This might be the first time I’ve shared a common experience as a rider with a disability, and it probably says as much about me as it does about the experience itself. Since being back on two wheels with one arm, I’ve noticed reactions from certain riders I cross paths with — and the reactions I have in return. This is more me digging around in my own head than pointing at other riders, so bear with me. I tell this story much better in person.
The typical scenario is that I find myself in a group of new‑to‑me riders. Introductions out of the way, we talk about bikes and maybe missing arms, we swap war (crash) stories, and we shoot the shit about life and life+bikes. Not every time, but often enough, there’s one rider — maybe two — who isn’t quite okay with the fact that I’m out there on a bike with one arm.
This isn’t to be confused with the obvious “shit test,” the little probe meant to test who I am and whether I’m full of it. I understand and appreciate those. I think they happen between most men, on or off bikes.
I’m talking about a distinct change in the vibe, even when it’s not an outward criticism of me riding with one arm.
Not that I haven’t had direct criticism:
“You’re an idiot for getting back on the bike after losing your arm,”
“You can’t convince me that thing works or is safe,”
“You’re an idiot for wasting time and money on something like that.”
Most of that washes off my back pretty easily. It’s direct, and I can usually respond (or not respond) in a way that suits the situation or the person giving me a hard time. Different flavours of this come from riders and non‑riders, but mostly non‑riders. Either way, it’s easily dealt with.
In a group of riders, though — again, not every time — there’s a type who seems to perceive me as a threat. Male or female, young or old, there’s a rider who will change their behaviour (on or off the bike) when I’m around. Typically, it’s when we’re out riding. The pace shifts, the risks increase, and lines get crossed. I’ve been in front of and behind riders who push new limits for themselves when I’m there. I’ve seen plenty of near misses and near losses when a “spirited” ride suddenly becomes a ride where a few people are out to prove something to themselves or to me.
It’s why I avoid group rides with certain groups.
It’s only half the reason, though. The other half is me. I have a failing that sees me push back; my usual limits disappear, and I find myself riding much like I did before losing the arm. I’m fully aware of it while it’s happening — increasing the risk to myself — but I still feel that pull. I’m just as bad as the rider who struggles with the reality that I can do what he can do with one arm, and maybe even do it better. It becomes two riders out to prove something to each other that, in reality, doesn’t need to be proven. At least not with that level of risk.
Recently, I was on a group ride where the rules and route were clearly explained to everyone. I found myself out front — not trying to push anyone’s limits, just enjoying the corners and how the bike felt. In my mirror was a rider on a big push to close the gap; rubber‑banding — catching me on the straights, falling behind into and out of every corner. Doing the math in my head, that rider must’ve had the taps wide open between corners to make up the distance. Their corner entry speed must’ve been pretty hot and exciting. I managed to scrape together some brain cells and ease off for the rest of the ride - enough so the rider behind me didn't need to push their limits to keep up with me. The damage was done, though. Post‑ride, that rider and I had a bad vibe, which I found disappointing.
Not all experiences have been bad. I recall a ride where I was openly shunned, discredited, and written off as anything close to capable compared to a group of fast riders. A few runs up and down a local range later, and everyone was impressed and super positive about my riding. Feels good, sure — but there were a whole lot of unnecessary risks taken by all of us that day, including me. I don’t ride with that group now. I didn’t break a bunch of personal rules to be accepted by them. I just didn’t like having my abilities diminished by people who, from my observation, had abilities equal to my own.
Writing this now, I wonder how often this happens for other riders — regardless of missing limbs. This urge to prove ourselves to a group. To fit in and be accepted. Or to demonstrate something about our ability, even when fitting in isn’t the goal. And I wonder how often we stop and ask ourselves what we’re actually chasing.
Is the group worth the risk?
Is “proving” anything to these people/person/group worth it?
Is the validation worth the cost?
Is the feeling of belonging worth riding past our own limits?
These are the questions I’m trying to get into the habit of asking myself when I’m exposed to situations where my abilities are questioned. Emphasis on “trying” because I’m still human and mistakes are still a thing I make from time to time.
Every day, I come to realise that learning to ride a motorcycle is much more than learning to operate one. It's about learning to understand yourself and your motives, and deciding which parts are worth listening to.
Adendum;
I’m not saying every reaction I perceive is the truth. I know my own history, my own ego, and my own sensitivity around bikes can colour things. But there’s also no denying that a certain personality type absolutely exists — the kind that gets threatened when someone they underestimated turns out to be capable. I’ve seen it in riding, and I’ve seen it in martial arts. More than once, I’ve had training partners dial things up a few notches the moment they realise I can actually fight. The same thing happens on the bike: some people genuinely push harder when they’re surprised by what I can do. So while I know my perception isn’t perfect, some of these moments are very real, and they’ve shaped how I ride around others.
