So I thought. I took the Motorcycle Safety Course with my 19-year-old son, Kyle. He harassed me each time I had to re-do a lesson for lack of form. Each day he bragged about how he did everything better than me, but I was determined. I made it through the riding course and scored higher on the written test than he. My vengeance was the day I went to the DMV and got my class C M1 license before he did. I called Kyle on the phone and asked,

I was on my way to two-wheeled mobility, two-wheeled tales and headed for the sunset.

I’ve been around motorcycles most of my life and never had any fear of climbing on or lending a hand. I helped my ex- many, many times fix his old ’67 FLH Police Special. Helped bleed the brakes, adjust the lifters; tape off the sheetmetal for paint, part running… whatever was needed. Always a passenger, never dreamed about riding my own. The dream changed.

I knew we were getting a ’04 rubber-mounted sporty to do mods. on for magazine articles and I waited anxiously for it to arrive. I imagined how easy it would be to get on that thing and hit the road.

The day it arrived, I had every excuse why I couldn’t go out that day.

We were in the midst of buying and new home and selling our old one. Days were hectic but I could have taken an hour out of every day to practice. Finally after a few days I grabbed my leather jacket and announced I was going for a ride. Bandit walked out with me and coached me on the turn signals, the this, the that, and I was ready to go.

The first thing that came to mind when I climbed on was, this bike was ten times heavier than the one I learned on in class. Learning on a Honda 175 then hopping on a Harley-Davidson 1200 Sportster Custom was not gonna be as easy as I thought. It was a cold-blooded little bitch so he told me to leave the choke on a while. I cautiously headed on down the street with more power than I knew what to do with. Came to my first stop, turned the corner and headed toward the next stop. The bike felt like it wanted to pull out from underneath me but I held on. I was cruising and lookin’ good. Some guys were standing on the opposite corner and I barely gave them a glance as I came to a stop. That’s right, a chick on a bike. I was too cool as I prepared to turn again. It felt unusually powerful and I wondered if it should feel so jumpy. I looked both ways and began my next turn only to find myself jumping off this bike that was going down. I dropped the bike. I guess I didn’t throttle enough, or maybe not enough clutch. Whatever the reason, I stood in disbelief as the bike lay on the ground.

Yeah right, I was too cool! A woman was in a car next to me as I dropped it and yelled out her window to make sure I was ok. I was except for my pride. She asked if I needed any help and I thank her but declined. I was just gonna pick my bike up and be on my way. I tried to no avail. I cursed and kicked, tried and tried, that fucker was too heavy or I was just too upset. Another woman passed me and asked if she could help. Yes, she could. She ran over and I lifted as she pulled and we got it upright. Now I was shaken. I checked the bike and fired it up all right, not too upset to start outta gear and really make a fool out of myself. But the job of turning the corner I just dropped on was still ahead of me. I knew I had to give it more gas this time or do the same thing. It just felt so powerful. I went for it and made it down the street and around the next corner.

I don’t like this bike it’s too powerful. I need a smaller bike, buy me a Triumph, a Buell… I’m going home, I don’t like it!!!

He leaned over, pushed in the choke and immediately the bike settled down. Holy shit, is that all I had to do to tame the beast?

I still don’t like it and I’m still going home.

He convinced me to ride a little more, and I did. After a couple of deep breaths and giving in to the voice in my head, if she could do it so could I… I rode for nearly an hour more and loved it.

I’ll be honest and tell you that this happened over four months ago and since then I’ve only ridden two more times. Dropping it again the last time. I did get back on and ride for an hour but it did something to my confidence. When I rode in from that last ride and shut it off, I declared that some people just aren’t cut out to ride. That maybe I’ll remain a passenger and forget about this riding bullshit. It didn’t taste right coming out but Bandit was overly agreeing with me. That’s what got me. I felt he would be more than happy if I never wanted to ride on my own again. I don’t know if that’s the case but that’s how I felt and it made me angry.

I know he only agreed because he feared for my safety, and the safety of others with me, an un-experienced rider out on the road.

He loves her and was concerned, and that’s what Bandit was feeling.

Well, here I am still making excuses why I don’t ride that sporty. It is too heavy for me to pick up but that shouldn’t stop me; most riders can’t pick up their bikes. I still have passion and I wonder if I would feel different if I had a smaller bike. My love tells me all I need is practice. This I know, but if he would go with me I wouldn’t care if I fell. I wouldn’t have to stand there like some damsel in distress waiting for someone to rescue me. Bandit has agreed to ride with me everyday for the next two weeks. I’ll keep you posted on how this works out. If you see me cruising along the streets of Wilmas on a black and blue sporty, you’ll know I only needed practice and I’ve accomplished a dream.

If you don’t, it could just mean that I gave up or finally talked my guy in to building me a little Triumph and we’ll see what my next excuse will be…

Layla