I had an extra $20 in my pocket a few weeks ago. It doesn't sound like much, but untracked money is rare for me. I usually have to disclose my purchases, or suffer the wrath during checkbook balancing time.

My choices were endless. I could go to McDonald's and buy, like, six Double Quarter Pounders with Cheese. Or stop at Starbucks and get a few Vanilla Bean Frappuccinos. Mayhaps I could spread it out between Cheetos and frosted animal cookies from the vending machine at work?

I ended up getting a more durable good.

At $19.99 "SBK World Superbike Championship" for the PS3 is a steal. I took it home ASAP and popped it into the console figuring to get a few laps in before work.

Ugh, nothing like the real thing, not that I was expecting it to be. I just thought that it might be fun to pretend I was riding a Suberbike around Miller Motorsports Park.

The game isn't bad, per se. It's actually quite good as a video game. It is a straight-up simulation. The learning curve is masochistic for the casual fan, though, and definitely not for the twitchy, pubescent "Halo" fanatic.

Ironically, it's a game that's lost on most motorcycle riders, I suspect.

I know what it's like to feel the motorcycle -- to feel the physical forces applied to me and the machine as I twist the throttle, lean into a corner, or brake hard. There's nothing like it in all of the motoring world.

For me, one of the most appealing aspects of riding is the contrast of the visceral feeling of being open and exposed and the mental acuity and physical focus of being in control. That is absolutely absent sitting on the couch. I don't care how good the game is.

I was disappointed, because I should have sprung for the cheeseburgers. Why did I think I would like the game? I've never liked a motorcycle racing game, except for the "Road Rash" series, but that's because you get to smack people with chains.

Nunchucks, too.

And cattle prods.

I was sitting in my cage -- a beat up Ford Taurus -- at a stop light trying to answer my question. My $20 bucks were gone, the weather was crappy, I was in a stupid freakin' car, and then it hit me, almost like the jerk who blazed through a red light at the Euclid-Cleveland intersection: I care about motorcycling.

Unlike most of the zombies on four wheels, I have passion for the road and my machine. The only way to experience this passion is to actually hit the pavement on two wheels, not the couch, and definitely not the grocery getter.

There are some drivers with similar mindsets, but these uncommon sporting specimens aren't the problem. It's the drivers like the aforementioned red-light runner that are of concern. These are the drivers who enter their vehicles in abject ignorance. They have no passion. They. Just. Don't. Care. Their vehicle isn't their lifestyle, it's a mundane extension of their work day. In-and-out utilitarian numbness. Point A to point B. Rinse, wash, repeat.

That is until something terrible knocks them off the treadmill.

How lucky am I that I was so bored in my car that I didn't immediately gun through the intersection? I would have gotten T-boned by that jerk. Come to think of it, I was drawn into La-La Land myself. My mind wasn't on the road. I wasn't sharp or focused. I was thinking of a delicious cheeseburger. OH. MY. GOSH. I was at that moment a "cager." That oft-spoken term of disendearment among motorcyclists aimed at the types of drivers mentioned here.

That's all it takes, one moment of cheeseburger dreaming, one speck of time of not paying attention that leads to disaster.

I'm of the mentality of "a cager is a cager is a cager." It doesn't matter your mode of transportation, if you are not focused on yourself, your vehicle and the people around you, you are a cager.

How safe would our roads be if all drivers practiced a responsible motorcycling mentality? If all drivers cared about their driving experience? No more tailgating. No more left turns across the right-of-way without checking. No more DUIs. No more inattentive iPod fiddling. Just passion for the road and respect for your machine, yourself and your fellow road users.

Pete Nowakowski: 447-4073 or pete.nowakowski@helenair.com