I’m not a motorcyclist, though I know a few, but they never cease to amuse, and amaze, me… and generally not in entirely good ways.

I saw a college-age guy riding a crotch rocket today. Like most young crotch-rocket-riders, he was wearing sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt as he whipped thru traffic at 50 miles per hour. Oh, and a pair of sunglasses. No helmet, no protective gear…

…except one of those “armored” spine protectors, the kind normally only worn by off-road motocross racers. He was wearing it, I might add, over his t-shirt.

I can’t really fathom why. It certainly wasn’t for looks, unless the strappy, “Hi, I’m in traction” look is now in. All I can imagine is that, in the event of an accident, he doesn’t mind permenant disfigurement (to his face, head, torso, or extremeties) or head trauma, or becoming quadrapalegic… but has enough of a fear of being a parapalegic that he’s willing to look like an absolute idiot to, perhaps, protect against that happening.

Squids…