What 40 Years of Riding Taught Me (That Nobody Tells You)

Hey, folks — life's short, throttle's long, and my attention span's somewhere near the next exit.

I've been riding motorcycles for over 40 years. Forty. That's longer than some of you have been alive. Longer than most marriages. Longer than most people stick with anything that doesn't come with a paycheck or legal obligation.

And in those 40+ years, I've learned things. Not just how to ride — though I've gotten better at that, slower but smarter. But bigger things. Life things. The kind of lessons you can't learn in a safety course or read in a manual.

These are the truths that reveal themselves gradually, through miles and mistakes and moments you remember years later. The wisdom that comes from experience, not education.

So here's what 40 years of riding taught me that nobody tells you upfront:

Lesson #1: The Bike Doesn't Care About Your Problems

Bad day at work? Bike doesn't care. Relationship drama? Bike doesn't care. Financial stress? Still doesn't care. Your bike has no sympathy for your emotional state.

But here's the thing: that's exactly what makes riding therapeutic.

When you're on the bike, you have to be present. You can't be thinking about your boss or your bills or whatever's bothering you. The road demands attention. The machine requires focus. You're forced into the moment.

It's forced meditation. And it works better than the apps and the breathing exercises and all the other things people try.

The bike strips away everything except right now. And right now is where peace lives.

Lesson #2: Most Accidents Are Preventable

I've had close calls. Too many. And looking back, nearly all of them were my fault. Not legally — the other driver was usually at fault. But realistically? I put myself in a bad position.

Riding in someone's blind spot because I was impatient. Going too fast for conditions because I was running late. Not leaving enough following distance because I was confident. Being distracted because I was thinking about something else.

Every close call was a lesson in paying better attention. In making smarter decisions. In riding defensively instead of reactively.

The riders who stay alive longest aren't the luckiest. They're the most careful. They're the ones who learned from near-misses instead of ignoring them.

Lesson #3: Gear Matters More Than the Bike

I've seen people spend $30,000 on a bike and $200 on gear. That's backwards. Dangerously backwards.

A cheap bike with good gear keeps you safer than an expensive bike with cheap gear. Every time. Without exception.

Helmet. Jacket. Gloves. Boots. Pants. These aren't optional. These aren't for show. These aren't something you skip on hot days because you're uncomfortable.

These are what stand between you and life-altering injuries. Between walking away and being carried away.

I know guys who cheaped out on helmets. Fifty-dollar helmets. Seventy-five-dollar helmets. "It's DOT certified," they said. "It's fine."

Some of them can't have this conversation anymore. The ones who survived wish they'd spent more.

A good helmet costs $300-600. Maybe more. Worth every penny. Buy the best you can afford. Then keep it maintained and replace it when needed.

Same with jackets, gloves, boots. This isn't where you save money. This is where you invest in staying alive.

Lesson #4: Riding Solo Is Underrated

Group rides are fun. I do them. I enjoy the camaraderie, the shared experience, the post-ride stories.

But some of my best rides have been alone. Just me, the bike, and whatever road I felt like taking.

Solo riding lets you go at your own pace. Stop when you want. Change plans on a whim. You're not waiting for anyone. You're not keeping up with anyone. You're just riding.

It's freedom in its purest form. No compromises. No negotiations. No group dynamics to navigate.

Just you and the road and your thoughts. Or the absence of thoughts, which is even better.

Lesson #5: Your Body Keeps Score

I'm 64, turning 65 in May. I feel it. Every day. Knees aren't what they used to be. Back reminds me about yesterday's ride. Hands get cold faster. Eyes need reading glasses to see the speedometer.

But you know what? I'm still riding. Because I adapted. I adjusted. I acknowledged reality instead of fighting it.

I take breaks more often. I stretch before and after rides. I don't ride for 12 hours straight anymore. I've upgraded to more comfortable bikes with better ergonomics. I wear better gear that actually keeps me warm or cool as needed.

Young riders: take care of your body now. Stretch. Exercise. Don't ride through pain. Pay attention to warnings.

Because future you will either thank you or curse you. Your choice which one.

Lesson #6: Motorcycles Connect People

I've made friends at gas stations, diners, parking lots. Random conversations that turned into connections. Riders talk to riders.

Doesn't matter if you ride a Harley and they ride a Honda. Doesn't matter if your bike costs $5,000 and theirs costs $50,000. Doesn't matter about age, background, politics, any of it.

If you ride, you're part of the club. Automatic membership. No applications required.

I've had strangers help me fix my bike on the side of the road. I've helped strangers with theirs. There's a camaraderie in riding that doesn't exist in most hobbies.

We take care of each other. Because we understand. We've all been there. Broken down. Lost. Confused. Someone helped us once, so we help others.

It's a good system. Better than most things in the world.

Lesson #7: The Destination Doesn't Matter

I've planned trips to specific places. Spent weeks planning routes, stops, timing, everything. Then I get there and realize the best parts weren't the destination.

They were the roads I took to get there. The small town I stopped in for coffee. The scenic overlook I pulled over at randomly. The conversation with another rider at a rest stop.

The journey really is more important than the destination. I know it sounds cliché. It's also completely true.

Sometimes the best rides don't have destinations at all. Just directions. Just roads. Just seeing where you end up.

Lesson #8: You Never Stop Learning

I'm a better rider at 64 than I was at 24. Not because I'm faster or braver — I'm neither. I'm actually slower and more cautious.

But I've learned judgment. Experience. When to push. When to back off. How to read situations before they become problems.

Every ride teaches something. Every close call reinforces something. Every mistake corrects something.

The day you think you know everything about riding is the day you become dangerous. Overconfidence kills more riders than lack of skill.

Stay humble. Stay learning. Stay aware that there's always more to know.

Lesson #9: Time on the Bike Is Never Wasted

I've "wasted" thousands of hours riding. Hours I could've spent being "productive." Working more. Making more money. Building something. Achieving something.

But here's the truth: those hours weren't wasted. They kept me sane. They gave me perspective. They reminded me why I work in the first place — to afford to live, not to live to afford to work.

Riding isn't an escape from life. It's participating in life. It's being present. Being aware. Being alive.

The most productive thing you can do sometimes is absolutely nothing productive. Just exist. Just ride. Just be.

Lesson #10: Eventually, You'll Have to Stop

This one's hard to accept. But it's true. Eventually — whether from age, health, or circumstances — everyone stops riding.

That's why I ride as much as I can now. Not recklessly. Not stupidly. But intentionally. Making time for it. Prioritizing it. Not putting it off until "someday" or "when I have more time."

Because I know the clock's ticking. We all do, even if we don't admit it. And when that day comes when I can't ride anymore, I want to look back with no regrets.

I want to know I rode while I could. That I didn't waste the time I had. That I made the most of this incredible privilege we call riding motorcycles.

The Wisdom Nobody Teaches

So that's what 40 years taught me. Not how to do a perfect wheelie or take a corner at max speed or win races.

But how to ride smart, ride safe, and ride with purpose. How to make it a sustainable part of life, not a phase or a midlife crisis or something you quit when it gets hard.

The manual teaches you mechanics. Experience teaches you wisdom. One gets you started. The other keeps you alive.

Looking Forward

And here's the thing: I'm not done learning. Forty years in, and I still discover new things. New roads. New techniques. New perspectives.

That's what keeps it interesting. That's what makes riding at 64 just as engaging as riding at 24, maybe more so.

Because I appreciate it more. I understand it better. I value it properly.

And I plan to keep learning for as long as I can throw my leg over a bike and fire it up.

Because riding isn't something you master. It's something you practice. Forever.

Later, folks — ride often, ride safe, ride while you can.

What has riding taught you? Share your biggest lesson on Ride Nation USA's Facebook page. Let's learn from each other's experiences and build collective wisdom.

SAFETY NOTE:

Decades of riding experience doesn't make you immune to accidents caused by others. If you're injured by a negligent driver, regardless of your experience level, you deserve compensation. Insurance companies sometimes try to blame experienced riders, claiming "you should've known better" or "you should've avoided it." Don't accept this. Contact a motorcycle injury attorney who will fight for your rights and hold negligent drivers accountable.