When you have a motorcycle, you can ride across the bridge over the Illinois River at Peoria on an August Sunday dawn, up in the air with three separate flocks of Canada geese, while singing "Ripple" over and over into the wind. (Just the "la-la-la" part, because that song doesn't need words.) Suddenly you'll think of everyone you love and remember everything that's ever been done and said and you'll think, "If all that led to me being here this morning, maybe everything will turn out all right after all." You'll have to stop singing Ripple, for fear that your goggles will fill with tears if you don't.
If you don't have a motorcycle, there's a danger that could never happen to you.
That's a risk that I, for one, am not willing to take.