowie), The Crusher (Ramones), a Brass Monkey (Beastie Boys), a Rock Lobster from Planet Claire (B-52s), and a Psycho Killer (Talking Heads).
Strange seat fellows, yes … everyone has their own soundtrack to life.
Speed is great, but after 30 years of riding, it’s not the goal or the source of my adrenalin fix. Rather watching life go by crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, cruising down the West Side Hwy, or even negotiating the pothole maze that predominates the bowels of Brooklyn – as a relatively new New Yorker, that’s my moto happiness, my reward for three years in the city.
Motoveli magazine, Issue 2 — Rahoul Ghose
But it is those solo two-wheeled jaunts, the smell of gasoline, and oil as it heats up, the feel of rubber on asphalt in sharp turns – grips and slips, the roar of a twin hitting top gear at high revs ...
Helmet bobbing to the music at a traffic light, exchanging nods with a rider across the way … acknowledging the shared experience no matter what you ride or who you are. It’s a moment. A refreshing hint that you’re alive and never alone.
The song list switches to more modern offerings … Daughter’s ‘Doing the Right Thing’ … everything seems to go by in slow motion, pedestrians on the sidewalk in Williamsburg glued to their phone, cars cutting across my path to get to their destination 30 seconds faster.
My first year here would have brought out a stream of colorful language for the slight, with or without the sound-dampening shelter of a fullface helmet and faceshield. Now it doesn’t faze … Where is My Mind?, the Pixies pose in thumping tones and wailing calls … ‘Stop!’. It’s back to the smell of that engine, now fully heated up. A quick glance in the bar-end mirror and a spirited turn up N 14th, past ROOT Studio where the Brooklyn Invitational set up for its tenth year last month.
Even the return ride on the BQE has its high points, lane-splitting to locals A Place to Bury Strangers, who rip though ‘Ocean’ and take a few more months off the warranty on my ear drums.
The two-wheeled soundscape turns in home … my therapy for the day is complete.
This piece appears in print in Motoveli Magazine, Issue 2. More information available at motoveli.com or on social media at: .