Up Front

UP FRONT

WHAT SHALL WE DO ABOUT S-E-X?

Allan Girdler

My recent account of how a bunch of us fluttered a feminine heart—or think we did, which is much the same thing in this case—earned me as fine a poison pen letter as it’s ever been my pleasure to read. After making a promising start—“I ride a BSA, wear leathers, subscribe to your magazine, make noise and enjoy being outrageous.”—the lady goes on to heap me with abuse: We committed unspeakable mental torture on that poor woman, she tells me, and then I brag about it, act as if men are men and women can’t resist noisy swaggering louts.

Then she gets rough. Dipping into her psychology textbook, she tells me what my behavior means. In terms I will not repeat. Suffice it that only my years as a crime reporter, getting a thorough if secondhand look at every depravity known to the human race, enabled me to even know of what I was being accused.

Intemperate language aside, it was a useful letter, from a reader with an understandable concern. The sport of motorcycling is undergoing some change, and it’s about time for us to address a delicate subject, one which in former times people didn’t discuss.

I refer of course to what used to be known as s-e-x.

The enraged feminist got my attention. I think, because she accused us of things which we have been quietly proud not to have done.

Television and advertising have so thoroughly debased our language that I must define some terms. When I say this is not a man's magazine. I have in mind the sort of publication known as a man’s magazine in public and a skin book in private.

We do not use photos of models in scanty costumes. When you see a woman in a test or evaluation or whatever, she’s there because she’s a motorcycle rider, a wife or daughter or something like that.

Unclad cuties have their place, but it isn’t here. This is a motorcycle magazine, so we stick to motorcycles. Penthouse doesn’t tell you how to tune your Suzuki, and Cycle World doesn’t tell you how to improve your sex life.

As a bit of pride once removed, the ads in this magazine, while not being completely free of sex appeal, are better than they used to be. Good business. Check back 10 years and you’ll see some smashing ladies, unzipped down to there, posing in front of motorcycles. Thing here is, those brands are out’of business. We all liked to look, but the ads didn’t sell the product and when you see a lady in a motorcycle ad now. odds are she looks like she knows how to ride and is worth talking to as well.

We think this is neat. Sure, if we had nothing to say. we might want to use cleavage to get your attention. But we do have things to say. machines to talk about, and we’re happy not to get the important things cluttered with skin.

Now. Women are involved with motorcycles in unprecedented numbers, as riders, owners, tuners, passengers, racers, the complete thing. We approve. I took an informal survey and it turns out some of the wives and daughters ride, Marilyn Griewe and Celia Manney being the best.

other staff ladies are learning and/or ride pillion. And some of the distaff peopledon't take part at all.

Clear pattern here. The men whose women ride, like it. Those whose women are learning, are doing all they can to encourage more riding, more involvement. And those whose women don't take part at all wish they could persuade the gals to at. least come along for the ride.

Okay, we don't have naughty ladies, we encourage women to take an active part in the sport of motorcycling.

This is not a man’s magazine.

It is a magazine for motorcycle nuts.

As such, we have no place for reverse sexism.

The angry lady was more strident and more demanding than most, but we do get letters from women and they have the same ideas in a different way, if you’ll permit what Henry calls an Irishism.

The most common in this group is the one by the gal who’s just learned to ride.

Next in numbers are the suggestions that we have a column, a collection of monthly comments “from the woman’s point of view.”

Never.

I cannot imagine handing out an insult like that, not even when the intention was kind, well-meant, even trendy.

I know a bunch of female bike nuts and they are as unalike as, well, as are male bike nuts.

Mary McGee is not only faster in the dirt than I am, she’s taller than me. Allison Hartman owns and tunes a Harley XR750. Hazel Kolb has literally ridden her Harley around the U.S. Carter Alsop has a roadrace license. I could add to this list for the rest of the day, but the point is simply, there is no woman’s point of view. Mary McGee didn’t race Baja in the powder puff class, she ran an open bike for Team Cycle World, in fact. Allison Hartman doesn’t holler “Ladies First!” in time trials, if the bike doesn’t make the show, she goes home and tunes some more.

It may happen that women as a rule are shorter than men, and thus find a low seat more comfortable in stop-and-go traffic. It may be that women are more apt to be new to all this, may not understand the technical terms yet, which puts them where all us oldtimers were; eventually you know what BTDC means, by process of deduction.

Seems to me that years ago, when nice people first threw their legs over saddles, a couple of unenlightened manufacturers offered ladies’ model motorcycles.

And suffered for it. Deservedly, 1 think. Who after all wants to be second-class? My suspicion is that men, by nature and evolution and I don’t know what else, arç more adventuresome, more daring, more mechanical, than women, just as men are usually taller and grow better beards. That’s the way we come from the factory, so to speak, and as long as the product comes in two basic styles, any time you tell women they need their own motorcycle, painted pink I suppose, they are going to know they’re being offered less than the best and they will rightly refuse to have any part in the scheme.

So. What shall we do about s-e-x?

I propose to keep it in the home and off the street, the trail and the pages of this magazine, that is, I propose to ignore it. In the magazine, that is.

Just as motorcycles are two percent of the traffic stream, so are women two percent of the riding public. I can see no reason to get into clumsy word usage like his/her machine, or—yuck!—crewperson. I’d sooner say somebody is a tunerette.

I have been through this before, at home.

My daughter got a motorcycle when her brothers did, as my wife and I don’t believe in roles, stereotypes, etc. She didn’t take to it.

What she liked was trucks. When she came of age and income to buy her first car, she bought a truck. And joined a truck club. And began reading trucking magazines.

And got her feminist dander up. The magazine referred to guys who buy trucks. What’s with them, she asked, don’t they realize girls buy trucks too?

Yes and no, I said. It’s like the truck club. Truck nuts are like bike nuts, not always polished and suave. On meeting nights the president doesn’t refer to Ladies and Gentlemen. Instead, the sergeant at arms, biggest man in the place, says “Awwright you guys, shaddup!” When the truck club has two girl members, the girls will be just like anybody else.

So it is with motorcycles.

Welcome to the sport and the magazine, ladies. We’re glad to have you. Our way of helping you feel at home is to treat you like one of the guys.