The Wave

If you ride a motorcycle, you wave at other people on motorcycles. Left hand, down low, two fingers out. It says: I see you, we're both out here, bikes are awesome.

Nobody teaches you this. I taught riding for years and it was never in the curriculum. You just start doing it around your second week, the same way nobody taught you to nod at someone walking a dog.

There are rules, and nobody has written them down. You don't wave in a corner, because you need that hand. You don't wave on a six-lane highway, because you'd be at it all day. Some cruiser riders won't wave at sport bikes. Some sport bike riders won't wave at anybody. Riders on big adventure bikes wave at everyone, including cyclists and horses.

Scooters are a grey area. I wave. They always look surprised, and by the time they get a hand off the bar I'm long gone.

The trouble is that it becomes automatic. Last week I waved at a mailbox. It was a tall black one at the end of a rural driveway and for half a second it had the outline of a rider at a stop sign. I gave it the full two fingers. The mailbox, to its credit, kept it upright.

It gets worse. Driving the car, I see a bike coming the other way and my left hand comes off the wheel and drops toward the door. The rider sees a stranger in a sedan flapping at them through a closed window. They don't wave back.