Out of the tunnels, back in the saddle

This story of mine ran in the Korea Herald today.

When I first moved to Seoul, I rode the train. I went down into the tunnels with everyone else. We fought and pushed to get on after work -- beat and wanting to go home. Everyone slept, pretended to sleep, or watched TV on their cell phones. The men and women that sat on the benches looked defeated.

There was never a moment during the day that felt more like a struggle. The strain and fatigue seemed contagious. Even in the event that you felt good when you got on the train, you suppressed it -- vitality seemed insensitive.

For the first six months, the environmental benefits of using mass transportation outweighed my displeasure. When I wasn't flying across oceans on airplanes, I generated a minimal amount of carbon, and that felt good.

Despite my environmental ideology, after hearing a friend praise the smooth ride from Sinchon to City Hall, I went down to Toegyero to find a way to escape the subway. From Chungmuro station (Line No. 3, Exit 1), I crossed the street and walked east.

Shops lined the north side of the street. Glass windows displayed hundreds of scooters, dirt bikes, light-CC trail riders and heavy, high-dollar motorcycles. I walked down Toegyero with two criteria -- black and cheap.

A motorcycle should be black. If you have two motorcycles, then you are allowed to have a yellow or a purple one. But a motorcycle is like a leather jacket, there is one best color.

I walked the blocks of Toegyero asking prices and checking tachometers until I found a prospect: a dark, Magma 125cc in good shape and the man selling it willing to talk about the price.

A man who wants to make a deal is hard to find. We passed the calculator back and forth. After a few grimaces and grunts, he agreed on 500,000 won -- 200,000 off what he told me when I walked in. So I took it for a test drive and it ran straight. He put on new mirrors, changed the key box, and threw in a helmet as "service."

The first tank of gas I paid to fill my motorcycle felt like a compromise. There I was, with an efficient, effective subway system running clean and smooth under my feet, buying gas. I had bent my environmental ethics for freedom.

But it was worth it. A motorcycle is an icon; it symbolizes individuality. When I leave work every night, I am leaving alone, traveling alone, at my command -- I decide who I ride with and how we get there.

My commute time has been reduced by 60 percent. Although it is 2,000 times more dangerous, and I wouldn't recommend buying a bike for the Seoul streets if you haven't ridden before, I like it better.

If you do know what you're doing, and you're still riding in the tunnels, think about living above the ground.

That's where life is.