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You jest, but I suffer from depression and I could not drive while having a bad episode even if I wanted to. You cannot think straight if things in your head go south and you’re too pre-occupied to even make it around the block.
That’s fair. I unfortunately know people who just bottle all of their suffering and they’re just slowly fuming so they’re always angry. And being angry on the road is very dangerous for the people around them.
See, I’m the opposite. I suffer from depression and riding/driving really helps with that.
Only I don’t get all that angry when I do. If someone annoys me, I just go for a simple under-my-breath “you twat”.
The bike works best for it. The big vroom helps quieten the sadness. Kinda hard to be sad when you’re sat on top of an explosive fuel and thousands of explosings happening between your legs. It’s kinda calming. To me, at least.
Before anyone asks, no I haven’t fucked my exhaust. It’s still the stock one.
What scares me the most is not the two-tons, it’s the twenty-tons. There’s something primally scary about a small house on wheels cutting you off in the left lane trying to pass another house on wheels, fully boxing you in between two metals walls while a pickup trying to go 30 over the limit gets all up in your 6.
Go through your shit when you’re not operating a two-ton death machine, thanks.
You jest, but I suffer from depression and I could not drive while having a bad episode even if I wanted to. You cannot think straight if things in your head go south and you’re too pre-occupied to even make it around the block.
That’s fair. I unfortunately know people who just bottle all of their suffering and they’re just slowly fuming so they’re always angry. And being angry on the road is very dangerous for the people around them.
See, I’m the opposite. I suffer from depression and riding/driving really helps with that.
Only I don’t get all that angry when I do. If someone annoys me, I just go for a simple under-my-breath “you twat”.
The bike works best for it. The big vroom helps quieten the sadness. Kinda hard to be sad when you’re sat on top of an explosive fuel and thousands of explosings happening between your legs. It’s kinda calming. To me, at least.
Before anyone asks, no I haven’t fucked my exhaust. It’s still the stock one.
What scares me the most is not the two-tons, it’s the twenty-tons. There’s something primally scary about a small house on wheels cutting you off in the left lane trying to pass another house on wheels, fully boxing you in between two metals walls while a pickup trying to go 30 over the limit gets all up in your 6.