Handguards?

I was scrolling Facebook the other night and saw a meme about A$AP Rocky being gay.

 

Obviously only the most flaming of today’s homosexuals are churning out babies with Rihanna.

He should be drinking beer, scrolling Vital and losing parlays like us real men.

Here’s another flaming homo:

 

Oh no I’m sorry. Jo Shmo isn’t gonna be called any names, because he’s too cool for handguards.

Guard(s). Plural.

 

One…apparently fine.

Or it’s fine, but only once you’ve realized how fragile those little moneymakers are.

It’s time for a confession. When I was a middle schooler, I also called things gay, because I thought edgy = funny. Plus, ya know — monkey see, monkey do.

I learned in high school that my peers actually had a problem with gay people, and we weren’t all just ironically poking fun at our elders and the ambient Baptist hilljacks.

Turns out, Preacher Jim, it’s hard to take harping on the sanctity of marriage seriously when you’re on marriage number three.

The motorsports world is one of the last bastions of crass shit like this. As a straight white guy I wouldn’t go out of my way to crusade against it, except that I have seen how y’all’s bullshit impacts the sport.

I met a couple of strangers in New Jersey one day. I had ridden my dual sport to Field of Dreams, put in a day of practice on street slicks, and now my bike wasn’t running. It was time to go home, but I couldn’t.

One of these strangers was black, probably in his “trying the sport” phase judging by his speed, his friend hauling his bike there, and his patience with his white “friend.”

His white friend was taking every opportunity he could to drop the hard R, now that he was out of the city and had his black friend surrounded by fellow country white boys motocrossers.

I’m not one to butt in on tradesman banter.

And I was trying to finagle a ride home from the white guy who drove the truck.

And it would have been a tight jumpseat ride home.

Or maybe these are all sad excuses for the fact that I’m a pussy who didn’t say anything.

But hey, dude might have been chill with it, picking his friends is his business.

Similarly, my gay best friend from college no longer rides offroad.

When we met in college, I convinced him to get a bike. We picked him up a Trail 70. We rode around town a bunch, because the South is still a free country where you can ride minibikes on the road, if you’re minding your own business.

We went to the local offroad park.

I believe before we had unloaded the Jeep we heard something called gay.

I’m sure this was a very welcoming moment for him.

Having just moved from the city, where the crosswalks are rainbows, he lands in Georgia, where we have a yearly murder trial, followed by rallying “murdering someone for being gay” as a different crime from “murdering someone for any other stupid reason.”

In fact, in hindsight, he hadn’t even come out to me yet, because he was worried I wouldn’t bullshit about bikes and cars with him if I knew he was gay.

At least he was allowed to carry a gun. Though remember, it’s your right, it’s not something that can be “allowed”.

So anyway, this was just a draft in my Substack.

My shitposting days were behind me.

I wanted to mention using handguards to push other riders out of the way, when you’re feeling like a gentle BamBam.

 

I wanted to say “don’t put your fingers where you wouldn’t put your pecker.” The most human wisdom: the type passed down. I might even make a nice AI demonstration, for those without imagination.

But I couldn’t find a way to write it without sounding too much like a braggadocious contrarian douchebag. There’s a correct level to keep you reading.

And then Nate Thrasher broke his finger hitting another Star rider.

Maybe if Bobby would get off his phone and flag we’d have one less case of early onset arthritis in the moto community.

Or y’all could just run fuckin’ handguards.

Just don’t say I told ya so.

 

Repeat after me.