As a machine, motorcycles themselves bare no ego. Motorcycles have no explicit beauty, beyond the beauty that humans impose upon them. A motorcycle is essentially a slew of parts joined together to perform or serve a function, yet people inevitably attach deeper meanings to these bundles of parts. They sacrifice safety to join the machine and the road together, defining for themselves a sort of freedom. They devote a lifetime to countless hours, manual in hand, drawing conclusions about why their machine won’t function properly. They go as far as to create social groups dedicated to honoring and showing off their bundle of parts.
So what, fundamentally, creates all these situations in which a motorcycle takes center stage? I have found myself confronted with this question daily, as I attend a school not only dedicated to a machine, but motorcycles in particular. It is here where we deduce this machine back to its most minuscule of parts. Each person in their own right has at one point in their life developed an attachment to a machine, which led them to dig deeper. How can this conglomeration of bearings, gears, and wires create a social movement? How can it cause a desire, and a feeling of escape from the monotony of life?
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