for Klaus

I've been unable to shake the feeling that I needed to say something on Klaus' behalf to those expressing frustration at the manner of his death: that Klaus Niedermeyer died young not because of recklessness but because of fearlessness. Because of his pursuit of an epic vision of life. Because he was a kind of hero.

When we're told that heroes are fighting wars on CNN or edited into Hollywood reels it's not in keeping with the times to say this warm-hearted marketing director was a hero because of his riding.

But in the Greek world a hero is someone who overcomes his fears to achieve some epic end, always involving great risk for glory, and usually treading defiantly on the edge of gods' domains.

Klaus chose to live by these Homeric proportions in a realm few have experienced, one that transforms the ordinary into the epic.

In this realm life and death hang by split second decisions simultaneous to action, by the piloting of enormous relative power, acceleration and maneuvering potentialities--speed, sweat and adrenaline their byproducts. It is a surreal place, a time machine, where perception of movement 'outside' slows down while one's own experience remains constant.

The wind and the fury are deafening here.

This demigod-like flight is what Klaus experienced as a road warrior. It's a place where man was not supposed to be but where intrepids like Klaus dared to venture.

The most important thing I feel I need to say is that Klaus was no squid, not some kid on his new bike who got in over his head. Klaus was a seasoned and highly experienced rider. He had been riding for years with thousands of miles under his belt. He had club racing experience on the track. To have made it so long given his riding style in NYC without a prior serious incident is a testament to his riding skills and judgment.

As a road warrior Klaus rode close to limits. He was well aware of the risks, not only hypothetically but experientially. He had been in accidents before and knew firsthand the unforgiving and brutal force speed can wreak on your ragdoll body.

As with rock climbers, fighter pilots, skydivers, extreme skiers or commandos, Klaus knew these risks but legitimately decided to persevere despite of them.

I understand for many the reality of death or injury dispells any romanticized notions of high-performance street riding. I also understand that most avoid placing themselves in harm's way, often based on an illusion of immortality or a misunderstanding of the ephemeral nature of life. But this personal choice of safety over risk should not be projected onto, or used to judge, the few who have chosen to live their lives otherwise.

It was Klaus' life, Klaus' decision to live it fearlessly, and Klaus who must now be honored.

One of the things Klaus has reminded is that Achilles' spirit still lives among us. It is for this bravery in the face of danger and in pursuit of an epic purpose that I honor him as a fallen hero and fellow rider.

When someone pushes limits, he or she does so for all of us.

I believe that Klaus is telling us to value courage and not to succumb to fear. To ride the Aeolian wind like an ancient hero in the face of today's anomie, cowardice and banality. Klaus did pay the ultimate price for encroaching on Hermes' domain. But it is his sacrifice that gives meaning to the brave.

I hope I have not disturbed anyone, I just couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to speak for him on this.

My condolences extend to Klaus' family and friends. I learned of his death after the service and I'm sorry I wasn't able to attend.

I'll leave you Klaus wherever you are with my favorite futurist sculpture, one that represents the heroic vision of speed and machine that you embodied every time you fired your engine up--"a rushing motor car is more beautiful than the Nike of Samothrace" (Filippo Marinetti, 1909)--

and with my fav adapted quote about speed that I know you'll appreciate:

You need to ride. You need speed. You need to go out there, and you need to rev your engine. You need to fire it up. You need to grab ahold of that line between speed and chaos, and you need to wrestle it to the ground like a demon cobra. And then, when the fear rises up in your belly, you use it. And you know that fear is powerful, because it has been there for billions of years. And it is good. And you use it. And you ride it; you ride it like a skeleton horse through the gates of Hell (TN: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby)

R.I.P. Klaus 2-12-08

P.D. Spy