Ride a Motorcycle: Lady Learns at 65

October 1, 2020

Do I want to ride a motorcycle??!! What, me? Whaaat???

I used to have a love-hate relationship with Harley riders who’d blast by on their loud, stinky bikes. I realize now it was because this “good little girl” could still hear my mother deep in my head making some derogatory remark about how “uncouth” those “heathens” and “hooligans” were.

Yet the sheer thrilling wildness to ride a motorcycle stuck deep in my heart.  When a friend who’d been riding for 50 years recently put me on the back of his Harley Road King for a lovely two hour jaunt through the Adirondack Mountains, I was absolutely hooked. It felt so FREE having that wind in my face, so close to nature, so close to the road.

There comes a point in everyone’s life where they have to recognize and drop the false stories in their head, and follow their hearts. A few are born with that skill, and never let those fear-based falsehoods creep in. For most of us though, especially those born when society and family heavily suppressed women’s self-expression, it comes later, after we realize life could end today, so why not follow your dreams? I was always a too well-behaved young woman, and never had much fun. My dream right now is to go do some of those things I thought when I was young would be wild and fun but I felt a bit afraid to do.

With thrill in mind, I researched the risks and mitigation, women’s experiences and practicality, and learn to ride a motorcycle.

This is all happening during 2020’s COVID outbreak, so the next time the local motorcycle class will be held is May 2021.  Rather than wait until then, not knowing if this was a sustained interest, it seemed best to get a learner’s permit and a smallish, resalable bike right away.  I could fiddle around on our rural property to learn balance, shifting, and stopping. Then practice upper gear shifting and maneuvering traffic on roads with my friend. Later next spring, tune my skills with the course, get a license.

A scooter was a possibility, but I knew its usefulness would be short, with a nil resale market in our rural location. Ultimately it seemed sensible to get a small starter bike, but large enough, with enough pickup, that I could get out of sticky situations in traffic, and that might be all I’d ever need.

I’m 4’11.5” tall, and there are few small-engine, best bikes for short riders: lightweight bikes that are short enough for my feet to touch the ground – which obviously is important when learning to ride a motorcycle. Forums and reviews suggested the trusty and popular 370 lb. Honda Rebel 300 ABS would probably fit the bill. It’s also one of the most common bikes used in motorcycle courses. The other day my kind friend drove his trailer and me 243 miles for a 2019 with 1333 ODO. When we got home, he showed me the controls and how to put it in neutral, start it, shift gears, clutch, throttle, brake, and set it on its stand.

I spent the next day filling out the paperwork to get insurance and schedule getting the final registration, printed and read the owner’s manual, and thought through how I’d start learning.

The next day, crisp autumn air and deep blue skies contrasting with intensely colored woods around the house, I warily responded to my bike’s siren call.

Donning jeans, a sturdy jacket, gloves, and the friend’s daughter’s old helmet, Hubby helped me pull it out of the garage. It started right away, humming smoothly, checked the controls, imprinting their function and location in my mind. I mounted, and was pleased that my sturdy 1” heeled leather ankle boots planted flat on terra firma. Woohoo! I was learning to ride a motorcycle!

Slowly my hand released the clutch, other hand pressed down on the throttle, and JOLT! stalled it out. Then again, then three more times. I’d driven a standard transmission expertly years ago, but I’d lost the touch. Finally I got it in first gear, and started up our long uphill gravel driveway, turning onto a second upper sandy drive we had. The throttle is very sensitive, so will take practice.

Slowing down at the end of the upper drive, I wasn’t sure there was enough room to turn around. I spilled off coming out of the turn, the front wheel catching a soft edge.

No damage, just surprised dismay of my first drop. “HELP!!” Fortunately nearby, Hubby was riding his new ATV, and we righted the bike. Neither of us had learned how to pick it up solo after spilling.

Off back down the way I came. There’s a big rectangular turnaround in front of the garage, and I was able to circle. I was circling a second time, but wanted to slow down because I was starting to freeze up and wanted to rest. Instead, hit the throttle down rather than up – and sent the bike right over the end of the driveway and onto the 45 degree weedy, rocky retaining wall hillside.  I did hit the clutch and both brakes hard, just in time, as both wheels went over the edge.  Good thing, since there were also big trees, saplings, and briars ahead that certainly would have stopped me. 

“HELP!  HELP! HELP!”  Adrenaline was flooding my veins, heart pounding as I realized what just happened. Again, Hubby was nearby, and came running. He held the back of the frame, leaning with all his weight, I dismounted, and after several tries we both pushed it back up on the driveway.

After another couple of stalls, I got going again in first gear.  Back up the drive and around the upper one.  This time I took it farther, to another place I thought I could turn around. Problem was this spot wasn’t even close to level.  Coming out of the turn, I got stuck in a weedy hole and down I went again, this time with the bike’s seat on the hill’s downside.  No way I could lift it. Good thing Hubby was bringing his ATV up there again. He was keeping an eye on me by now, thankfully. We righted it again.

One more driveway ride, this time got the bike almost turned around at the top. I wanted to slow down to make that tighter last bit of turn, but again hit the throttle rather than slowing.  I went hurtling into the woods, fortunately again missing trees when I managed to tip over, not hurting the bike, but my shin took out a sapling. (I like to do things with gusto.)

By then my heart was pounding. Hubby was watching and came to help me pull it out.  Just breathe. Just breathe.

I realized my shin really hurt, and saw blood oozing through my jeans.  It was time to take a break.  Rode slowly down to the garage, turned it off, put down the stand. I went in and did damage control on the leg puncture, scrape, and long bruise past my knee, and mulled over where I went wrong. I’d live to ride a motorcycle another day.

For some reason I’d internalized the notion that an overhand turn of my right hand increased the throttle, sort of like screwing on a jar lid tighter, not an underhand turn. I thought of another metaphor that worked better…Pushing underhand was similar to making the throttle go down like a gas pedal.  Repeated this in my mind, over and over – down is gas pedal go faster, down is gas pedal go faster. Up is slow. Up is slow.

After I texted a wound snapshot and a quick synopsis of my first ride to my friend, he stopped over a couple hours later, worried that I’d never ride a motorcycle again. No, I would be fine after I rested off the adrenaline. As a teenager I’d owned and ridden many horses and became an accomplished rider. Many spills taught me intercepting fear, the psychology of remounting when appropriate, and when it was best to take a break, to calm down and rethink what I was doing wrong, but then trying again later. Allowing myself time to learn slowly, permission and forgiveness to make mistakes, keeping my ego humble and listening well to instruction, was the fastest path to developing a new skill.

But it was a huge help that he showed me how to pick up the bike after dropping it, by backing up to the seat. I tried it, and recognized that despite my descent strength for my age, I’d not been doing enough work with my hands lately, and strength is lost quickly now. Although my legs were strong enough to lift the bike if I pressed my butt into the seat, my hands couldn’t hold onto the frame and handlebars, they kept slipping off.  I didn’t have gloves on at the time… that might make a difference.

Either way, I needed to go back to doing hand strength training.  And pushups for triceps, abdominal crunches, and deep knee bends with weights wouldn’t hurt either. It’ll make me safer.

Well I know I can learn to ride a motorcycle, it will just take awhile. And I must give myself more time to rest and recover when I’m pumped. Adrenaline is still a rush, but those of us on Medicare don’t bounce back quite as fast as when we were 30. Must nap, go to bed early.

However experience and wisdom do make you tough, measured, and tenacious.

I’m glad I got the bike.  My pretty new pony needs a name. I’m imagining the metallic midnight Milky Way sky with comets, as the custom paint job she’ll get once I’ve stopped dropping her as often. Have to think about the coordinating leather jacket design. And when I accessorize, matching leather chaps and helmet for safety; the look is pure gravy.