Anecdotes from racing paddocks across the globe are full of riders and drivers with truckloads of superstitions. Perhaps most famous was Valentino Rossi’s ritual before and after jumping on his MotoGP bike. The nine-time world champion would crouch beside the right side of his motorcycle and place his left hand on the footpeg in his hand while bowing his head. The ritual continued by standing on the bike and, without care for millions of fans watching this at every race, tugging at his nether regions when rolling out of the pit lane.
He didn’t do this once, twice, or thrice—he did it every time he jumped on a bike. Whether he does it now is unknown to me, but we are creatures of habit, and that’s nothing to be trifled with. At a certain point, it becomes part of what we do, and the line between superstition and habit becomes blurred.
I don’t consider myself to go in for superstitions or anything like that. It simply isn’t logical and I’m aware that no amount of wishing will change any situation in my daily life. We could think positive thoughts or manifest any number of scenarios until we’re blue in the face, but it’s yet to be a strategy that’s brought me wishes of riches. I know this.
Yet, that hasn’t stopped me from creating rituals that need to be performed when riding or, perhaps even more comically, when packing for a work trip. The latter seems reasonable when I break down the thought process behind it—boots, jackets, suits, or whatever fits in my bag a certain way. Having played enough luggage Tetris for any number of lifetimes, I have this down to a science.
Still, when the alarm clock doesn’t go off and a shuttle bus looms, I’ve haphazardly stuffed my bag full of wet gear and readied myself at a moment’s notice. In those cases, something feels…off. Maybe it’s because I know it should have been done correctly, but I stand behind this instance as something that doesn’t require therapy.
Admittedly, I’m not sure if the next one can be filed away so inconsequentially. For whatever reason, my left boot and left glove must go on first. It’s odd to consider because I generally don’t remember frivolous procedures like that. However, I can tell you when it started. After a minor mishap many years ago, my hand ended up in a Mikey Mouse-esque cast, and initially, my grip strength wasn’t great during recovery. It was physically easier to put the left glove on first and then pull the right glove on, using the extra grip from a gloved hand to yank my garment over my mitt. My boots went on from left to right for similar reasons.
Fair play, I suppose. I did what I needed to do. Yet, physical therapy and getting back into the gym meant that my grip strength was equal within a relatively short period. That habit has lasted well over a decade at this point.
Should we consult the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders? Maybe for some halfway compelling party conversation. What started as a workaround due to a literal and physical issue became a ritual that evolved into superstition.
I’ve tested the waters of placing a glove or boot on my right side first, and I must tell you, dear readers, it feels wrong in a deeply unsettling way. My brain’s pathways are well-worn with my gear-up process, and any deviation is discomforting, to say the least.
Logic tells us none of these acts will help, but here is my argument: The repetition sets an interesting chain of events that focuses me on the task at hand. When the boot goes on, the next steps are self-explanatory, and now all I’m considering is what I need to do on the bike. That might be a laundry list of things, such as testing ride modes, experimenting with various settings, or attempting to get a handle on a particular machine I’m working with. I’ve cleared all the mental hurdles to justify my weird behavior, folks, and in the end, we need to do whatever works for us, no matter how bizarre.
So the question to you is this: What habits have you picked up before setting off on your motorcycle?
