Dualities

Hardly a day passes without my being asked "What do a whale's eyeball and an embroidery hoop have in common?" or some similar pair. Sometimes the answer is one I can guess at (a banana peel and an earthworm share about 75% of their DNA?), but other times I cower in ignorance.

What motorcycles and guitars have in common is that I can't distinguish individual members of either one without being close enough to cheat and read the name on the side. I can easily point you to people who can tell them apart with scarcely more than a moment's glance, but whenever I see them my brain winces and I feel inadequate. I know many of the members of each set, but can't tell one from the other.

What brings this up is that today I watched a vintage racing show from Goodwood. It thrills me no end to see millionaires caring for and restoring cars that are older than I am and using them for their intended purpose: racing. Not parading them around, not displaying them statically, but racing them, just as God intended, wheel to wheel, nose to tail, at speeds well over one hundred miles per hour and separated from each other by inches.

It makes me cry, nearly as much as I do in shame when I see a guitar and know that unless I get a damn good closeup I won't be able to tell you if it's a Les Paul or not, but these tears don't have any bitterness attached.

It's true that I could never afford to own and race these cars and bikes, but I can't get over how people can spend hundreds of thousands of dollars (or pounds, or Euros) and then risk it. Yes, there were accidents and flips and mechanincal failures, and repairing any of those would force me into bankruptcy, but watching those drivers sawing away at those huge steering wheels, sliding around on skinny tires and barely adequate suspension, reminded me of what it is to be human.

Humans learn and know things. Except me, of course, when it comes to motorcycles and guitars.