No Motorcycles Allowed

by Liz Jansen

No Motorcycles“No motorcycles!” The underground parking lot attendant glowered, shouting in barely legible English, intercepting me before I could push the button for the ticket. “No motorcycles,” he barked again, thrusting his arm and pointing to the exit. “Park on the street.”

He’d just thrown a match on gasoline.

“What do you mean no motorcycles?” I exploded. “Why not?”

“Company rules,” he responded.

I was livid. A barrage of exchanges followed as I focused on balancing my bike and trying to figure out what he was demanding. “Back up!” Back up!” I was past the ticket machine and thus the sensor that would enable him to lift the gate. That was because the machine was on an incline and I’d moved ahead to a more level surface so I could get off and obtain the ticket. Now he was asking me to back up an incline!

I was in Toronto for an appointment and had left plenty of time for travel hiccups. Most of that buffer was used up in stop and go highway traffic. Staying safe while navigating downtown streets in the midday cacophony demands full attention. Concurrently watching for traffic, one-way streets, pedestrians, ubiquitous streetcar tracks, and searching for a parking spot is a challenge. Not finding one on the street, I’d turned into a parking garage, winding down the steep ramp into the bowels of the building to where I now sat.

There was no reason to deny me access. There were no signs, no logic. “How dare he turn me away?” I fumed in silence. Riders who’ve been around for any length of time will likely have experienced such overt discrimination, but I haven’t seen that since my 1977 Yamaha 650 was a baby. I could have forced the issued and parked my bike but it wasn’t worth the risk. I’m sure it wouldn’t be there when I returned.

Later in the day when I’d had time to reflect, I was curious to understand what had touched a nerve. I’d surprised myself by losing my cool in such a way. Perhaps his actions had sparked a tension I hadn’t felt. Maybe I was frustrated because I couldn’t understand him through my helmet, earplugs, and his broken English, spewing instructions as he paraded around me trying to figure out what to do.

No. It wasn’t any of that. My outburst came from a source deeper within me. Being turned away just because you’re on a motorcycle is a violation of fundamental rights. While it’s a minor example, it triggered a more collective memory of arbitrary practices that have defined history. My ancestors fled a country where their existence was threatened by iron rule cemented by brutality. Indigenous people in this country had their culture systematically erased. Escape routes from hot spots around the globe are choked with families fleeing violence and unspeakable horrors. I was responding from the collective tension that bombards us daily.

The answer isn’t in returning hatred, violence, or aggression. My agitated response only exacerbated the situation. Likely new to our country, this was probably one of several jobs the attendant held to support a family making a new start. He wasn’t about to jeopardize his income by allowing a violation of company rules, right or wrong. Whatever the case, neither of us felt good after that encounter.

I’m not suggesting we sit back and let these things happen, but there were more constructive ways to diffuse the situation.

Peace begins with me.

The man whose face I don’t even remember lifted the gate so I could turn around and climb back up to street level. Perhaps it was getting back into the light, or maybe it was the tiny parking spot right beside a KLR that rescued me from that dark place within myself. It was not my proudest moment but I was back in familiar surroundings, wiser for the understanding my travel to the underground taught me.

photo credit: Above the Law via photopin (license)
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Author, writer, and student Liz Jansen combines her artistic mediums to create stories that inspire readers to embark on their own journey of self-discovery.

12 Comments on “No Motorcycles Allowed

  1. Good story/reflection. I probably would have reacted in a very similar manner.

    Thanks for all your posts.

    Happy Holidays to you Liz!


  2. Liz great story about your parking frustration, I don’t think many of us, including me would have handled it with such grace. You are a wise woman Liz.

  3. I loved the metaphor of going underground to find a truth as a way back to the light. (Persephone?) It’s a hard journey. Have a wonderful silent retreat. What a great gift to self.

    • Thank you Chris. As much as we may not choose them or realize at the time, the lessons are in those dark places.

  4. I love your insight: “Likely new to our country, this was probably one of several jobs the attendant held to support a family making a new start.” If only we could always see things from the perspective of the other!

  5. Hi Liz,
    I can understand how you must feel. My parents live in a gated community, and I went to visit on my bike. There was a “No Motorcycles” sign at the gate, so I rode around the post. Well, some guy going through in a car stopped and got out and started yelling at me. (How dare I enter the confines of his gated community on a disallowed vehicle). It upset me and two years later, it still bothers me. Maybe he watched too much “Sons of Anarchy” and thought it was how all bikers behave.
    In this age of bigotry and racism, we should not paint all groups with the same brush, Motorcycle enthusiasts included.
    Liz, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to your and yours.

    • You make a good point Norm. How we react can stay with us for years, and undoubtedly with the other party too. Racism and discrimination is around but this age is what we make it. I’m choosing understanding, collaboration, and peace.
      Thanks. Liz

  6. I must admit that in Eugene Oregon where I live I routinely hear about Harley owners hurting themselves trying to climb their bikes up the many multi level parking structures we have. I personally do not attempt it nor will I. The tight turn simultaneously with the steep uphill angle combined with slick concrete is a real hazard on the ones I have seen – easily negotiated by a competent and experienced rider, but not so much on a weekend warrior who might stumble into it. I can turn my Harley in circles with one hand in the space of two parking spaces because I practice every day I ride. I have also shattered my right side in a moment of neglectful thinking on my ride. 960+ pounds of steel, powered by a 1500-1600 cc motorcycle turns from lover to meat grinder in the blink of an eye.

    It has come to my attention that those I most get angry at in life can also be my best teachers if I let them. I won’t tell them that, hehe, but it can be that way.

    • It IS that way. Thanks for that Dennis. It’s called projection – we project aspects of ourself onto others (both good and shadow) that we either can’t see in ourselves or don’t want to deal with. They’re simply mirroring it back to us. The stronger the reaction it evokes, the greater the lesson – if we let them. 🙂