I’ve owned my motorcycle now for over 16 months and it still does not have a name. I don’t mean the name the manufacturer has given it—manufacturers like to come up with macho, threatening names, like Intruder, Rebel, Bandit, and Savage—but a personal name like how one names a pet, a horse, or a guitar. B. B. King named his guitar Lucille, and Stevie Ray Vaughan named his Lenny. Sylvia Plath named her childhood horse Ariel, which is a great name because it means Lion of God in Hebrew and is also the name of the spirit character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Wordsworth named the home that he and his sister Dorothy shared Dove Cottage, or perhaps it was already named that when they acquired it. At any rate, I’ve been thinking about the act of naming, and specifically about possible good names for my BMW f650GS. Don’t think I’m weird—not at least for desiring to name my bike—for it’s a common practice, and I’m remiss in not providing one these past 16 months.

Is naming the ultimate act of possession in imposing an identity upon an object, or a gesture of respect in attempting to recognize something’s essential character? We name our children, or most of us do. (Former U.S. alpine skier Picabo Street was reportedly allowed as a child to name herself. We can only guess what her favourite childhood game was.) The baby arrives, we take a look, we say, “It looks like a John” or “a Jane,” or we go searching through baby name books for something that “sounds right.” God forbid we name our child after a T.V. character, although I heard that Judy Collins’ character name Alexis spiked in popularity during Dynasty’s run as a hit series through the 1980’s. Shame on those parents! I feel sorry for all Alexis’s of the world.

But back to motorcycles. The worst name for a motorcycle I’ve ever heard was Matilda. Ugh! I’m not sure if the owner thought she was dancing while riding or there was some other significance. The best name I’ve heard is Bonnie. The bike is a Triumph Bonneville, which is already a pretty cool name, so called after the Bonneville salt flats, of course, but more, the owner is a bagpiper, and in Scots Bonnie means “beautiful.” It is a pretty good-looking bike too, with a burgundy racing stipe down the middle of a matte black gas tank. But despite all this ruminating, I’m still at a loss for a name for my bike.

You can’t name your bike some literary or mythical name like Rocinante or Pegasus without eliciting some eye-rolling. A good name for a bike is both brilliant and understated at the same time. Not understated enough and it’s pretentious; too understated and it’s mundane, not in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way like my pet turtle Doug but just boring! With this many qualifications to fill for a good name, is it any wonder I’m having a hard time?

Once I thought I had it. Late one night in an intoxicated state it came to me in a blinding epiphany: I could name the bike after the high-school girlfriend who was supposed to ride with me across the country 30-odd years ago. I thought it was perfect; it would be like travelling back in time to complete an unfulfilled dream. And what isn’t a motorcycle but some sort of time-travel machine? I wouldn’t use her first name because that would be too weird, too literal, and besides, Carol just isn’t a very good name for a bike. But her middle name, Shelby, might just work. (Her father was a huge car fanatic and you can probably guess who won the Indy 500 the year she was born.) Then I discovered that Shelby means “sweet and loyal,” and that was that—Shelby it would be. I even came across a reference to a derivative of it in Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The universe seemed to be sending me a clear sign.

I know what you’re thinking: What did my wife think of this idea, and why didn’t I see the pitfall of this name at outset? Intoxicated, I said. As in “not thinking clearly.” No, this name clearly would not work, and besides, and more importantly, the few times I’d actually tried it on it just didn’t feel right. Naming is like writing poetry. You work by intuition and sense, not logic, and no matter how right a name might seem to the rational or intoxicated mind, if it doesn’t feel right in the clear sobriety of day, it’s not the right name. So I was back to square one.

Another thought I had was that the bike doesn’t have to be female. Why does it have to have a woman’s name? I’ve never referred to my bike or any other piece of machinery using the feminine pronoun. Giving the bike a gender does indicate something about the nature of my relationship with it, and the truth is, the relationship I have with my bike is not romantic. It’s not like I’m making love to my motorcycle, despite my wife’s suggestion from time to time to “Fuck the bike!” No, that relationship could equally be one of companionship, the perfect travel partner or riding buddy. But in the end, I decided that despite that logic, the intimacy and trust between a hot-blooded hetero man and his bike needs a female name, just not one of a former girlfriend if that man is married.

Sometimes a biker names a bike by playing on the manufacturer’s name, like the Bonnie example above. Ted Bishop has named his Italian-made Ducati Monster “Il Monstro.” Thinking along these lines, I thought of the GS of my bike and Giselle immediately came to mind—a good sign. It derives from the Germanic word “gisil,” meaning “pledge,” so a name my wife could get behind. It has French connotations—a nod to my home province—and best of all, is soft, suiting the 650 single, which is such a forgiving bike. If you can think of a better name, please send your suggestions or leave a comment, but for now, Giselle is the working name and starting to stick.

Let’s talk about fear. I believe there is good fear and bad fear. Good fear keeps you safe; bad fear can kill you.

On the second day of my training course, we were shown how to change gears. Two cones were placed at either end of the parking lot, about 100 metres between them, and we were to ride down the straight, change into second, then brake, change back into first, then do the U-turn and head back the other way. Sounds basic, I know, but when you’re learning . . .  Anyway, the tough bit wasn’t changing gears. As you might guess, it was that U-turn, especially with a chain-link fence bordering the turn. The instructor said “Don’t look at the fence.” This would cause target fixation and make you steer into it. But of course, soon after we starting looping, one of the students got going too fast in second, panicked, froze, tried to do the turn, looked at the fence, and drove into it. This is an example of bad fear. 

The bike had cosmetic damage and the student went off to the hospital to have his shoulder checked. Turns out there was only minor damage there too but he had to pull out of our group and join another to complete the course. I asked after him later and the instructor said he was doing fine but “still thinking about it,” meaning he’d lost his confidence. Bad fear can hang around a long time and mess with your riding. 

For this reason, I’ve never watched those motorcycle crash compilations on YouTube. I don’t want to get spooked, and when you are a new rider you have fledgling confidence that needs to be protected and nurtured. Once when I was going through a roundabout, I felt the back end slide. Fortunately, I wasn’t going very fast. I immediately straightened up the bike and slowed to the side of the circle. I was thinking about that slide when I leaned the bike over later in the ride on an off ramp. It took me a day or two to regain my confidence in leaning the bike again. Before I did my road test, I did a private lesson to prepare. That instructor said I was a “natural rider.” When I asked what that means he said I lean with the bike. Many new riders get “crossed-up,” meaning they lean opposite to the angle of the bike because they are scared. 

But these incidents are minor. Low-side slides are the “easy” kind of accident to have. The bike slides out from under you and you and the bike slide it out. If you’ve got good gear on and don’t slide into traffic or an object, you can probably walk away from that accident with only a bruised ego. The real danger in riding are high-side accidents when you get launched over the bike, and the very real threat of landing in oncoming traffic or the back of a vehicle. Good fear helps avoid this by telling you when you’re pushing your limits. Jim Hyde of Rawhyde Adventure ures Off-Road Training says you should never ride at more than 80% of your limits. Leave a little buffer for the unexpected, he advises. Good fear will tell you when you’re approaching your limits. 

That said, I believe it’s important to get outside your comfort zone from time to time. I’ve put over 4000 kilometres on my bike this summer riding with the club, but I was still spooked by the prospect of riding at night and in the rain.  My first solo ride—the morning after I got my licence—began in torrential rain and ended with several hours of night-riding at highway speed. When I pulled into the driveway, I was a different rider. That doesn’t mean I will henceforth be mindless of the risk of hydroplaning or reduced vision at night, but a little more confident in those situations. And confidence is a good thing. It keeps bad fear at bay. 

Let’s admit it: some of the fun of riding comes from fear, that stomach-in-the-mouth feeling reminiscent of the fun-ride at the fair, but where the risk is real and not merely perceived. The goal is to ride that line of excitement but stay safe, or as safe as possible. Paramount is to have confidence in your bike. I knew my front tire was getting old so recently changed it. In the back of my mind was the thought of a blowout at highway speed or hydroplaning in rain. You also need to have confidence in your skills. This comes not just with road experience but targeted practice. When we were learning emergency braking, I got over-confident and grabbed rather than squeezed the front brake. Before I could say “Bob’s your uncle” the bike was under me with gas leaking onto the asphalt. (Fortunately it was the school’s bike which, by the looks of it, had been dropped more than a few times.) But I was still thinking of that incident when I did my closed circuit test and overshot the mark on the emergency brake test. I have since done some practice braking on my bike but need a partner to practice at higher speeds. That is on my list before the end of this season. Targeted practice develops muscle memory and muscle memory  supplants bad fear when there’s a real emergency. 

But all of this is rather grim to think about on such a beautiful sunny Saturday. I think I’ll hop on my bike and go for a little ride. If we thought too much about fear, we’d never swing a leg over the saddle. A little thought, however, can help keep us safe. 

Feel free to comment. The question in the title is genuine. 

I spend a lot of time browsing online motorcycle stores. A lot of time. Probably too much time, certainly given my budget. I convince myself that it’s research for when I have disposable income. So I’m pretty up on the accessories available that manufacturers promise will significantly enhance my riding experience. Recently I came across one that really did live up to its promise, although no promise was actually given because it’s something that cannot be found in a motorcycle store, real or online. It is under $100, has revolutionized my riding experience, and is protecting my health more than any other piece of gear or item in my day bag. Curious? It’s a custom ear plug.

Most bikers are well aware of the potential risk of permanently damaging your hearing through prolonged exposure to noise from the engine and the wind. Of the two, the wind is worse. Even the most expensive helmets, like mine, that are the product of extensive R & D time in the wind tunnel can do little to shut out Aeolus’s angry growl. Most bikers invest in cheap pharmacy bought foam plugs, the kind that are yellow or orange, that you twiddle between your index finger and thumb to compress into a narrow cone that expands once inside your ear. They aren’t bad, but they don’t compare to a custom plug. I know because I’ve tried both.

I’m also a drummer so I’m pretty familiar with ear plugs from that passion, and I’ve tried a variety. The waxy swimmer’s plug works well to cut out sound but is tricky to get in right, and if you’re riding in a group and the lead rider says “Let’s go!” you’ve got about 30 seconds to get earplugs, helmet, sunglasses, gloves, jacket (if it’s a hot day and you’ve taken it off) all back in or on, the bike started and in gear, and ready to pull out. You don’t want to be the doofus holding everyone up. So you want a earplug you can pop back in, no fuss, and know it’s going to work once you pull out and get up to highway speed.

I have a musician’s earplug, the kind with the filter running through the middle. It cost me about $250 bucks, but it doesn’t do squat to cut out wind. Wind must be the same frequency as human speech because the filter just lets it blast right through. I decided to invest in a full plug, and went to my audiologist to get it done. The appointment only took about half an hour. He made a mould of my ear canal and sent it off to the lab. Ten days later my plug was ready, in a colour that matches my jacket. (Bikers are extremely fashion conscious.) Because I’m completely deaf in one ear (the result of a mountain-climbing accident in my teens), I’m using the singular. The plug cost about $70, so double that if you’re not a freak like me. Companies like http://www.bigearinc.com/ probably offer custom plugs for less.

My first long ride with it last Saturday was down to Smuggler’s Notch in Vermont, a 550 km round trip, and it was heaven. Imagine driving 550 clicks in your car with your radio between stations and blasting loud static in your ears all day. That’s what it’s like without earplugs. Now imagine reaching out and pressing the button that turns off the radio leaving you in a cocoon of blissful silence. That’s like popping in custom ear plugs.

Suddenly your other senses, that have been deadened in a self-preservation sensory clench, come alive, especially the tactile sense. The sound of the engine is now just a slight buzz, so I have to feel the frequency of the engine more than hear it, and my butt tells me when to shift. Sight and smell are also heightened without the distraction of an all-encompassing noise. The absence of pain really is pleasure.

But beyond this immediate reward is the knowledge that my one good ear is safe. When it comes to safety, as you already know from a previous post, I throw machismo to the wind. Earplugs also reduce fatigue, which can lead to even more serious consequences. Custom ear plugs are comfortable, washable, reusable, and the most effective hearing protection available. If you ride, do yourself a favour and get yourself a pair.