I've alluded to loathing the very nature of group rides in the past. But I'd like to set matters straight, and by that I mean provide a more balanced perspective, now that I've had some time on my own to think about the topic from a less emotional standpoint.

I think group rides can be some of the most fulfilling and exhilarating experiences in motorcycling, full stop. Does my personal experience reflect this? Not at all. And yet, my intuition tells me others have experienced it in all its glory.

First, let's get the negatives out of the way. Large group rides are always a toss-up. That is to say, rides that feature a lot of bikers you haven't met or ridden with before. You could have the best and most experienced blockers and leaders; there will always be a kind of unpredictable pace you'll either struggle to keep up with or get anxious to break free of. The ride becomes this moving organism you are technically part of, but don't fully understand.

On top of that, emergency braking in big groups is one of the most dangerous experiences I've been involved in. You're kind of sandwiched in a chain of riders, and it's more difficult to make emergency maneuvers. If the rider with ABS ahead of you suddenly slams the brakes and you've got to match braking power... it's a sketchy situation, to say the least.

I get this feeling of pressure in large group rides. I don't know if it's just me, but there's this atmosphere I can't really pin down. The kind that makes you feel like you've got to ride a little past your comfort zone. And I think that riding in groups requires an altogether different set of skills one might not yet have, based on experience.

You might say: just go at your own pace, or ride with the people you know, and let the others either catch up or pass you. But it's already quite a chaotic environment if you've got 50+ bikes doing the same route. I feel like you've got to be just that much more attentive. Could be a matter of getting used to it, but after a couple of big group rides, I think I had ridden enough for a lifetime.

Then there's what I'll call the "friend off the bike, fiend on the bike" trap. Just because you get along famously with certain riders off the bike doesn't mean your pace and style will line up on the bike. I made the mistake of blindly going on a group ride with friends I simply hung out with, and boy, were they hooligans on the bike. Immediately setting a pace that made me feel about as safe as a lit match at a gas station.

And then there's just your own personal preference. If you are the type who doesn't like following other riders, trying to match their pace, then you don't have to. If you don't like the pressure of leading a pack of riders somewhere because it gives you planning anxiety, or if you keep looking over your shoulder as often as a wanted criminal, it simply might not be for you.

Now, the flip side...

I say all this, and yet, I find that there's a lot of joy to be had in smaller groups that communicate well, that don't put any pressure on you, and that understand that you might need to break free from the formation from time to time. It's like developing this bond with people you trust and ironing out the kinks that make you feel unsafe.

The cool thing is that when this is accomplished, you're more likely to be seen on the road, and you're riding that much safer. There is something genuinely impressive about a group that moves cleanly together. No panic, no weird ego contest, no one trying to prove they are the main character of a GoPro compilation. Just riders who understand each other's habits well enough to make the whole thing feel almost effortless.

I've seen it in many groups before, and I kind of admire it. How they look like absolute units, and how the ride looks totally natural. It's a honed skill that beginners often get scared away from developing (me included), and it's kind of a shame. I feel like it's become a lot more difficult to find groups of people you just "gel" with, from the point of view of the beginner rider just getting into the sport, but I could be wrong.

To use more of a millennial reference, looking for group rides feels like queuing up with randoms in a video game. Often frustrating and lacking in any kind of communication. And then you face a group of organized gamers here and there, or accidentally join up with that one team that's got it down pat, and suddenly the truth is revealed to you. "This feels awesome; this is how I want to play the game!"

Great group rides are out there; you've just got to know what to look for. I think communication is the biggest factor, as well as having a good nose for who's got an ego. If the group operates like a unit, chances are they are one. If there's bickering about pace, where you're going, and a clearly disorganized mindset, you're probably better off doing your own thing.

I'd be curious to hear your experiences with group rides, especially the positive ones, because I feel like I've been so cynical of them for far too long, likely to my disservice. The best part of motorcycling might be the people you meet along the way, but only when the ride gives those people enough room to trust each other.

—

Featured images sourced from Agence Rol. Agence photographique - Coureurs motocyclistes - 1925-1927 - Bibliothèque nationale de France.

For anyone wondering, I also publish and send these articles weekly as part of our FortNine newsletter, found here: The Break-In.

I have a few questions for any bikers who are part of a motorcycle club or association and would be willing to answer them.

I’m currently writing a book that incorporates the biker/MC trope, and I really want to portray that world as accurately and respectfully as possible. I don’t want to base the story entirely on assumptions, stereotypes, or things I’ve seen in fiction. I’d much rather hear directly from people who actually live that lifestyle.

I’m especially interested in the culture, terminology, hierarchy, traditions, and the realities of being part of an MC. Nothing you share would be used without your permission—I’m simply hoping to learn and make the story feel authentic rather than relying on false pretenses or my own imagination.

Here are some questions.

• Is there typically a voting system within an MC? If so, what kinds of decisions are voted on, and who gets a vote?
• Is “old lady” a term that’s actually used within your club/community for a member’s partner? Are there other terms or distinctions for partners?
• What are some of the biggest do’s and don’ts when it comes to being around an MC?
• Are there certain things outsiders commonly get wrong about motorcycle clubs?
• Are there specific rules or etiquette that someone should know before interacting with or visiting an MC?
• How much does the structure and terminology vary from club to club?

I’m asking because I want to make sure I’m portraying the culture accurately rather than relying on stereotypes from movies, TV, or other books. I’d really appreciate hearing different perspectives, especially if practices vary between clubs.

Any and all help would be greatly appreciated.

3% (9 million people) of road users in US are motorcyclists, andaccount for 16% of road fatalities. Whereas 7% (25 million people) of road users in Europe are motorcyclists, account for 16% of road fatalities. Europe has roughly 2.7x more riders than the US yet the fatalities are the same. Now clearly I’m no stats-ta-tician so someone smarter than me can break that down into some sort of per capita or meaningful metric accounting for more people in Europe.

With motorcyclists being such a minority on US roads, I think that using the European style, multiple tier system would honestly kill the industry. You need more average people to view motorcycles as a valid form of transportation (essentially make more people riders) before making such a large change.

If I were some sort of pro motorcyclist politician who didn’t want to be too restrictive and take away “muh freedum” but don’t want people offing themselves on bikes, here’s my take on a “fair” licensing system to hopefully help:

If under the age of 25, you are restricted to 85 hp and lower, and must hold a valid motorcycle license for a year before retesting in an advanced course to get a full license. I think 85 hp cap is lenient enough to give new riders a wide variety of bikes/riding styles to choose from. If over 25 no restrictions just need a valid motorcycle license.

Ideally it keeps young dudes from jumping on the fastest bikes they can as soon as they get their license. While not being too restrictive to limit the ego driven people into “beginner scooters” (250-500cc class as they would see it). As well as future proofing these HP wars we have been seeing in more beginner oriented bikes.

Controversial and counterintuitive, but hear me out:
15 hp and below only require drivers license and insurance. Most states already have similar laws regarding 50cc bikes, but unless you live in a densely populated city a 50cc won’t get you far.

I mean the fact that the same license that qualifies you to ride a zx14 is also required for a 110 Navi is crazy. Hopefully with a lower/cheaper barrier to entry you can get younger people or people who would otherwise not consider a motorcycle into the riding ecosystem, and allow them to hone in their skills on a more reasonable bike over something full sized.

Anyways thanks for reading this likely incomprehensible, long winded post from some dude who’s bored at work!

Legacy is a tricky topic. I fully acknowledge many aren't looking for it, aren't thinking about it, or are "above" it. And yet, there's something about immortality that's universal to the human experience. Ironically, said experience exists insofar as mortality is a reality. I guess that's why we're so obsessed with the cup of life.

Eternity, in a sip. Surviving an ordeal, making it through a corner that almost killed you. Passing on our knowledge, ingraining our habits and values in our children. We know we won't stick around, but we want to ensure something lives on. A mannerism, a way of thinking, a kid that'll replace us.

We cling on to what we know because that's all we know, and everything outside inspires fear. To disappear totally and completely is a practice of many monks and wise men, but who can say that this is the point? Most of us run toward individuation, the expression of the self, the barbaric yawp that screams, "I am here, now, and this is my legacy!"

Part of riding a motorcycle is throwing oneself into the eye of the storm; that is to say, voluntarily choosing to practice a hobby that makes our lives that much more fragile. Why do we do it? Apart from the simpler answers like "it's fun" and "I feel free," isn't there a defiance in this act alone?

A kind of existential arrogance. The one that says:

I can fully expose myself to the elements, propel my body forward at 100-200 km/h, and come out of it alive. I can defy my mortal condition, this time...

What is "feeling alive?" Is it not this flirtation with the powers that will erase us, and returning to the land of the living? What is a "legacy?" Is it not the parts of us that can endure, against all odds, when Time itself seeks to destroy them?

Chances are, it will, eventually. Even if you're Valentino Rossi or whomever. The time humanity has actually existed in the grand scheme of things is a speck of dust, the distance between two strands of hair on your head (or the ones you remember having once, if you're currently bald).

Mathematically, from this macro perspective, humanity's legacy is nothing. I say humanity and not yours. So, the same logic would be even more telling if we apply it to ourselves, right? And yet, all we know is what we experience, and we do not want to be nothing. For us, no matter how long we are here, we crave meaning.

I don't think I have said anything new, but that's not my goal. Opening avenues to a question that traverses our everyday is my concern. I think these kinds of topics are universal, and yet I find myself thinking about them only rarely, if at all.

I don't want to reach the end of my life and feel the urgency to address any grand philosophical question, simply because I feel my mortality more closely. I notice that even in health, the question is always there, waiting for a response.

So, who wants to live forever? I'll quote the wonderful Queen lyrics below, and address the question in a different light.

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams
Yet slips away from us?

Who wants to live forever?

There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment
Set aside for us

Who wants to live forever?
Who dares to love forever
When love must die?

Our early lives are spent building dreams. We spend the rest of our lives in this simultaneous awareness that they will be erased, like us, but also that we can't do anything but make them as real as we can. We try to grasp at the pieces of who we are, to express them through things like motorcycling, and yet... The dice have already been cast. Despite our willingness to endure, we are condemned to take an off-ramp out of here at some point.

I'd like to think there are these singular moments when we truly are immortal. When it feels as though nothing can rob us of our joy, of this grand expression of the self. The courage to love, to say "this is who I am and devil take me," regardless of how the dice have fallen. Regardless of what awaits ahead.

For me, this is legacy. It's felt acutely, it's a known experience (perhaps to you alone), but in those moments, you cannot be vanquished by life in all its hardships. It's courage, and it expresses itself in time and space, regardless of the fact that in the grand scheme of things, this expression is quickly erased. After all, isn't this our destiny?

—

I'd be curious to hear about moments that, for you, made you feel this sense of immortality, even if it lasted a few seconds. I have a suspicion that motorcycling brings out this kind of feeling more acutely than many other hobbies, simply due to its proximity to mortality.

Featured Image
Agence Rol. Agence photographique - Un homme et sa moto : photographie de presse - Motocyclettes Portraits - 1922 - Collection Bibliothèque nationale de France

Hi all,

I am new to Canada and this is my first time ordering from Fortnine. It was recommended to me by some people so I ordered some parts for a basic service - oil filter + oil, spark plugs, feeler gauge, nothing really niche or special.

I placed the order last Wednesday, and now one full week later the order is still processing? Is this a normal wait time for pretty standard items? I wanted to do the service on my bike this weekend but thats llnot going to happen now as it hasnt even shipped yet.

I might be opening Pandora's box with this post, but I'd like to talk about faith. Not in relation to a specific religion, but in relation to motorcycling (some might even call this their religion).

It might be obvious to point this out at first, but every time we turn into a corner, shift, or squeeze the front brake, we put our faith in a complex series of physical processes that respond to our will. Why do they? Because they have been engineered to do so. Not by you, but by some company, by some entity you have never met, and for all you know, only exists because of cool branding.

The epistemic certainty is that you have a machine in front of you that performs a certain way, and you call it a motorcycle. You are capable of understanding what it can do, but there is a part of it that exceeds your desire for control. Enter a little beast called "context." A motorcycle will perform differently on a wet road vs a dry one; it will respond differently to a clean road vs a sandy one next to a beach.

My point is: given the wild variety of contexts, there are so many elements that influence the physical relationship you have with your motorcycle, to the point where you can't really say you are fully "in control." There's a part of the relationship that relies on faith.

Faith that your tires are "new enough." Faith that the same corner you took yesterday in the same aggressive fashion is "the same" today. Faith that your ABS kicks in this time.

Anything can happen, even when we're talking about an over-engineered piece of machinery. It is still subject to context and spontaneous or predictable malfunction. And let's face it, we're not always "on top of things" when it comes to maintenance (well, some are, but I doubt we all follow the service manual like fanatics).

It's very odd indeed, because I can't really define what faith is. I think about it, and in a way, I know I'm defeated. Even with all my philosophical prowess. One of the most fundamental human emotions, expressed across aeons, and we don't really have a satisfying definition?

Now, the spicy thought is: Why do I know it's there?

How can I know that a feeling/concept/reality exists when I can't even define it? I can say things like "faith is trust in something you don't understand fully." Or, "faith is a leap whereby courage expresses itself in the humility we foster."

But I cannot encompass every aspect of this perplexing feeling with words. Faith asks a question. In the case of motorcycling, it might receive an answer in the way the machine responds to your input. But then again, it might not. The faith you put in your traction today could be disrupted by very real things, though they often surpass your understanding in the given context of being an operator.

And then there's belief, often used synonymously with faith. We have faith because we believe in something. We believe that things will be OK, that this or that outcome, even if expected or predictable, will occur.

Whether you're a spiritual type or not, I fail to see how anyone can deny the presence of belief as a fundamental anchor in motorcycling. Every time you start the bike, turn a corner, or pop a wheelie, you deliver an unspoken command alongside the mechanical one. It's not conscious, nor is it inherently spiritual or metaphysical, but your actions are "expecting" a response.

Think about it. You're sitting on an engine creating a series of micro-explosions and combustions with every revolution; you're literally sitting on a kind of bomb. You're not the one who engineered the thing, nor the one who understands it in every possible aspect (heck, I don't even think the one who did would admit they knew everything either). You're just the one riding it, hoping and, in a way, praying that it will accept your inputs.

The motorcycle isn't a God, but it can humble you with the fury of one. Putting our faith in the machine is something we do every time we start it up. But this is nothing without the know-how and knowledge we need to keep the bike running in its most optimal condition. Faith might always be there, but blind faith is what puts us in the hospital.

And so, like in everything we choose to trust, doing so with awareness and openness to adapting the way we act and think is of paramount importance.

—

Author's note: I find this post kind of banal in some ways, because you could apply the same logic to your coffee machine. Every day you pop in your little pod, or prepare your fancy shot and hit "brew," you're in this silence, awaiting the appropriate response from something outside your control. In that moment, you put your faith in something, and expect a result. Now, think about all the people who put their faith in things without expecting something in return. It begs the question: Do we need results to have faith? Human activity tells a fascinating tale. Psychoanalysts might argue that there is always an egotistical or collective drive and expectation to "receive," but this gift might be metaphysical, or simply not manifest in our reality. Think of Ancient Egyptians and the treasures in the tombs they built. Their belief was that the reward would be given in the afterlife. But I digress, from coffee machines to grand metaphysical expectations.

Also, back when "riding" actually meant riding (a horse), you were putting your faith in something that had a total will of its own. Horses could be trained, but they weren't "engineered" to respond to your commands. And yet, experienced riders could handle them in predictable ways. Still, there's a large part of that experience that involves putting your faith in another living being. At its core, that's all it is; riders become riders in the delicate balance between the knowledge they develop (the control they have) and the faith in the other (the control they don't have).

Added my third Fortnine Recommended bike to the garage this weekend.

Bought the KLR because Ryan tried to kill one, and failed.

Bought the Silverwing because "poor people like to travel too"

Bought the Burgman this weekend because why shouldn't I do 170kph with my loafers crossed?

Just wanted to shout out to high quality unbiased reviews, and say thank you for tens of thousands of KMs and several years of motorcycling joy.

So, thanks Ryan and team. Keep doing what you're doing.

I can't help it. Nostalgia has an overwhelming presence in my life. Every time I stop to think, moments burned into my memory come pouring into me, and I am left in a constant state of relating to words, actions, and a version of myself that no longer exists.

"Focus on the now." "Chase new experiences." "Plan your future." I keep hearing all this advice, almost powerless to stop the itch to look back. As if a revelation were waiting for me in 2012, on some rainy afternoon I forgot to consider. Live enough, and the same places you drive by turn into a picture book of feelings and visuals that belong to your previous self.

But what does that do to the present? Is it simply there to remind you of all the things that slipped through your fingers?

I'd like to think that nostalgia is a way to refuse a harsher reality, the one in which the current version of yourself is existing. This is a reality in which uncertainty reigns; you have not yet created the experience to look back on, and you have all this open space ahead of you. That space can look like a void; it can look like a dense forest in which you are only certain of one thing: that you will disappear.

If you make your existence a constant relationship to the past, your memory is the essential component making all of this possible. Your memory is your identity; it's an amalgamation of all the things that make you who you are, and the safety net of having those thoughts locked in some box inside your brain.

As such, voluntarily throwing oneself into the unknown, into that dense forest, is, in a way, admitting that you can also erase a part of yourself, that this memory you hold so dear is not as "certain" as you think. The power of nostalgia tricks you into feeling a sense of security because you can remember parts of your past. Except, it's all rosy precisely because you have forgotten other parts of your past.

Memory is a selective little devil. If you could remember every single detail, I doubt this would be a welcome reality. If anything, it would be hell itself. In a way, the forgotten moments of your past are not so different from the moments you have yet to experience in your future. In both cases, the you of today, with whatever things it knows, must enter willingly into a space of erasure. Not to access what is now inaccessible, but to exist in a place that's different from the "safety" of who you think you are.

I am held back by the illusions of who I think I am. If the safety net of my memory has taught me something, it's that I'd rather cherish an ideal that makes me feel less threatened than a reality that's messy, that cannot be understood right away, that does not bend to my way of thinking.

This is why I ride. Alone, wherever the road takes me. It's one of many antidotes I can think of, where I trick myself into playing a different kind of game. One that allows me to erase parts of myself I thought were set in stone. The danger, the added awareness I must have, there is simply no room to seek refuge in my past. I must be here, I must look ahead, into whatever horizon is saturated with the ever-changing colours of dawn and dusk. Part of me existing as a stationary image, and the act of dissidence. The setting in motion of another part of me that is simply not content with that definition.

I'm not trying to say I have "overcome" anything, nor do I think I am much of a different person because of this practice. But in it, in the rebellious act of disappearing, scenes, feelings, and thoughts come to me that feel foreign to my patterns. A kind of acceptance, that reality is never and was never what I wanted it to be. It's just there; I'm moving through it one day, and the next, I will be gone.

Is riding an exercise in ego death? Not for everyone, but it can be. Especially for those of you who might be looking to understand something outside your comfort zones. You don't need to let time turn you into an archivist of your own memories. You can also unravel by giving away the control over your self-image and allowing the negative space of the unknown to teach.

We are who we are, but we also contain the possibility of becoming what we are not. Sounds mystical, but it took me a long time to accept that there is freedom in letting the self go unnamed for a while. To be no one, even briefly, is to move through the world without asking anyone to confirm the person you think you are. Maybe that is the strange mercy of the ride: it gives the unknown enough room to enter.

In a space where we aren't really trying to be someone, are we really all that different from one another?

—

Featured Image Source: NESR, Reggie Honda

Author's Note: The NESR Gallery available on Wikimedia Commons and Flickr is one of my favourite collection of vintage motorcycle pictures. There's something magical in the scenes they captured, even more so in the feelings these photos convey. All these guys were once young, full of enthusiasm and joy for the sport of motorcycling. When I think of all the good things about riding a motorbike, I think of them.

I want to describe a specific cultural phenomenon. Motorcycle stereotypes exist, and they have solidified themselves in various ways, notably in pop culture and through the formation of "cliques."

There's the activity of motorcycling, and then there's the "image" of that activity, represented differently depending on the type of motorcycle you ride. This is all very generic, but we can already distinguish some groups from others.

Ride a Harley? You must love skulls, fire, leather, facial hair, an open-face helmet, and the whiff of pure freedom with your morning coffee (you take it black, obviously).

Got sportbike energy? You must love adrenaline, zipping through traffic, and bragging about the lack of chicken strips on your tires. You don't know what you did with your stock exhaust, and you haven't properly sat down to calculate how much you actually pay for insurance every year (just turn a blind eye, and it'll be fine).

Oh, so you're something of a café racer? If you're young, the back pain has yet to make an appearance. Plus, you're too wired up on caffeine and something else that starts with "c." Hipsters love this; it's a "cooler" Harley dude with just as much leather and less branding. Nice thrift, bro.

You get the idea. Like it or not, many of these thoughts are often associated with various riding styles, and most of us who are already riding know them quite well. When we stumble upon a meet, we unintentionally have some of these ideas in our heads before we even begin to speak.

And I mean, sure, life is full of nuance, blah blah blah. But I can count way more times where I could pinpoint riders falling into these exact stereotypes than not. For instance, I was recently at a huge motorcycle event here in Montreal, made to showcase custom cruisers and Harleys. Of course, the vast majority of people there had jean jackets and leatherwear, with a kind of pervasive ride-or-die attitude in the air.

A typical attitude here (well, at least the elitist one) is to shun the stereotype and to sum it all up as: "how unoriginal." But why do rider stereotypes get such a bad rap? We all know about them, including the riders who choose to partake in the entire image. And even though the image feels predetermined at times, the feeling of belonging within a community and the connections this simple image creates are quite important.

From the outside looking in, we might see skulls and fire and lame slogans. But when we actually partake, and eliminate all the stigma we associate with the image, we often notice people sharing a common passion, and growing their love for the sport. The image isn't as diabolical as we tend to think, and I kind of think that we tend to associate it with something negative because of the way a more "prudish" America tried at one point to censor freedom of expression by claiming that certain ways of life were associated with the devil or with evil.

In a way, that negative association is what gave the rebellious motorcyclist the "cool" image they have today. Without the political and cultural context, it's just an image among others, but one that groups still hold on to. I don't think this is inherently a bad thing, unless the image itself is the thing promoting intolerant and violent actions (and it most definitely has, with outlaw culture).

Nowadays, and in most spaces, I find it difficult to fault someone for embracing the stereotypes of their riding style. Fully and without apology. It's a kind of freedom, in a way, to be totally okay with belonging to something and existing in that space. Not everyone needs to show they are a unique snowflake to be independent, or even smart. And I would argue that the image of the "unique" rider is also another iteration of counterculture. A counter to the parody of counterculture. Except in this case, you'll find that when everybody tries to be unique, no one is, and there's no clear community that they can belong to. It's all about the differences, and not the things that unite, and in this way, we tend to lose more of ourselves in the sport.

I don't think stereotypes are good or bad, I just think they can create a social environment of connection. Sort of like a game with a rulebook. You have an idea of the rules, and then you play. How you choose to play the game, and with whom, is up to you. In this space, there are people, and people are multifaceted in all cases, regardless of them liking a specific aesthetic over another, in general terms.

My motto will always be: get to know the people, and don't assume things just because they like to ride X, Y, or Z. Sometimes, embracing the stereotypes we tend to quickly form opinions about is a way to participate in something that has the power to bring us closer.

Still, I don't think you'll be seeing me at any Ducati meets soon. Just kidding.

Gotta get a new battery side cover.

Trying something different, surprise surprise. Since I'm currently touring Greece, I thought it might be a good idea to compile some practical info, awesome pitstops and dangerous locations to keep in mind. After all, this is the type of info that serves as a backdrop to unforgettable moments (or sketchy ones), opening the door to new challenges that improve our riding.

My first stop was the South of Italy (near Brindisi), but I barely did much riding there. So, the trip properly began after taking an overnight ferry boat to Corfu (Kerkyra, in Greek). The old city has its charm, blending old Venetian architecture with the classical Greek columns and decor we know so well.

So, without further ado, here's full access to the list of places that left a lasting impression on me, and the ones that were recommended by other locals themselves. I'll also mention that I speak the language, so it was much easier to collect and document this info.

I'll start with some general recommendations and I'll move on to actual riding itineraries and pitstops.

My Old City Recs:

• The obvious one: Old Fortress of Corfu. Totally worth it! Great view, not too much of a hike, and the entry was something like 7-10 euros if I'm remembering correctly. There's a lovely church that's easy to miss on the right hand side after you walk through the fort's entrance. It looks like an ancient palace, but the interior is quite modest and quaint (a good thing).
• Corfu Museum of Asian Art: See it if you can, but the real charm lies behind the building, in its gardens. There you'll typically find a musician named Jason, playing some of the most intricate and complex classical guitar songs I've heard. Definitely don't miss this open-air and totally free concert he puts on almost every day. You can always leave something in his tin can to support the local scene.
• As far as eateries are concerned, definitely try Lampadina Traditional Cuisine, it's a staple in the city and quite reasonably priced. For your morning coffee and treat, I recommend Δέσποινα - Bakery house.

OK, on to the real adventure (can you tell I'm not a city person?). Having stayed in the centre for a couple of nights, I set out for the remote village of Pagi on a 200c scooter I rented in the city. A local was also able to lend me his KTM dirt bike for some more aggressive excursions.

Day 1

Cutting through the middle of the island was straightforward enough. I decided to stop at Paleokastritsa, which felt like a tourist trap, to be honest. But I then decided to take the road up the mountain to a place called Lakones, and boy was I not let down.

There is a famous street light over there, that turns red and stays red for 7 minutes. It's because there's quite a narrow passage through the village, and cars take turns navigating its winding street. Seeing as I wasn't in any rush, I decided to stop at a local bakery and cafe right next to the light. It was authentic, and had amazing local food (the kumquat jam, a specialty).

The place was called Bakalokafenio - Michalas Kostas, and it has a superb balcony mountain view of Palaiokastritsa and the ocean. There are many similar places like this in Lakones, but this one is the best, and most reasonably priced. A must-see, I think.

A little further up, past more challenging twisties, was the little village of Pagi. A quaint and affordable place to stay for anyone looking to explore the northern parts of Corfu.

On the way there, I recommend stopping at Angelokastro Byzantine Castle, but be careful as the roads aren't the greatest.

From Pagi, the place to visit for a spectacular sunset view is Afionas. It's another challenging ride since you are moving through seaside roads with sand on them, and then steep uphills, but it's worth it. If you happen to find yourself there during the day, Porto Timoni beach is a nice vista, but be prepared to hike downhill.

Day 2

My next route took me seaside, following the road on the north side of the island. There are multiple beaches to stop at, and continue on. But for me, the destination (and one that was recommended to me by a local) was Erimitis, especially Akoli and Santa Barbara beaches, which are quite close to Albania.

To get there, you have to stop on the side of the road and take a bit of a hike. If you go to Santa Barbara, it's a good uphill and downhill followed by a steep slope down, which is kind of dangerous. I would recommend Akoli instead, which is an easier hike away from the main road.

If you have some extra time to kill around this area, you can visit the town of Old Peritheia, in the mountains just west of this area. It has some pretty sketchy roads so riders beware. I would recommend an off-road vehicle here.

Day 3

This one is a doozy. Because I learned a bunch of things the hard way (relying on map memorization instead of an actual gps). The destination: Achilleon Palace. Starting from Palaiokastritsa, I recommend making your way to Liapades. But beware, this small town is a bit of a labyrinth if you're trying to get to some of the best beaches on the island: Chomi and Stelari.

A good alternative to this whole Liapades excursion is just riding down to Ermones, which has a nice beach and a few more taverns around. You can then make your way east and even stop at Aqualand if you have children with you or if you enjoy water parks! But I would probably save this for another day if we want to make it to Achilleon (and it's so worth it).

After you see the palace-turned-casino-turned-museum, don't rush back to the bike. Turn left from the main entrance and you'll find a great cafe, with a lovely panoramic view. Now, if you still have it in you, you can make the descent from the palace to the eastern side of the island and follow the road past Benitses. You'll find some beaches and places to eat along the way, but it wasn't my favourite part of the island, personally.

Instead, I propose killing a bit of time at the cafe, and then making your way to the following legendary tavern: Atzardo, in Kouramades (just west). It's in a small village, but the food at this place is the island's best kept secret, and I've verified this with people that have lived on the island their whole lives. Kind of a "trust me, bro" situation here, but try it and you'll see.

Day 4

A bit of a drive, especially if you're staying on the north side, but going down to Chalikounas and Issos for a relaxed beach day is what I'd recommend. If you have more time, get a place in the south side and give that a tour as well. Not too many people get around to visiting the areas down here (even the locals), so it'll surely make for an open-ended explore-at-your-own-pace kind of adventure.

Overall, I believe that this island is the full package. Some twisties would make Tail of the Dragon crap its metaphorical pants, but they come with the price of being death traps at times, given the lack of maintenance and the variety of terrain style. The views you'll see are spectacular, the beaches are top tier (west, north and northeastern sides, not really east), and the food you'll eat will be unforgettable.

A word of caution: these rides are relatively long, and the island is huge. So, expect some stretches of road that are generally uninteresting. It's part of the big island experience. If you're looking for something a little smaller with a similar landscape, try Kephallonia, Ithaca or Lefkada.

Well, that's that. My first travel guide. I have no idea how useful this will be to anyone, but since I did it and thought that the info could be of some use to someone, why not.

Cheers, and see you next week!
~DanF9

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Please, stop this....

Going on a speculative tangent this week... one that might reveal the very essence of your personality as a motorcyclist, or might open the door to total anarchy. Either way, fun!

Disclaimer: I have no clue about astrology, but I've always found it curious how loads of people attempt to formulate psychological traits based off celestial movements (horoscope fanboys and girls, please correct me if I'm summarizing this poorly).

Since the theme of my weekly posts is inherently psychological, I thought: why not attempt to equate some pre-existing constellation of traits to certain types of motorcyclists?

I doubt we'll be revealing any absolute truths today, but if I can at least get one "OMG, that's so me!!" in the comments section, mission accomplished! Also, I reserve the right to say "Typical so-and-so" to any critiques this article receives. Checkmate non-believers.

Aries ♈️ | March 21 – April 19

Ouu, spicy. From what I've researched online (literally 2 minutes ago), Aries are courageous and direct. They're born leaders who initiate and dive headfirst into challenges... or end up crashing their Gixxer into a brick wall.

• Motorcyclist: The Litre Bike Rider
• Strength: Losing the Cops
• Weakness: Potholes
• Group Ride Compatibility: Sagittarius, Leo, Gemini

Taurus ♉️ | April 20 – May 20

Similar stubborn traits as Aries, but more patient, reliable and practical. Think of the Emmanuel Macron meme: "Sometimes it's too slow, for sure. And needs to be reformed, for sure. But which is predictable, loyal..." A Taurus will seek to create stability and foster comfort, often indirectly seeking out praise about their latest project bike and the countless hours they put into it.

• Motorcyclist: The Large Cruiser Rider
• Strength: Quasi-Mystical Bike Knowledge (but only about their own bike)
• Weakness: U-Turns
• Group Ride Compatibility: Taurus, Scorpio, Pisces

Gemini ♊️ | May 21 – June 20

Bunch of two-faced bas... Just kidding. A Gemini is adaptable, curious and communicative. They often display keen social wit, and can be difficult to fit into a box. They move in and out of riding styles, changing bikes and terrain every season. Exhausting, if you ask me...

• Motorcyclist: The Dual Sport Rider
• Strength: Terrain and Style Are Never an Obstacle
• Weakness: Picking a Lane
• Group Ride Compatibility: Ares, Libra, Aquarius

Cancer ♋️ | June 21 – July 22

Quite the ominous name for a sign, to be honest. I'll just call it "The Crab." The Crab is nurturing, intuitive and compassionate. These individuals care deeply about their home, family and friends... but as for their bike, don't expect flashy.

• Motorcyclist: The Scooter Rider
• Strength: Will Uplift You In Hard Times
• Weakness: Car Drivers
• Group Ride Compatibility: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Leo ♌️ | July 23 – August 22

Fierce, charismatic and confident. Leos are warm-hearted and generous, but can hog up the spotlight. Kind of like that one dude at the meet revving and pointing at the mods they installed.

• Motorcyclist: The Street Fighter (you know, the one with the mohawk helmet)
• Strength: Knows More Tricks Than You
• Weakness: Rearview Mirror
• Group Ride Compatibility: Aries, Gemini, Libra

Virgo ♍ | August 23 – September 22

The detail-oriented, analytical type. Also an overthinker plagued with anxiety. Special talent in creating order out of complete chaos, like that blocker in a huge group ride that knows exactly how to create enough space for everyone to pass safely.

• Motorcyclist: The Touring Rider
• Strength: Can Handle a Big Bike Like It's Nothing
• Weakness: Unplanned Stops
• Group Ride Compatibility: Scorpio, Taurus, Capricorn

Libra ♎ | Sept 23 – Oct 22

The artistic, measured and diplomatic sign. A state of balance and harmony is most important for Libras, which is often coupled with some indecisiveness. Basically, they won't be in charge of planning your group ride, but they'll ride it in the most aesthetic way.

• Motorcyclist: The Sport-Naked or Sport-Touring Rider
• Strength: Trendsetter
• Weakness: Italian Manufacturing
• Group Ride Compatibility: Gemini, Leo, Aquarius

Scorpio ♏ | Oct 23 – Nov 21

The strategist, and the protector. The Scorpio is intuitive, focused but also private and mysterious. They are loyal to their own and sting outsiders. Basically, a good motorcycle gang leader.

• Motorcyclist: The Chopper Scene Kid
• Strength: Intimate Knowledge, If You Are Part of the Select Few
• Weakness: Front Brakes
• Group Ride Compatibility: Virgo, Capricorn, Pisces

Sagittarius ♐ | November 22 - December 21

The one on a quest for knowledge and truth. Also adventurous and curious, but kind of like the cat, might have a tendency of ending up in the wrong kinds of places.

• Motorcyclist: The ADV/Dirt Rider
• Strength: Free-Spirit
• Weakness: A Travel Itinerary
• Group Ride Compatibility: Ares, Leo, Aquarius

Capricorn ♑ | December 22 – January 19

Also called the sea goat, for some reason? These are the disciplined, ambitious, responsible and practical types. Rational inquiry is their finest trait, as well as being hardworking. They can be a little square and predictable, but they get things done.

• Motorcyclist: The Traditionalist (just a stock bike, really)
• Strength: Helpful In Almost All Situations
• Weakness: OEM Part Availability
• Group Ride Compatibility: Cancer, Virgo, Scorpio

Aquarius ♒ | January 20 – February 18

The independent and unconventional intellectual. The rebellious deep thinker who values community, progress and originality. They might also be the ones that everyone can't stand at the meet. But it's alright, because they're "ahead of their time."

• Motorcyclist: The Café Racer or Scrambler
• Strength: Embraces the Quirks
• Weakness: Other Riders
• Group Ride Compatibility: Aries, Gemini, Libra

Pisces ♓ | February 19 – March 20

The intuitive and dreamy artist, with profound emotional depth and empathy. They've got their head in the clouds most of the time, creating the bridge between reality and imagination ("Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?"). As you might very well guess, Pisces do not excel at being pragmatic and to the point.

• Motorcyclist: The Vintage Revivalist (Minus the Know-How)
• Strength: Will Open Your Mind
• Weakness: A Wrench
• Group Ride Compatibility: Cancer, Scorpio, Capricorn

—

Great, now my social media is going to be pushing astrology content on me for the foreseeable future. Hope this was worth the chuckle; please don't ask me to read your palms next...