White Lies, Damn Lies and Statistics
By: Colorado T. Sky
Will Rogers, noted twentieth-century American philosopher and humorist, once claimed that there were three kinds of lies. He described them as "white lies, damn lies and statistics," and he may have been more right than he knew. One set of "statistics" claim that motorcycles are dangerous, although another altogether different set of statistics maintain that motorcycles, which comprise a little over 2% of registered vehicles in the US, are actually only involved in less than one-half of one percent of the accidents. Even if each bike is only ridden six months a year, we're still ahead of the proverbial "curve," a curve described (and maybe even further "curved" with a little professional "spin"), ironically, by the non-biker bureaucratic pencilnecks at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS) and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA). Both of these groups purport to further the concept of "safety in transportation," but both of whom seen nonetheless conspicuously Full of Shit. So who's shittin' who here?
Let's face facts, folks. Nothing is ever "proven" with statistics. They don't do that, which is all right because it's not their job. Statistics have two functions; to describe and (hopefully) to predict. Statistics can describe patterns in virtually anything they're applied to; population, industrial production, sales and more of the same. Predictions include things like how many tires of any production run will explode after how many miles (are ya listening, Firestone?). Most of these figures are used in commercial application. Beancounters love 'em. They base their sales predictions and actuarial tables (like how much this year's policy is gonna be) on this information, and they compare them to other statistics to check their validity and reliability. They operate on a presumption of truth and, for the most part, the numbers these crunchers get are both valid and reliable.
Unfortunately, not everybody has such high standards of personal and professional integrity. Statistics are often applied to fields where they have no pertinence, no relevance, or they are skewed to present a completely different picture. These statistics can also be manipulated, and, regrettably, too often are. Many stats offered by the cleancut from behind their neckties with the gravity of Gospel are totally meaningless. Have you ever heard the one about 90 percent of shark attacks happening in less than six feet of water? Did it occur to you that 90 percent of swimmers also occur in less than six feet of water? Are ya seein' what they call a "correlation" here?
"Deaths of Older Motorcyclists Increasing" according to the headline. Face facts, folks, the older ya get, the more likely ya are to die. It's kinda like the shark thing. The article -- a news release actually, which is an article expected to be later revised, edited and published elsewhere-- claimed that deaths among motorcyclists age 40 and older, which steadily increased during most of the 1990s, jumped dramatically from 1997 to 2000. Until 1997, the increases in deaths among older motorcyclists were more than "offset" by declining deaths among younger riders (what the hell kind of score is that?) Are we supposed to die by age?). Much of this increase was attributed to older riders allegedly having a greater tendency to drive after drinking. So what's up with the old timers?
Guess what, gang: they're not really "Oldtimers"... they're really Old Newbies. Surveys show that 21st century motorcycle owners aren't as young as we used to be. Well, we knew that. To be more specific, they're much older when they start riding. Increasingly they're from the ranks of more affluent professionals, many of whom haven't ridden since their teens, if at all. We know what the traditional Newbie stereotypes are like. They're the barely post-pubescent almost-out-on-their-own gawky skinhead college puppies who get Daddy to write the tuition check and then put in for student loans anyway and put the refund down on a eight-cylinder, eight-speed puke-green or dog-piss-yellow bullet-shaped Kamikaze turbo-zingsplat (matching leathers extra) that goes 160 miles an hour (well, it did when Todd Henning rode it to the National Championship in Daytona. Didn't you know they had races?). The zit then spends the first five hundred miles nursing it like a newborn; checking the oil every fifteen minutes, topping it off with fresh hi-test and dreaming of the time he can add some octane booster. Then it turns 501 miles and he decides to see if it'll really do ten grand like it says on the tach. Some last as long as three weeks before the DPW sends out a big orange truck, three guys and a spatula to get him off some bridge abutment. That demographic is changing drastically, too. According to the Motorcycle Industry Council, the typical U.S. bike owner now is about 38 years old (still younger than I am) compared with 24 years old in 1980 (younger than I was then!). New analyses conducted by researchers at the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety place the median age of bikers killed at 36 years old, up from 27 in 1990.
"Over the last three years, the number of motorcyclist deaths has gone up 68 percent in the 40-and-older group compared with 20 percent among people younger than 40," says Susan Ferguson, the Institute's senior vice president for research. She adds that this shift isn't because of the aging of the population but instead "reflects the changing demographics of motorcycle riders." What she doesn't say is that the source of much of the problem is the middle-age crazy yuppies (who used to buy 'Vettes and Cessnas) and now have the swag to overcome their wannabe tendencies and go out and live (and die) their Marlon Brando-Peter Fonda-Uncle Nasty fantasies.
Combine a forty-something novice rider with the American businessman's tradition of the three-martini lunch and we have a recipe for Instant Death on the Highway, as shown by the stats which indicate that the 40-and-older group of riders accounted for about 40 percent of all fatally injured riders in 2000, up from 14 percent in 1990.
Ah yes, here it comes... the "Back In The Old Days" part of this rant... You know how it was. Many of us newer "Oldtimers" grew up around bikes and around bikers. Even as nosepickers we saw enough scars and limps, dings and dents to know that those Oldtimers didn't get to be that old by accident. Maybe just because we went from Huffies to Whippets or Indian Scouts and on to 74s and 80s these new middle-age crazies think they can, too. They might have been able to... thirty years ago. Or forty. Maybe they don't realize how much they've forgotten since that Honda 305 they had in high school. When we were younger (maybe not all, but many and probably most of us), bikers were a familiar and constant part of our lives. The rumble of their Pans and Flatties was a sound that woke us up in the morning and lulled us to sleep at night. I lucked out; my father was a biker --an old "G" model trike man-- as was his father who rode a 1924 Ace, the only bike he ever owned, until just before his death in 1959.
And then there were the local "Oldtimers."
The Oldtimers were part of our lives, fixtures around whom our dreams of the open road revolved, positive role models to us all and surrogate fathers to many of us. They were there with their tools and their wisdom when our Huffies popped one of its balloon tires, or when we screwed up and topped our Whippet, Allstate or Raleigh moped off with kerosene and couldn't figure out why it wouldn't start. Their tales of the roads were both enlightening and cautionary; by the time we were old enough (and had save enough for that Pan, Chief or other rat basket) we knew what to look for as well as what to look out for.
A couple of the Oldtimers in my neighborhood were even honored by the up-and-comers with the title of "Uncle," and they were, even if somewhat "Dutch" uncles: they taught us our vices as well as our virtues.
They taught us the joys of smoking and drinking and how to ride in the rain. They taught us how to spot oil in an off-banked corner and how to disconnect the front brake wiring, so when we had to duck into an alley the cop behind wouldn't see the brake light. They taught us the differnce between livin' it up and livin' it down. It seems that a lot of these Old Newbies' problem stems from the fact that they didn't have that kind of education and inspiration. Some seem to think that all they need is a Gold Card, a cellphone and a brand new Blockhead to be King of the Road.
I kinda hate to break their hearts, but maybe it'll save their lives when they realize that buying a brand-new scoot doesn't make 'em bikers any more than buying a brand-new pipe wrench makes 'em plumbers. But maybe I can help a little anyway, just by passing on some of the lessons I picked up from the Oldtimers...
Among the things they taught me were....
...that you should always replace the cheapest part first.
...that bikers are like their bikes; as different as they might be, they're all basically the same.
...that there's nothing wrong with making mistakes as long as you don't keep making the same ones over and over.
...that sittin' on your butt doesn't put miles on your putt.
...that sometimes the fastest way to get where you're going is to stop for the night.
...that if the brakes need fixin' ya don't start by tearin' down the engine.
...that a bike on the road is worth two in the shop.
...that if you don't ride in the rain, you don't ride.
...that the bike that never breaks down never goes out.
...that grease and rust can hide a plethora of problems, but not for long.
...that staring at the trooper in your rearview mirror will not make him go away.
...that you shouldn't try to lead the pack if ya don't know where you're going.
...that ya should strive to keep yer scoot runnin' right. Steel-toed engineer boots weren't designed for hikin'.
...that if the countryside seems to get boring, then you should pull over, get off and sit for a while and think about what it was like before they paved it.
...that there's something just not right about the look of a brand new bike on a trailer.
...that you shouldn't roll out yer sleepin' bag on the kickstand side of your bike.
...that bugs taste bad, but better after midnight.
...that you should never be ashamed to unlearn a bad habit.
...that the road isn't just a highway, it's a state of mind.
...that bikers wear boots 'cuz ya can't kick nothin' in sneakers.
...reflexes and experience are more dependable than luck.
...that the size of the piston doesn't tell ya anything about the length of the stroke.
...that you should never be afraid to slow down.
...that only bikers really understand why dogs love to hand their heads out of car windows.
...that being the fastest bike in the bunch only guarantees that you'll be riding along.
...that no matter what you ride, the wind is the wind.
...that the world's greatest alarm clock is the sunrise on your chrome.
...that underneath it all, there's still a bond of brotherhood between the outlaw on the chopper and the trooper on the dresser.
...and that if you ride like there's no tomorrow, there won't be.
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