Some time ago I was asked why I didn’t go to church. I said I did go to church every day I went out riding my motorcycle.
For many motorcyclists, the ceremony of going for a ride provides the same spiritual sustenance other people find through the ceremonies conducted by organized reli*gions. The similarities are striking. We wear our leathers and riding suits as vest*ments, we have a prescribed ritual for starting our engines, and our favorite roads compose our liturgy.
The very nature of riding a motorcycle forces the rider into a spiritual state. Think of it this way: most religious systems encourage some form of meditative technique. Christians have prayer. Some Native Americans meditate inside sweat lodges, and Eastern spiritual systems advocate elaborate chanting techniques. All these methods have as their common general goal the transcendence of the self or ego in order to get in touch with some greater force.
Motorcycling forces riders to transcend their egos (not some of the ones I've known, in real life or "reality" life) —to empty themselves and exist in the world around them. The consequences of not being totally aware of their actions and environment, of becoming distracted by the baggage of their everyday lives, are too great. When you’re out in the world on a bike, you must be completely in the moment, completely aware of your surroundings, or you may find yourself meeting your concept of God earlier than you might have hoped.
But when everything is working, when you and your bike are totally in sync and the road rushing under your feet feels like an extension of your body—at those times, you get in touch with divinity.
There's so much I dislike about this type of "romancing" motorcycles (or in the Tao of Surfing we call it "waxing")(or in the Tao of Chomoism we call it "buttering..") It's sandpaper on my motorcycle "soul" (to add pun).