In the United States, there is an unspoken camaraderie among motorcycle riders. Certain risks are taken by riders every time they get on their bike. It's dangerous putting yourself out there straddling nothing more than an engine and a couple wheels on roads that are dominated by people who ride around in cages with bumpers and seat-belts. By assuming these risks for the sake of the thrill of the ride, one earns a certain amount of respect from other riders. It's a respect that transcends race or gender or age, and gives nod to the freedom shared by riders. If you're standing next to a broken down bike on the side of the road, it's pretty much a guarantee that the next rider that comes along is going to pull over and offer their assistance. Whenever one rider comes upon another rider on the freeway, it's natural for one to pull up behind the other and ride in formation for as long as they share a common road.
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This camaraderie is so prevalent, that there is a language of understood hand signals among riders… if someone pats the top of their helmet it means "law enforcement near by". To extend your arm and turn your thumb down, means "road hazard ahead" and the most common of all is when you're passing a rider coming the opposite direction, you drop your left hand and point downward. Not to communicate distress or warning, but in acknowledgement of a mutual respect that motorcyclists share.
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I grew up riding motorcycles, and assumed that "the wave" was practiced everywhere. It wasn't until I started riding with Charlie, and he started inquiring what all the pointing was about, that I realized that it wasn't universal. I asked him why, in England, didn't the riders have a similar practice. Charlie fumbled around for excuses to defend the etiquette of his countrymen. Such as, "we ride on the other side of the road, so they wave, you just can't see it from that angle" and "I'm sure he would have waved back, if only he had seen me through all the fog." I told him not to get defensive about it, that although the British aren't necessarily the warmest bunch, at least they're world renowned for their amazing culinary skills. Anyway, Charlie, being curious to see what there is in America aside from the mercer hotel in New York, and the Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles, has asked me to give them a tour of our fine country, and of course, we're doing so on motorcycles.
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As measure of America's acceptance of these two Brits, we've decided to take a survey along the way. We'll be riding from Los Angeles to New York City, and offering the "wave" to every rider we pass.

For every rider who waves back, Charlie will donate $10 to charity.
For each rider who fails to reciprocate, I will donate $10 to charity.

Charlie has the benefit of the Pound's exchange rate on his side, but hopefully the US motorcycle community will come through for me.

We will pull out of Los Angeles on the afternoon of September 1st,
and are planning to arrive in New York on September 11th.

In 2000, my older brother Kelly was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and was admitted into a psychiatric hospital. he improved slightly over the following months, but then took a turn for the worse, and took his own life while in the hospitals care. My younger sister Holly took this loss pretty hard, and has devoted herself to taking care of children with mental disabilities ever since. She is currently a nurse at The Parry Center for Children in Portland, Oregon. I talk to Holly daily, and she's always conveying how helpless she feels in her efforts to provide quality care for children who are admitted to the hospital as "Property of the State". These kids are either orphans, or have grown up in an abusive environment, and have been removed from their parents by authorities.
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Now, most people I know will jump at the opportunity to gripe about what a crappy childhood they had, myself included. But after meeting some of these kids, I have no right, nor do most people I know. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for a 8 or 10 year old kid to walk into a mental hospital, and have it be presented to you as your new home. And to pour salt in the wound, instead of parents to help them understand what's happening to them, they have a piece of paper with a stamp that says "property of the state" after their name.
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Anyway, given the limited resources of the state, and without aid of health insurance, my sister Holly often finds herself spending considerable portions of her salary on art supplies, music, clothing, and books, in efforts to give these kids as "normal" a life as possible.
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All money raised will be donated to the Parry Center to aid children deemed "Property of the State"... so if you can afford it, pitch in a little in recognition of the fact that, although many of us blame our childhood for most of our insecurities and quirks for years after we should have gotten over it, when you compare to some,
we really didn't have it that bad.