Alas, given the economic turmoil today buffeting the globe, it was an experience which now seems to be increasingly germane to other riders.
Being unemployed sucks. As the weeks, and then the months, pass by, it raises a whole range of threats to one's lifestyle, ranging from the starkly financial, to the quietly emotional, to the utterly pragmatic. It can be a devastating experience.
One of the obvious imperatives the situation forces is the need to reduce expenses; and the corollary need to raise money, however one can. And since motorcycling is a discretionary activity for most of us, it becomes an obvious target. A lot of guys, faced with that circumstance, immediately look to sell their bike.
Not that I didn't think about it—I surely did. Especially as the months dragged on and my financial situation became more and more dire. But in the end, it was my bikes that saved me. They gave me a place to escape to, a place of comfort and sanity, in a world which otherwise seemed to have utterly lost its bearings.
There were changes in my motorcycling world, of course. I had to put track days on hold. And I had to cut back on the handful of overnight trips that I usually take every year, as in my little jaunt to meet up with my buddies above. There was no way I could afford the several-hundred-dollar motel and restaurant charges that such trips inevitably bring. And even on day-rides I would eschew the cafes or fast-food restaurants which normally are the venue for lunch, instead pulling out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had packed along. You save every dime you can.
It doesn't mean you can't take trips. You just have to do them a little differently. Pull out that old, unused-in-forever tent and sleeping bag and it's amazing how cheaply one can travel. Camping has its own unique allure in the best of times. As a bastion of opportunity for those in strained economic circumstances it holds few equals. I took several multi-day camping trips during that otherwise forgettable time and they provided some of my most memorable motorcycling moments, ever.
Tires were the hardest—I went through seven sets that year. And it was the tire budget that quickly became the arbiter of how much I could ride. I found myself carefully calculating tire mileage—how much tread was left on each of my two bikes and when the next set would be needed—and alloting myself so many miles on a given day. Even with a strict mileage allowance, I spent a lot of money on rubber over the course of that year—seven sets of motorcycle tires aren't cheap. It was the sole luxury I allowed myself.
Mostly, it was the few hours I got away on otherwise mundane, average days that made the difference. I quickly fell into a routine of spending several hours every morning doing the job-hunt thing—and then going for a ride. As the months dragged on with little in the way of prospects, those mornings became more and more discouraging. But as dark and depressing as they became, I always had that afternoon ride to bring me back. They let me finish the day with hope.
To those of you who find yourselves in similar circumstances, you have my utmost empathy and respect. I know how hard it can be, how desperate it can make you feel. Short of death, divorce, or debilitating illness, it's probably the hardest thing any of us ever have to deal with. And although at the end of the day we all have to make the hard choices we think are right for ourselves and our family, I'd encourage you to think long and hard before selling that bike out in the garage.
It might just be part of the answer that you need.