by Guest Columnist Roxs Laurendeau
June 27, 2001

I have been a motorcyclist since 1965 when my father brought home a 50cc Honda. I was hooked! I would ride around our back yard giving the neighborhood kids rides. In 1970, when my husband and I were stationed in Japan, we would hop on our bikes and explore the countryside. It was and still is an economical mode of transportation for us. Thirty years later, we're still riding and enjoying the freedom of the road on two wheels.

When we stop for gasoline, strangers will strike up a conversation asking where we are headed or where we are from. Inevitably, we exchange information and many times the stranger will share their dream of motorcycling. Who would ever think stopping at the pumps would bind us closer as human beings sharing our passion for the road with complete strangers? One afternoon, I was at Yankee Candle checking out my favorite scent when an elderly gentleman in line behind me started a conversation. Seeing my leather coat and helmet in hand, he shared a few experiences and bikes he had in his younger years. He missed the freedom of touring on the bike and how young he felt when he was still riding. I told him when I ride I feel like I’m 18 years old again at 120 pounds, while in reality I'm a grandmother who has stopped for too many ice creams along the way.

Ice cream and coffee are a favorite excuse to take out the bike. But not to Northampton. I read in the paper about storeowners who resented the bikes gathering at the local ice cream parlor. The bikers intimidated people on the street, made loud noises revving their engines, fumes were nauseating customers and they were parking two bikes in one parking space. I thought that maybe some ruffians must have been making trouble. But at the ice cream parlor? Maybe some outlaw biker gang was throwing cigarette butts at the passersby and using profane language. Maybe these bikers were taking their cones and littering the sidewalk. Maybe those bad bikers were doing wheelies or hole shots in front of the stores and the fumes from the burning rubber was filtering into the stores. Maybe this could be a great photo op! I can see it now on the cover of Time. Ice cream melting over black leather coats and dusty dirty bikers crushing cones on innocent bystanders. Maybe there was a bar nearby and they were all getting popped and hanging around trying to pick up young college women. Maybe. But I had to see for myself. There are, after all, two sides to every story.

Because I needed to be incognito, I decided to take the car. This way I could observe the offenders and see just who this group of troublemakers were. After all, they are making us all look bad in the papers. I have a lot at stake. Women motorcyclists have been discriminated against by the very industry we support. Only recently can a woman buy a motorcycle magazine with in depth articles about maintenance or cost comparison facts without being subjected to Ms. Perfect Body draped over a magnificent machine. Not that we wouldn’t like to look like that but I find it difficult to imagine she could shift that bike in those heels. Also only recently can we find heavy quality riding gear made for a women’s figure or find gloves to fit our hands.

So I parked my car to stake out the establishment in question. Yes, there were motorcycles parked there and yes there were motorcyclists standing around eating what looked like ice cream. I observed that they were consuming different flavors and one had sprinkles on top of his cone. The woman looked like she was enjoying a pistachio cone. One man was holding a coffee cup but did not purchase ice cream. They in fact had parked two bikes in one parking space which is a common courtesy bikers observe to conserve spaces. Wait...it looked like someone told a funny story because everyone was laughing and smiling. I didn’t hear any cuss words but they were looking at each other’s motorcycles. They were wearing black leather riding gear and OK it does look intimating. But that leather will save their hide should a careless driver T-bone them. One of them left and their new friends watched. Yup, the bike looked and sounded like a Harley-Davidson. Some young riders pulled in with colorful paint jobs on their bikes. They had full-face helmets and you couldn't see their faces but they had T-shirts and shorts on with high top sneakers. They revved their engines as they downshifted to park. The younger riders were talking to the black leather riders. They were admiring one another's bikes and wait, yup, the young people went in for an ice cream. I guess we have a lot in common with the young people cuz they like the excuse for a ride to go get a creamie also. Here we go! I thought there may be trouble starting. Some shoppers walked by the biker crowd and stopped. Oh my, they had a conversation with the old AND the young riders! I watched for another hour and decided I better try another night, This must be the Friday night calm crowd.

I did see leather; I did hear a loud engine oh, delete that, it was a farmer on his John Deere coming down the street. They did park two in a parking space, however I did not see billowing smoke, hear or see rubber rip offs or Bobby Bad Biker intimidating anyone.

And so on three different occasions, I observed the trouble spot. Trouble enough that the good people of Northampton formed a committee to have motorcyclists park in another section of town and be banned from parking on Main Street. Trouble enough to echo clear out to Boston raising the hackles of motorcyclist rights organizations to investigate and once again be alerted to discrimination complaints on the western side of I-495. Trouble enough that the thought of parking two bikes in a space must be a crime and the storeowners want these offenders ticketed.

We are taught in motorcycle training courses to assume people in cages (cars) do not see us. We try make eye contact at an intersection before proceeding through. Have you ever tried to make eye contact with someone who is yakking on the phone and driving with the other hand? Oh I suppose it could be worse, gosh, pretty soon folks will start rolling through stop signs or jumping red lights.

Motorcyclists are a diverse group of people who share a common passion. Maybe you have traveled behind a biker and saw them wave to another bike passing by in the opposite direction. Maybe you have been stuck by the side of the road while everyone else seems to go on with their life passing you by as if you are invisible. A motorcyclist stuck on the road only waits until another biker comes by who will stop and help. We are ever diligent raising money for charities giving us a chance to help others while riding down the road with friends. We like our ice cream and enjoy meeting new friends. So Northampton, where do we go from here?

Although this piece was written with tongue in cheek, the seriousness that we suffer just because we like to ride motorcycles is disheartening. It takes a community to raise a child and it takes a community to support discrimination.

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Roxs Laurendeau recently retired as Postmaster of Erving. She is an avid photographer who travels to motorcycle meets to photograph bikers and their rides. You can check out some of her work on her website www.infinity-photography.com, Roxs and her husband Gene live in Orange.

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