Everything communicates.  It’s why we dress the way we do, get the tattoos we get and why I waxed the metallic blue 1992 Corsica (luggage rack and all) before my first date.  We want to let the world know that we are indeed employable, that we want to stand out or that, ‘I will take care of your daughter in the way that I take care of this car. Sir.’

The military have decorated their uniforms for millennia with bars and colors and patches and medals, each communicating valor or experience or rank.  These insignia communicate specific experiences and dictate how the man or woman in uniform should be treated by those that can decode the symbols.  

I took a trip across the country on a motorcycle a few years back. I rode with a category of bikers that deem themselves ‘adventure riders.’  Adventure riders love stories and stickers.  Generally, this class of bikers moonlight as lawyers or CPAs or, heaven forbid, consultants.  As such, the full-sleeve tattoos and handlebar mustaches are reserved for jobs where sleeves are optional.  Instead, they, or should I say ‘we’, decorate our bikes with stickers.  While it may not be quite as badass as full-sleeve tattoos or XXXL leather vests with ’Tiny’ across the front, it works for me (and my boss). 

Across the miles, I’ve noticed four categories of stickers on bikes and their riders.

The first category are the brands the rider is fond of (or purchased their wares from).  Companies often give away stickers for free or with purchases, so they are relatively easy to come by, yet the unique combination of brands can suggests what type of riding you like to do.  It also suggests a ‘bought’ identity.  I talked to a guy one time about the shocks on his bike and he regaled me with stories of having to change his shocks in the middle of the Gobi Desert.  Needless to say, he’s particular about his brand of shocks, despite the lack of branded sticker.

The second category are the attitudes.  The classier truck stops in the midwest display the carousel by the counter with such favorites as ‘if you can read this, she fell off’ or the classic ‘born to ride’ (often found on a hipster baby stroller), communicating an unsolicited worldview, even if ironic.

Third in our study of the subspecies, motoadventura, are the location or event stickers.  These are the most common among adventure riders.  I’ve adorned my bike with stickers from places like ‘Mile 0’ or ‘Top of the World Highway.’  I wear my stickers as badges, reminding me of the places I’ve been and inviting stories from others. Riders can often be found swapping stories of similar experiences and bucket list rides, prompted by another’s decoration.  Stories emerge as stickers are strung together and the lies begin as they do with fishermen.  

The last category shifts pretty dramatically.  These are the professionals. These folks distribute stickers rather than collect them.  Perhaps there’s a home country or a sponsor, but the gear often speaks for itself.  These folks dole out stickers like the dentist hands out lollipops because their adventure is worth following.  One such gift came from a German couple driving their truck from the tip of Argentina to the top of Canada, blogging their ways and days.    

Each sticker is earned, yet with varying degrees of cost. The trick is, like reading a soldier’s lapel, know how to decipher the code — of both the symbols and the intent of the communicator.  

We all communicate something all the time.  The open question is what and why. What am I communicating to whom? Which story do we want to tell?  Is it a story worth living?