Between smudged make-up, matted hair, and assorted fashion disasters, the back of a motorcycle is no place for a lady. And yet, the biker has stood tall throughout history as an icon of female desire. Stanislaus Jude Chan risks a lifetime of forced celibacy to get the low-down on Why Women Love Bikers!

“Tell me,” the Editor mused. “Why do women like bikers?”

And I’m left scratching my head, wondering just what in the world he’s talking about. I have been riding for a good part of my life now, but it does seem that my bike is less of a chick magnet and more of a giant lodestone for traffic tickets.

Unless you’re Valentino Rossi or Sonny Barger, it is unlikely you have a queue of women stretching from here to the Sepang Circuit that are waiting to jump into the sack with you. Reality check: it is unlikely – even though we are the leading bike magazine this part of the world – that you are a 7-time MotoGP World Champion with millions of dollars in the bank and a disarming sense of humour. (Somehow, I figure Rossi has better things to do than read this frivolous article. Like fixing his problems with Yamaha and Bridgestone.)

It is even less likely that you are the awe-inspiring leader of an outlaw motorcycle club. If you had to ask, Sonny Barger is de facto President of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club – yes, the Hells Angels – and one of the most feared and respected characters on two wheels. Needless to say, there are more than a few women fighting (sometimes literally, I reckon) to sleep with this legend.

Unfortunately, it seems the rest of us mere mortals are considerably less desirable in Venus’s eyes.

There is a theory regarding the attraction of bikers that is so male chauvinistic that to publish it is to incur the wrath of any self-respecting woman. But to provide a comprehensive perspective on the subject, I will risk having my eyes gorged out by painted fingernails to broach the topic.

The Theory of Materialism offers to explain why bikers seem to be more popular with younger girls, but suffer from waning attraction in later stages of life. The significantly lower financial costs of owning a motorcycle, compared with a car, allows any 18-year-old in Singapore to possess your own vehicle, even before you’re permitted to vote or watch certain ‘artistic’ movies. And anyone who has had the privilege of taking public transport knows that it is far from an award winning experience at times.

Armed with his new two-wheeler, the young biker eagerly races to impress his female friends. And what an impression a spanking new crotch rocket makes, not least because of the startling jingle of the small 2-stroked engine and modified pipe! Aside from the distinction of sounding like a gas-powered grass-cutter on steroids, the bike represents real freedom from exorbitant midnight taxi fares, stray groping hands onboard crowded train carriages, and the incessant clatter of TV mobile.

But, alas, all good things come to an end, and the appeal of the biker comes crashing down shortly after. Somewhere between tertiary education and the start of her career, the increased spending power of potential suitors offers women another alternative to the hassle of public transport, and one which they can enjoy in air-conditioned comfort: private cars. Bikes – and bikers – are then seen as a poor substitute, and unceremoniously dumped from the premier league, not unlike Derby County.

An acquaintance noted that a group of guys were “eligible”, solely based on the fact that they drove cars. Another proudly boasts the perceived prowess of her boyfriend’s WRX. I regard both as sad by-products (read: waste material) of our capitalistic world, where the car is a highly desirable symbol of wealth, and the motorcycle a representation of poverty. Never mind that I count at least 10 motorcycles in the market that cost more than the average saloon car. Or that we have enough sense not to straddle a machine that sounds strangely like a common name for a dog. (Rex, geddit?)

Of course, a theory that depicts all women as selfish moneygrubbers must be taken with a hearty serving of salt. That there are a healthy percentage of bikers (myself not included, unfortunately) that do continue to enjoy the amorous attention of the ladies must mean there is little, if any, truth in the hypothesis. And it must also mean that there’s something I’m not doing right. But I digress.

The answer to the initial question lies, I think, not in the physical, demographic descriptions of motorcycle riders, but to their vastly intangible set of attitudes, values and beliefs. More than a means of transport, the motorcycle is a lifestyle; far from the pauper, the biker is the master of his own destiny.

Throughout history, the biker has stood as an icon of rebellion, freedom, and power. With its amazing versatility in manoeuvring across challenging terrain, its light weight which allowed it to be parachuted into strategic positions, as well as its unparalleled swiftness, the motorcycle proved to be the perfect military vehicle during World War II. But its popularity continued even after the war, especially among war veterans and outlaw motorcycle groups in America who found the adrenaline, camaraderie and inherent danger of motorbikes hard to resist.

Across the Atlantic, the growth of the Vespa in Europe as a practical and economical means of commute was met with waves of widespread popularity. But more than a transport tool, the allure of the scooter was in what it truly represented: individualism and independence, regardless of social class or gender.

By the time motorcycles started rolling off factory floors in the Land of the Rising Sun in the 1960’s, the motorbike had already taken its place as a high-powered toy for the carefree, and a machine for recreational sport and leisure.

As a throwback to my earlier assertion, bikers as a group are impossible to define demographically. After all, only a fool would try and claim that all bikers are poor, uneducated, and male. Not only would he be way off the mark, he would also be likely to get his teeth kicked in. Yet, it is evident that the stereotypes persist. On the other hand, not all stereotypes are necessarily damaging, especially with regard to the romantic magnetism of the biker.

Ironically, the biker is helped on by a persistent media bias that paints us in one broad stroke as a bunch of reckless good-for-nothings on whose shoulders the blame for increased traffic accident rates should squarely lie. How much good sense, if any, goes into these allegations, I can’t tell. But I reckon this stereotype has acted as an aphrodisiac on more on one occasion – to the delight of bikers. After all, a relationship with one who lives to the full, on the edge, and thrives on danger, is bound to be much more exciting and pleasurable than an evening with mommy’s boy who prefers the safety of a life in a cage, and likely to get to your knickers only because he bores the pants off of you.

Whether he rides a rebellious chopper, a metrosexual scooter, or a scroungy super-motard is beside the point. As the biker straps on his leathers, parks himself in the saddle of his motorcycle, and fires up the engine, the metal beast roars to life. In that instant, the biker becomes a modern-day gladiator – defying death, embracing freedom, and defending individualism. It is no coincidence that motorcycle manufacturers speak directly to bikers in this language. While Honda attests to “The Power of Dreams”, Triumph encourages you to “Go Your Own Way”. The biker is a passionate freedom fighter, constrained only by his own mind – and the occasional painful reminder of physics. What’s there not to love?

If there is any doubt left as to the legendary allure of the biker, one need only to a time long, long ago, in a land far, far away. In case you’ve forgotten your fairytales: Without fail, Prince Charming rides to the rescue of the damsel in distress on his glorious steed, and sweeps the fair maiden off her feet. Horse-drawn carriages are for the sick, the witches, or the evil step-mothers. Go figure. In this light, it is no wonder then that the contemporary Prince Charming on his iron horse is an irresistible character in an enchanting tale of romance.

Why do women love bikers? It doesn’t matter. The real question in this new era is: why do we find female bikers so darn irresistible? But that’s another story for another time.

Stay tuned!

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