Loud pipes save lives. Seriously.
I decided to take advantage of some record-high temperatures today, finish up some maintenance on the bikes, and take a spin. Heading down the interstate out of town, I got into a little bumper-to-bumper traffic going about 60 (speed limit is 65), with me in the leftmost lane (of three). The left lane was going a mile or two faster than the middle lane, so it didn't surprise me any to discover that the white Saturn I was overtaking wanted to be in my lane. A bit disconcerting was the fact that the driver didn't use her turn signal before doing so, and even more disconcerting, that she didn't do her physical head-turn to check whether the lane was occupied. It was, of course, by me, as I was just moving past her driver door, but if no one had ever taught her "look for a bicyclist," she probably would never have seen anything smaller than a maxi-sized SUV.
In my after-action analysis, I decided the correct action to take would have been to use up the little cushion I'd left between myself and the vehicle in front of me by blasting on the throttle, while shifting leftward in my lane and preparing to take the (very narrow) left shoulder if necessary. Which is good, because that's what my instinctual response was. I had also instinctively turned on my left turn signal, not to signal a lane change into the median, but because my thumb was groping for the horn and missed it. Gotta work on practicing the horn: I always use my turn signal, but my horn, not enough, evidently.
Anyway, as I came blasting past her front quarter-panel and out of harm's way with an inch or two to spare, I heard her tires squeal as her brakes locked up, and then I heard the squeal of the car behind her locking up, and as I was able to glance in my rear-view, I saw the white Saturn angling back into the center lane from which she'd come, nose down in a full brakes-locked dive, her eyes wide. Yeah, I know you didn't see me, and that I "came out of nowhere;" that's what happens when you don't look.Tyrone: I didn't see it there.
Vinny: It's a four ton truck, Tyrone. Its not as though its a packet of fucking peanuts, is it?
Tyrone: It was a funny angle.
[All three turn and look back at the truck.]
Vinny: It's behind you, Tyrone. Whenever you reverse, things come from behind you.
Know what would have kept her undies dry, and my pulse at a sane level? Yeah. Loud pipes. Let's fight it out.
The facts are these:
So, in conclusion, it would seem that loud, omnidirectional sources of sound are socially acceptable, safe, and a good idea-once the accident has already happened and the motorcyclist is in the back of the ambulance. Why not before the accident? If bright colors and lots of lights are better than loud pipes, which are merely okay at raising awareness... why not let us combine both approaches, for a solution that's better than better?
Personal facts, this time:
But, for all my efforts, I don't notice any reduction in people texting at the wheel or talking on phones; I see more of them with the passage of time. I don't see the random-lane-changers improving; there are as many as there always have been. They don't care about my safety? Guess what: I don't care about their annoyance level, either. I don't have loud pipes on any of my bikes at the moment, but you had better believe I'm paying into the rights organizations that defend loud pipes. Let somebody do to my girl what this stupid driver did to me today, and I'm taking a hole saw to her baffles.
-
In happier news, a few months ago, I had complimented a fellow rider on his customized bike at a small mountain cafe on a sunny afternoon, where life was lazy, the clouds were puffy, and we were watching hummingbirds do a mating dance around a nearby feeder. The motorcyclist had a gigantic "Harley-Davidson" patch on the back of his vest that didn't quite cover up the needle-holes where a three-piece patch had once been sewn. On the front of his vest, I noticed the telltale diamond shape where a "1%er" patch had at one time resided.
"So, who did you used to ride with?" I asked. The guy gave me an earful about his days with the Mongols in California, but how he's out of the organized crime scene and left the coast entirely to start fresh, for the well-being and health of his ol' lady and his daughter. I tried to downplay my response, to say "cool" and to give him some mild words of encouragement, but inside I was really crazy-proud of the guy. Getting out of an outlaw club in California is about as dangerous as being a Muslim apostate these days, so he's a real success story, and his heart's in the right place.
I forgot about the guy until today's run to the motorcycle dealership to pick up a tool and some gaskets. Guess who checked me out at the parts counter? "Aren't you that guy I met way up in the mountains a few months ago?" I reminded him of our conversation. He seemed absolutely thrilled that I remembered him, and was eager to tell me that he'd had this new job for about five days now and was loving it. He seemed pretty enthusiastic, wished me a happy new year like three times, asked if I lived here in town, and said he'd see me again. Yes, I assured him. He certainly would.
And I really would like it if I get to; I'm sure he'd be an interesting guy to listen to on a coffee-shop or milkshake run. Maybe he's doing well these days, or maybe he needs some encouragement in life. Who knows? Either way, I'd like to offer him an ear, talk bikes with him some, and he seems happy to have somebody recognize him and be friendly to him. His name's Max. Happy New Year to you too, Max. I hope there are great things in store for you.
In my after-action analysis, I decided the correct action to take would have been to use up the little cushion I'd left between myself and the vehicle in front of me by blasting on the throttle, while shifting leftward in my lane and preparing to take the (very narrow) left shoulder if necessary. Which is good, because that's what my instinctual response was. I had also instinctively turned on my left turn signal, not to signal a lane change into the median, but because my thumb was groping for the horn and missed it. Gotta work on practicing the horn: I always use my turn signal, but my horn, not enough, evidently.
Anyway, as I came blasting past her front quarter-panel and out of harm's way with an inch or two to spare, I heard her tires squeal as her brakes locked up, and then I heard the squeal of the car behind her locking up, and as I was able to glance in my rear-view, I saw the white Saturn angling back into the center lane from which she'd come, nose down in a full brakes-locked dive, her eyes wide. Yeah, I know you didn't see me, and that I "came out of nowhere;" that's what happens when you don't look.Tyrone: I didn't see it there.
Vinny: It's a four ton truck, Tyrone. Its not as though its a packet of fucking peanuts, is it?
Tyrone: It was a funny angle.
[All three turn and look back at the truck.]
Vinny: It's behind you, Tyrone. Whenever you reverse, things come from behind you.
Know what would have kept her undies dry, and my pulse at a sane level? Yeah. Loud pipes. Let's fight it out.
The facts are these:
- Yes, I know loud pipes are annoying. Her poor driving skills are also annoying. My loud pipes won't hurt her, but her poor driving skills can (and almost did) kill me. Which is more important? Annoyance, or matters of life and death?
- Sportbikers sometimes scream that exhaust pipes on motorcycles are directional. Well, duh, on their bikes, the sound is directional. They have four cylinders with a combined displacement of 600cc. That's a cavity size of 150cc. The Sportster is a 1200cc V-Twin, which means each cavity is 600cc. From blowing across beer bottles when they're full, half-empty, and empty, you know that the larger cavity creates a lower pitch. From positioning the subwoofer in your home theater, you know that lower pitches are omnidirectional, whereas higher pitches are more directional. Thus, the sportbikers are correct about their bikes: sound from their exhaust is directional. Not true for big-twins.
- If you need further confirmation about directionality, come for a ride with me sometime. When we stop for lunch at a diner, we can hear the rumble of V-twins coming from a mile away, and we all turn to look to see if it's someone we know, or even if it's just a bike we like. The exhaust note from a V-twin is not directional.
- "The Doppler effect renders the lower pitch meaningless," I've seen it said. Hellewwww? The Doppler effect happens when there's a large difference in speed. This gal who nearly killed me was going just a little bit slower, right beside me. If I'd had loud pipes, she would have heard them. Also, see the previous: real-world experience shows us people seated in a diner, stationary, can hear big-twins coming despite the Doppler effect. It doesn't make us silent.
- One popular objection is, "it's better to be seen, not heard, so wear bright clothing instead." However, "seeing" implies "looking," since we can only see where our heads are pointed. This creates a failure mode in which heads aren't pointed where the motorcycle is located, as in today's episode.
- Ears, on the other hand, are on both sides of the head to ensure sounds can be collected from all directions. In fact, they've evolved with little spiral-shapes in them specifically because they help pick a location out from all possible directions. Google "binaural audio" for more information. This is exactly the feature motorcyclists need to exploit.
- The technology magazines these days are reporting on suggestions that fully-decoupled hybrid vehicles may come equipped with noisemakers to protect pedestrians who might get hit if they don't hear the car coming under electric power. This is a confession on the part of automakers that the ears are the key to safety.
- Emergency vehicles use the loudest horns made, in addition to flashy lights. Think about the last time you heard a siren and that deep, loud horn. Made you look around to see what direction it was coming from, didn't it? Somehow, when lives are on the line, we can make allowances for annoying noises. And we acknowledge that they work.
So, in conclusion, it would seem that loud, omnidirectional sources of sound are socially acceptable, safe, and a good idea-once the accident has already happened and the motorcyclist is in the back of the ambulance. Why not before the accident? If bright colors and lots of lights are better than loud pipes, which are merely okay at raising awareness... why not let us combine both approaches, for a solution that's better than better?
Personal facts, this time:
- Most of the used bikes I've bought had loud aftermarket pipes already installed. In every such case, I've put quieter pipes on.
- My personal experience has been that close calls, like today's, are more frequent after I put quieter pipes on.
- Of bikes I've bought with stock pipes, I have never changed them out for louder pipes.
- One modification I've made with almost all my bikes so far is "more light." Run/brake/turn modules to add light on the rear, passing lamps on my sweetie's Sporty. I'm a big advocate of being seen.
But, for all my efforts, I don't notice any reduction in people texting at the wheel or talking on phones; I see more of them with the passage of time. I don't see the random-lane-changers improving; there are as many as there always have been. They don't care about my safety? Guess what: I don't care about their annoyance level, either. I don't have loud pipes on any of my bikes at the moment, but you had better believe I'm paying into the rights organizations that defend loud pipes. Let somebody do to my girl what this stupid driver did to me today, and I'm taking a hole saw to her baffles.
-
In happier news, a few months ago, I had complimented a fellow rider on his customized bike at a small mountain cafe on a sunny afternoon, where life was lazy, the clouds were puffy, and we were watching hummingbirds do a mating dance around a nearby feeder. The motorcyclist had a gigantic "Harley-Davidson" patch on the back of his vest that didn't quite cover up the needle-holes where a three-piece patch had once been sewn. On the front of his vest, I noticed the telltale diamond shape where a "1%er" patch had at one time resided.
"So, who did you used to ride with?" I asked. The guy gave me an earful about his days with the Mongols in California, but how he's out of the organized crime scene and left the coast entirely to start fresh, for the well-being and health of his ol' lady and his daughter. I tried to downplay my response, to say "cool" and to give him some mild words of encouragement, but inside I was really crazy-proud of the guy. Getting out of an outlaw club in California is about as dangerous as being a Muslim apostate these days, so he's a real success story, and his heart's in the right place.
I forgot about the guy until today's run to the motorcycle dealership to pick up a tool and some gaskets. Guess who checked me out at the parts counter? "Aren't you that guy I met way up in the mountains a few months ago?" I reminded him of our conversation. He seemed absolutely thrilled that I remembered him, and was eager to tell me that he'd had this new job for about five days now and was loving it. He seemed pretty enthusiastic, wished me a happy new year like three times, asked if I lived here in town, and said he'd see me again. Yes, I assured him. He certainly would.
And I really would like it if I get to; I'm sure he'd be an interesting guy to listen to on a coffee-shop or milkshake run. Maybe he's doing well these days, or maybe he needs some encouragement in life. Who knows? Either way, I'd like to offer him an ear, talk bikes with him some, and he seems happy to have somebody recognize him and be friendly to him. His name's Max. Happy New Year to you too, Max. I hope there are great things in store for you.