Conquered, next!

It was summer of 2007 that my dear husband informed me that he would be visiting his brother in NC before his brother's deployment to Afghanistan. They planned to go motorcycle riding since his brother has recently purchased a beautiful new Suzuki. My husband would rent one. Although I was not thrilled of my husband risking his life while on vacation and dying on the road 3000 miles from our home, I gave him my blessing on one condition. I asked him to take a motorcycle safety and endorsement class to brush up on his skills. I also told him that I would join him for the two day class of hands on practice, in class lectures, book work, and full on testing. He was thrilled!

For two days we sat on our motorcycles learning first to correctly mount them, them push them, then start them, finally we were allowed to kick it into gear and feel the friction plate on the clutch grab the motor and zoom we were off! What a thrill. For hours we rode around a huge empty parking lot painted with lines and curves to follow and practice control of starting, stopping, and turning. Then it happened. It was near the middle of day two when I was supposed to start an obstacle course and stop quickly at the end near the orange cones. I completed the course, but when I went to stop I grabbed the hand brake and at the same time gave it more power and gas. You see, some idiot (probably a man) designed the brake and the gas on the same handle. So when my right hand squeezed the break, I also squeezed a bunch of gas right into the motor. Instead of slowing down I was now racing for the edge of the course toward a row of parked cars. I let go of the gas...also letting go of the brake, still careening toward certain doom. Quickly I grabbed the brake again, faster and tighter - this also made me grab the gas and apply it faster and tighter...more gas, more speed, more crap in my pants (and the entire class and two instructors). My total panic set the speeding bike onto a crash pattern. As my bike wobbled violently left and right, left and right, I thought, "This is going to hurt because I'm going to crash!" It was then that I squeezed the brake a third and final time - this time remembering to also squeeze the left hand clutch so that any gas given would not engage the motor. I braked hard, the engine screamed and reved, but this time I stopped. I sat for a few seconds then slowly turned my head to see my instructors shake their heads and give the "Oh shit, we almost lost one" look to each other. I would have been ok at that point to leave the class at the time and never come back.

I began the class fearful to even touch a motorcycle leaning on it's kick stand...but by the time the class had ended I was able to maneuver a figure 8 in a 15 foot box, swerve to avoid an obstacle at 40 mph, safely ride over a piece of wood blocking the roadway, and take a corner with speed and control. It was a mentally and physically exhausting learning experience. Many times during the two days I would smirk just to think that I was actually doing it. I was riding a motorcycle!

Months later an instant message arrived on my computer while I was at work. It read, "Which one do you like?" Pictured were 4 motorcycles that were for sale on Craigslist (damn that Craigslist!). Since we still didn't own one, my husband was still in his year long search to buy one. To make a long story short, my hubby promptly took my, "I like the black one" to heart, contacted the owner, ditched the kids with my dad, and drove out with his buddy to meet with the owner with a load of cash in his pocket. And that was that.


So now we own this bugger. And if I was going to be part in owning it, I was going to not fear riding it...occasionally. So there it sat in our garage. Day after day I would look at it. "I want to try and ride it, but the kids will be done with school in 3 hours and if I crash and end up in the ER, who will get the kids?" I would talk myself out of it over and over. Every day unsure of how I would juggle the crash, the ambulance, giving the EMT's my parents cell phone numbers, reaching my dad, giving him directions to the school to get the kids...Geez, how would I juggle all this while strapped to a back board with a tube down my throat and IV's in my arm?

So one day, I decided to just sit on it. It had been 8 months since our class. I thought it would be a good idea to be restricted by the feel of the helmet and jacket so I put them on and sat on it parked in our garage. I adjusted myself and righted the bike balancing it under me. I reviewed and touched all the controls. It felt good, but not good enough to go for a ride. I got off the bike. I went to take off the helmet and ... panic! I couldn't unhook the chin strap. More panic! I picked at it, pulled at it, pinched my fricking chin tighter in it. I went to a mirror and couldn't manage to see the flipping strap! I thought I would just call Wayne and ask for help - sheer panic - how the hell could I even use a phone, I WEARING a helmet! I began to sweat. My heart pumped faster. I picked and pulled some more, and I felt my panic become full fledged claustrophobia. I guess I could go next door and see if my sweet neighbor would open the door to what would appear to be a 5'8" stranger wearing an all black helmet. Hell no she wouldn't open her door! Finally, I felt the strap budge...it was loosening. Whew. I was able to take the thing off my head. Exhausted by my two minute tantrum, I flopped onto the couch. Gee, this is going to be great! Not.

Since then, I gathered the courage to take the motorcycle around the block while the kids were at school. That day I passed right by Andrea's preschool. Her class was out at recess as I drove by. I wanted to honk and wave, but feared taking my hand off the handle to do so. Watching her mom fly OVER the handle bars and crash into a near-by ditch was not really my intention, so I played it safe and rode by unnoticed.

Last week I drove to my parent's house nearly 5 miles away on major roads. That's when I realized I was now a Hot Motorcycle Mama! I was less than a mile from home when I found myself stopped first in line at the stop line at a light on Hwy 99. In the lane next to me another motorcycle pulled up. Gray hair, beard, skull cap helmet, and an orange Harley Davidson balanced under his Levi's, he looked at me, smiled and said, "Nice bike." Oh yeah baby! This is what it about right? Whatever.

On the way to my parent's house I was stressed like a 16 year old learning to drive a stick shift at every stop, start, and corner. I was ready to quit half way there after making a corner onto a hill where I shifted to neutral instead of second gear. But I made it.

The next night I think I impressed the girls at my monthly Bible Study when I walked in wearing all my gear and carrying this huge black helmet.

Ok, I can ride baby, what's next?