No, I'm not having a mid life crisis, I have always wanted to get my motorcycle license and now, at 42 I finally have decided to go for it.
My husband has had a motorcycle most of the time I've known him (22 years in case you're curious). I enjoy riding on the back, but I'm a take charge kind of girl and really wanted to be able to drive.
The University offers a very good motorcycle riding course and I was actually able to get into a session a couple of weeks ago. The sessions fill up very fast and some folks wait a year or more to get in. I was lucky enough to hit the site the day registration opened for this year and got in.
The course was Monday-Friday from 5pm-9pm which made for a VERY long day for me. It also meant that my husband would essentially be a single parent for the week. He's also dealing with the busiest part of the year in terms of his day job, but he sent me off to class with his blessing. I think he was excited that this would become another shared interest for us.
Now, I rode a scooter in college, some 20 years ago, but other than a few jaunts on a 4 wheeler, had no official motorcycle experience. I get to class and am relieved to find that out of the 12 students, 5 of us were female, and 2 of them were close to my age, (as opposed to college co-eds) and several of us had little to no riding experience.
Monday was very cold and we were glad to discover that we would be in the classroom the whole night and not hit the course until Tuesday. We were informed that we'd be riding in the rain (should it rain) unless there was lightening. I think we all prayed all week for dry weather!
Tuesday we start out at the riding course, a blocked off section of parking lot. After donning all of our gear (boots, jeans, long sleeves, gloves and helmet) we pick out our bikes. In case you don't know, I'm short, seriously short, 4' 12" to be exact. The only bike available to me was a Kawasaki Eliminator (sounds impressive but it's only 125cc). The instructors tell me to go ahead and ride it for that day and they'll get me a bigger bike for Wednesday. In order to get the "M" classification on my license I need to take the test on something that is 250cc or higher. OK, I trust you, my young tattooed instructor, you seem nice and I really have no choice :).
We start out slow, just starting up the bikes and then riding around the parking lot in first gear. It's not so bad until we have to shift. The only boots I own have heels (remember, I'm short), my feet are not long enough for me to hook my heel over the peg and have my toes reach the shifter. This sucks! I am not successful at shifting and begin to wonder what the heck was I thinking! I find myself riding circles around a parking lot chanting "I can do this" over and over.
Finally it's time to head to the classroom for more book work. We line up in two straight lines (Madeline anyone?), are told to dismount and walk our bikes forward so they can load them into the trailer. I drop my bike. I'm not riding any more, but lose my balance trying to walk next to the bike and fall on my a**. A fellow student very nicely picks up the bike while the instructors run over to make sure I'm OK. Yeah, I'm fine, I feel like an idiot, but physically I will make it. I actually said, right after dropping the bike, "Someone had to do it!" because of course, no one had dropped their bike or fallen all evening.
Get in the car, deep breaths, I'm OK, this stuff happens all the time. I am surprised at how physically exhausted I am. This motorcycle riding stuff is hard work!
I get home and tell my husband how hard it was for me to shift in those stupid boots, I have to buy something else. I'm going to go by Walmart in the morning and see if I can find anything (as my son's work boots are WAY too big for me). I have a conference for work all day on Wednesday, if I can't find boots on my way to work in the morning I am in deep doo doo.
It's April in Central Illinois, Walmart does not have anything that remotely resembles a boot that will fit a female size 6.5 foot. Period. I am not happy.
My husband texts me at my conference, he's found me a pair of tactical boots in a size 7, will that work? I want to kiss the phone! This dear man has taken a large portion of time out of his very busy day (he's currently trying to work two 8 hour a day jobs during the same 8 hour period on opposite sides of town) to track down a pair of boots for me so I don't totally fail my class. God I love him!
Wednesday evening I hit the course (still riding the KOW) in my spiffy new boots. I can shift! It's a miracle!
"Hey" says my young, tattooed instructor, "you're not having any trouble shifting! What's different?"
"My shoes!" I reply and show him my snazzy new boots.
"Those are really good boots!" he says.
I have scored points! I have shown him, and myself, that I am taking this class seriously and will do what it takes to learn how to do this. I do not drop the bike this day and finish that evening feeling more confident. I am a bit worried that I am still not riding my "test taking" bike, but am assured again that will be fixed the following day. I go home and kiss my husband.
Thursday, we are down to 10 students. A father / son team doesn't show up for class. We are starting to feel the pressure, tomorrow is test day. If we pass the riding and written tests, we will qualify for our license. Although it has been a very long week, it seems very short in terms of how quickly the test is approaching. I am now riding a Suzuki GZ 250. This is the bike I will test on. It fits me pretty well, though I still can't stand flat footed (even with the cool boots). We practice turns, short stops and weaving.
I'm doing fairly well, then I drop the bike again, while standing in line, again. Crap! OK, get up and get back on. No problem. My other instructor (there are 2, both young men who are both very good at what they do), we'll call him Under Armor man as he's worn a different Under Armor shirt each day, is visibly unimpressed with my abilities and it makes me feel insecure. Tattooed instructor calls me over to his side of the course and takes some extra time to explain things to me and build my confidence back up. He rocks! I find out later, while talking with the other women in the class, that we all feel Under Armor man doesn't like us. It must just be his personality, that makes me feel better.
By the end of our riding time on Thursday, I am absolutely exhausted, physically and mentally. So, what do I do? Why I drop the bike again of course! What is it with me and standing in line? At least I don't fall while I'm moving, only when I'm in line. Still, it sucks! Tattooed instructor puts his arm around me and asks what's going on, as Under Armor man picks up my bike and puts it away. I tell him I'm exhausted and he nods his head. You're OK, you'll do fine. I get in the car to head over to the classroom and have a good cry on the way. I'm such a girl! I can do this, I know I can, but I am scared now that I won't pass the test.
By now, of course, I have told everyone who will listen that I'm taking this class. If I fail I will not only be terribly disappointed in myself, I will also have a lot of humble pie to eat!
Friday, test day. We are all terribly nervous. I am also sporting some rather impressive bruises on my hands and legs from Thursday's mishaps. We start out with some warm up exercises riding around the course. Then it's time. We are told the order in which we will ride and what the first exercise will be. Thankfully, I'm in the middle of the pack. If we don't finish the test, we fail. If we drop our bike, we fail. GAK! I have to share my GZ with another woman in the class. This means that after each exercise, I must dismount and then reclaim my bike once she is done. I must WALK the bike back to my place in LINE each time! Crap! I can do this. I do it. I don't drop the bike. Once it's done, I don't even care anymore, I'm just so glad it's over.
We go back to the classroom to take the written portion of the test. This part doesn't worry me, it's multiple choice and I've read the book a half dozen times by now. Once we finish the written test, we turn it in and go outside to find out how we did on the riding portion. One by one, we go over to Tattooed instructor to find out if we passed or not. He asks me how I think I did, I say I know it wasn't perfect but I thought I did OK.
"Well" he says "perfect is subjective isn't it? You passed."
"Thank God!"
I am so happy and so relieved. I haven't felt this much stress over anything in a very long time. I can't remember the last time I've tried to learn an entirely new skill. It was so hard, but I did it and am very proud of myself. At least 2 of my classmate did not pass the test. I feel really bad for one (one of the other women my age), not so much for the other (a college age man with attitude). This really and truly is the hardest thing I've done in a very long time. I send a text to my husband who is camping with the Boy Scouts in the middle of no where. It says simply
"I am a motorcycle mama!"
A week later I am the proud owner of my own motorcycle, a 2001 Honda Rebel. Now I just need to practice, practice, practice!
