Full-face helmet: a most private space

It's a noisy world! Everywhere you go today you are assaulted from all angles by all minds of noise. The din of traffic, jet planes overhead, piped-in music and mindless chatter. If you wanted to be in a quiet place to do some deep reflection, you probably have to clamber up to some mountain top and hope no camper with a boombox has beaten you to it.
I'm a lawyer and some would say noisemaking must be an element of the job. Courtrooms are notorious places to hear booming arguments. So are conference rooms where you hold union negotiations, etc. To put it cynically, someone in my profession might be hearing-impaired to some degree just because the risk comes with the territory.
You'll be surprised how we covet silence--some free time for our ears so we can appreciate other sounds other people take for granted. The sound of raindrops on a tin roof. The wind rustling through some blades of grass. Birds chirping and flapping their wings in flight.
But there's another kind of sound I want to hear--the sound of my own voice. Before you conclude that I'm some kind of egomaniac in love with himself, hear me out.
Soceity frowns on people who talk to themselves. I'm sure in many psychology books,  self-conversation is a category of madness to some degree. I am not crazy, I can assure you that. But sometimes the techniques of memorization that worked for us in gradeschool can still work for us in the grown-up world today.
In the third grade, my teacher asked me to memorize a 20-paragraph poem, and recite it at a school program in two weeks. I did it by speaking the poem out loud as I can in the bathroom, piling one paragraph on top another every day until I could recite the whole thing entirely from memory.
These days, as a lawyer I don't have to recite poems. But it still builds my confidence to deliver my opening statement and oral arguments first to myself, before any judge. I figure I can do that in the bathroom again, but I discovered a better place and time: aboard my motorcycle as I zip through the rural countryside.
A full-face helmet hides your face and no one knows you're talking to yourself. Of course, very few people can actually see you self-conversing while you're riding a motorcycle where only cows graze along the roadsides. But during the brief intervals when you rejoin traffic at some intersection, I like the privacy of  being able to carry on with no one thinking I was crazy. It helps that the constant drone of my motorcycle engine drowns out even the faint snippets of talk that might spill out of my full-face helmet. But for the most part, talking aloud behind a full-face helmet has allowed me to rehearse some of the most stirring oral arguments I have ever delivered in court.
In the city, in the middle of a crowd, I might be able to get away with the same stunt by wearing a hands-free earpiece. But I certainly couldn't yell--which I could behind a full-face helmet, on a lonely backroad, aboard my roaring motorcycle. No one will notice, no one will interefere. It's a paradox of circumstances that the noisiest thing you can imagine, like my 200cc streetbike, also gives me some of the most treasured private spaces I could find on this noisy planet.