I never read the book, but I think I get the concept. There's something awful cathartic about owning a motorcycle, and it's not just in the riding. It's in the maintenance, and fixing, and preparation of it all. It's in the checking the tire pressure, and adjusting the suspension and controls. There's something very Zen about the whole experience. Maybe it's because in some ways, the bike serves as an extension of yourself. The controls that are at your finger tips are not just controlling a machine, they are guiding a temporary augmentation to your normal physical limits. I love cars, and I love my car, but there's so much of the road feel that you don't get in a car. The bike basically clues you in on the rest of what you're missing. I say this, and I may just be saying this now (ask me again in 6 months), but it's not about the speed. It's about the "feel" which is a much harder thing to quantify. Given that, then working on your bike becomes something very personal. For safety and performance reasons, you tune your bike to match what feels best to you. I find the experience very meditative. No wonder I'm in love with it all.
Now, if only I could find a way to ride with out all those pesky cars on the road.