10:37am | I’ve been driving a motorcycle1 for over 20 years now, but in the third of that time I’ve been doing so in Long Beach, I have not been able to help noticing what for a long time seemed to me quite strange: almost every time I pass by another motorcyclist, I receive some gesture of solidarity.
While this may not be strictly a Long Beach thing2, it’s a curious phenomenon. Why does there exist a sense of brotherhood3 simply because two people have chosen the same means of transportation?
I’m sure I don’t get it, and so until recently most of the time when I would pass one of my supposed brethren and he would wave or do this little thing with his hand that is somewhere between a peace sign and the hand signal for “I’m slowing down,” I would just look slightly confused. Sometimes I nod in spite of my puzzlement, because we’re programmed social animals, and the most natural thing for most of us to do when greeted is to return the greeting.
This veers into an area of life called phatic communication: language used for the purposes of social interaction rather than to convey information. It’s the “How are you?” that isn’t really an inquiry into the other’s well being but just another way of saying “Hi”—or more to the point, of making an ostensibly friendly acknowledgement of the other’s presence to your consciousness.
I am a particularly linguistic animal among the linguistic herd that is humanity, and I have spent a lifetime working rather hard to say what I mean and mean what I say. Thus there has always been something about phatic communication that rubs me the wrong way. When, despite my best intentions, I have uttered “How are you?”—or its typical counterpart response: “Fine”—where I don’t truly mean it, I’ve been exceedingly annoyed at myself. And so you can probably understand why a stranger waving to me simply because we’re both on two wheels has often drawn an uncomprehending stare.
But I’ve started to see things a bit differently. Granted, I still don’t fully get it, but now I’m processing the exchange as being about the desire for commonality.
A cliché in these United States: “There’s more that unites us than there is that divides us.” Whether or not this is a matter of fact, it’s popularity as a statement is probably a good barometer of our desire for fraternity, for being shipmates in the same big boat. There’s a reason the highest concentration of the world’s Clippers fans—and even Lakers fans4—reside in the L.A. area: because these teams afford those of us in the same geographical boat a ready chance to bond over a common rooting interest.
Not dissimilarly, when Henry Honda and Kyle Kawasaki see me pottering by on my little Yamaha, I guess they relate. Unlike the majority of motorists, we’re having an exposed driving experience—exposed to more peril, to the elements, and to each other. They empathize. And they let me know. We’re in this together.
Maybe it’s the Xmas season (I’m kind of a sucker for it), but even though it feels a bit funny, maybe I’ll start responding. After all, there are a lot worse things than bonding, even if it’s over the inconsequential.
Footnotes
1A motorscooter, actually, but legally that’s a motorcycle, so just go with it.
2Considering there is something of a motorcycle subculture here, it might be.
3Forgive the patriarchal linguistic bias here, which in some instances embeds so deep in the language that it’s quite troublesome to avoid. However, at least here it’s not without non-sexist logic, as most all motorcycle riders are male.
4“Even” because the Lakers have been so good for so long that the Lakers’ appeal is broader, and many people are fans simply because the brand represents excellence.