Okay, so, “motorcycle squids.” I’ve seen these guys, and frankly, I was one of these guys for a bit. Let me tell you how I got into it and, more importantly, how I got out of it.
It all started when I got my first bike. It wasn’t even that fast, just a little 600cc sportbike. But man, I felt like a king. I started wearing just a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, you know, ’cause it was hot out. And I felt…free. Stupid, but free.
My “Squid” Phase
- First mistake: No gear. I’d zip around town, weaving through traffic, feeling the wind. Dumb, I know.
- Second mistake: Speeding. Everywhere. The adrenaline was addictive. I’d push it harder and harder, seeing how fast I could take corners.
- Third mistake: Showing off. Wheelies? Sure, why not. Trying to impress random people on the street? Absolutely. It’s embarrassing to think about now.
I started watching YouTube videos of other guys doing even crazier stuff. Stoppies, drifting… It just seemed so cool. I began practicing in empty parking lots. I dropped the bike more times than I can count. Luckily, it was mostly low-speed stuff, so I didn’t break anything (on me or the bike).
Then came the close calls. I almost rear-ended a car because I was looking at my speedo instead of the road. I wobbled like crazy on a high-speed turn because I hit some gravel. My buddies would tell me to take it to a track, but I was stubborn and ignored them. The street was where the real action was, so to speak.
I remember one time, my friends and I went up the mountain, and this guy, who was visiting and we just met, started doing burnouts and riding like a crazy person. He had no gear, and I remember that moment thinking, “Wow, I’ve never been THAT crazy!” This moment will make more sense in a little while.
The Wake-Up Call
So, I continued my behavior, just not as crazy. I started putting more emphasis on my safety by gearing up, but, I was still treating the road like my race track. Then, one day, it happened. I was speeding (again), took a corner too fast, and low-sided. I slid across the pavement, watching my bike spark as it went tumbling. Thankfully, there were no cars coming, but I watched my bike smash into a curb. It was just destroyed.
My friends quickly came to my aid, and thankfully I was more or less alright. This was the wake-up call. I realized I could have easily died. I was lucky to be alive.
I sold what was left of the bike. Took some time off riding. And when I finally got back on, I did it right. I invested in good gear: a proper helmet, jacket, gloves, boots, everything. I took a riding course to improve my skills. And, most importantly, I changed my attitude. The street is not a racetrack. It’s a place to share with other people, and you need to respect that.
Looking back, I cringe at my “squid” days. It was a phase, a stupid one, and I’m glad I got through it without any serious consequences. But I saw the danger. I felt the fear. And it changed me. Now when I saw some bikers, I’m like, “Bro, where is your gear?” And it’s funny because I would have scoffed at that version of me a few years ago.
Moral is, don’t be me.
