Impulsive? Me? Naw...

Saturday morning marked my one week anniversary as a motorcycle operator. I took the Harley out for a short spin in my neighbourhood and confirmed that my model is designed for experienced riders. The Street Glider is a touring bike and it performs like a dream at higher speeds but tooling around in second or third gear makes it feel heavy and cumbersome for someone who still has to think about EVERY single operation.

Scan ahead. See stop sign. Get ready to gear down to first. Check mirrors for traffic behind. Pull in clutch. Gear down with left foot. Check mirrors for traffic, again. Use right foot and find rear brake. Decide on left or right turn. Steer to proper lane position. Roll off throttle. Apply front brake GENTLY with right hand. Get ready to put feet down. Left foot down. Right foot down. Steady....

This thought process is automatic for anyone who has ridden for any period of time. For me, it is an exhausting brain drain. Looking back, I have always learned like this. In university, I bought a five speed car without knowing how to operate a stick. I took a two minute lesson from the kid who washed the cars and then I DROVE the car off the lot. The first stop light I encountered had me on an incline. I stalled, cranked it back up, stalled again, missed the light, had traffic beeping at me from behind, shed a few tears, turned it over again, put it into first and when the light changed, I gave it way too much gas, let go of the clutch and squealed through the intersection. I was sick to my stomach by the time I made it home. The next morning I got up, saw my keys laying on the hall table and decided that I was going to take the car over to one of the university parking lots to practise. I never looked back.

The experience with my motorcycle is slightly different, though. Now, I am twenty years older and I understand that I am mortal. I am keenly aware that a serious accident on my bike could leave my kids without a mum or worse, with a burden that needs to be fed and changed. My cousin, Ashley, suggested that I park my baby and buy an inexpensive smaller bike to use to develop my skills. Dallas had advised something similar.

So, I went back to the dealership. While there, I ran into Tim and we chatted for a bit. I asked for his advice, as well, since he was intimately familiar with my riding skills (or lack thereof). I was trying to decide between a Buell Blast (which I had learned on) and a 2002 Harley-Davidson 1200cc Sportster. Without hesitation, Tim recommended the Sportster as a good bridge. He felt the Buell would not be challenging enough. I tested the Sportster out back on the range and she was lighter and more responsive at lower speeds.

I put a deposit down and I'll probably pick her up today if I get the right price. Tomorrow, you'll be able to find me on the corner panhandling for food money.

We Are Family

I have had no less than ten people welcome me to the Harley-Davidson family. I've been told about the local chapter of lady riders and encouraged to join. I've been directed to an incredible network of people who all share this same passion and plugged into a ton of events.

I have never been more at peace with a decision of mine.

My new ride made it home last night courtesy of a friend and this morning, before the sun and the neighbour dog were up, I crept into my garage to have another look. I had to pinch myself.

Even my coffee tasted better this morning.



Beautiful, eh?

And Down She Goes..

The Harley saga continues....

Yesterday, I went down to the dealership to give them all of the documentation they needed and it occured to me that there might be an unsavoury element who try to obtain financing through Harley Davidson. Why do I say this? Well, for starters,the refinancing of my house (update on that coming soon) was less arduous than this deal.

My driver's license address did not match my application so I had to provide proof of residence because when repossessing, I imagine it is easier for Harley D to know where to find the bike. The trouble is, all of my home utilities are under my nickname, not my nunnery name (peace be with you, my child) and apparently, it was too much of a stretch to connect the dots between "Elizabeth" and "Beth".

Then, my birthdate was cut off the copy of my driver's license that was sent over. Then, there was something else.

While waiting for the bank to decide if they wanted a kidney and my right arm, I went out onto the range behind the dealership to test drive the bike. Within a few minutes, I felt comfortable except for the fact that the bike is a BEAST. Holy crap! I knew that there would be a difference between the small Buell I learned on and the big hog I bought but I was humbled by the difference in weight. I could hear Tim and Trey's voices in my head telling me to "walk with the bike", "practise stopping", "do your figure eight's" and I wished for them to be there to demonstrate like they did before every course exercise. Total student/teacher separation anxiety.

After tooling around on the range for awhile, I rode very slowly through the parking lot and was about to pull into a space when a friend beeped at me. Being the highly skilled rider that I am, I got all flustered and dumped my brand new bike. GAH!!!!

I was fine, the bike was fine and nothing got bruised except for my ego. And let me tell you right now. I will be practising getting that bike up off the ground over and over and over from the safe confines of my garage because I think that the odds are pretty good that I'll dump it again before it's all said and done. This is not negative thinking..just a smack of reality and the last thing I want is to be stuck somewhere.

Well, late last night, after promising my first born grandchild, my sales guy called to tell me that we were square and I could sign the documents today. A friend of mine is going to ride it home for me and this weekend, I'm meeting a classmate out at the range to practise. Someday soon, when I'm all grown up, I'll be able to ride on the streets like the big kids. For now, though, I'm content to walk the beast through the undeveloped portions of my neighbourhood and learn how to become one with the hog.

Harley and Me

I passed! I passed!

On a cerebral level, I knew that there was no possibility that I was going to fail my written test because unlike some of my university courses, I actually attended the classes. However, being slightly type A, I felt it necessary to suffer through small pockets of apprehension until it was confirmed that I was an official Rider's Edge graduate. I have not wanted anything this badly in a very long time.

After our test, we had a few minutes to peruse the showroom floor before our graduation party got underway. I was so grateful for this time because I FINALLY made a decision on a bike. For days, I had been eyeballing this beautiful, red, Road Glide with a fixed fairing but I wasn't happy with the aesthetics of the nose and I couldn't put my finger on what actually bothered me about it. Then Chad, a fellow classmate, cleared it all up.

"Looks like a Gold Wing." And it does.

So, I left that one behind and took a closer look at the Street Glides. This is the bike that makes my heart quicken so.....



I bought it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go put my head between my legs and breathe deeply.

Hog Wild Weekend

I spent this entire weekend on a motorcycle. It was beyond awesome. Nirvana.

Thursday night started my Rider's Edge course, which is sponsored by the Harley Davidson dealership in my town. The class was comprised of twelve people and four of us were women. We had a blast. On Thursday, we had just over three hours of class time. Friday was the same. The time you have to spend with your nose in a book is very similar to sitting through the whole "rules" portion of the Academy Awards. A necessary evil but not especially scintillating.

Saturday was different. For the bulk of the day, we were on the bikes. Did I mention that we had torrential rain? Oh, it was awful. We got through three exercises with a little light rain. I asked one of my instructors if I should get my rain pants on and he said he thought it might pass. Well, on the fourth exercise, the sky opened up and we got soaked. I am not talking damp where you might be a bit uncomfortable. This was run your hand down the leg of your pants and water streams off. Absolutely miserable. I actually wrung out my leather gloves.

Lest you think that there wasn't a silver lining....soaking wet jeans called for emergency action. I had to shop.

Determined, I strode into the merchandising section of the dealership and tried on a pair of Harley jeans. I came out and the sales girl looked at them and said, "You are floating in those. Can I get you a smaller size?" This would be the part in the story where I heard harp music and the sales girl was suddenly bathed in a beautiful white light.

"Why, yes. I will take a smaller size." I don't know if is my amped up exercise program or if Harley Davidson is just generous in their sizing but who cares? The whole experience made my day. I ended up buying two pairs of jeans and a black belt with silver studs that just screams biker chick. Nirvana, I tell you.


Anyway, we had classwork to finish so we chose to do it during the downpour. Later on, the rain had slowed to a steady sprinkle and we tried again. It's funny how perspective can change. By the time we were able to get back on the bikes, we were grateful for the drizzle and the opportunity to be one with our rides. The only mishap was one of the girls laid down her bike. For those that don't know, this means that she lost control and the bike went over. We cheered, though, because we were told that at least one student does this with each class. We were glad that Sarah had taken the brunt for the rest of us.

Sunday morning, I woke up and felt like I had been beaten with a blunt object, particularly around my tailbone. My thighs were on fire and my left hand was sore from the clutch. It didn't matter, though. I couldn't wait to get back on a bike. We rode ALL day, drill after drill.

Early afternoon, while doing a challenging drill through a curve, I LAID MY BIKE DOWN...just barely. Part of the problem was the fact that I couldn't straighten my left arm but I knew that and I should have compensated. Ah well. It was the source of genuine concern from my fellow riders and then gentle abuse once everyone could see that I didn't suffer a scratch. The great thing was that it wasn't the $25,000 bike I'm planning to purchase. I also learned how to pick a bike up, the knowledge of which I plan never ever to need again.

Ten minutes later, Jeanie laid her bike down too. So, along with Sarah, we three became crash sistahs for life. And no, it isn't a woman driver thing. Plenty of the guys weebled and wobbled but didn't fall down because they were strong enough to counter gravity. This is what I will tell myself so that I'll sleep at night.

Later afternoon, I made up for it. On my riding test, during the quick stop drill, I came at the instructor in second gear going about 26 miles per hour (roughly double the required speed). At that velocity, I was able to stop the bike in 11 feet, which happened to be the best of the class. My instructor, Tim, said my performance caused him to have a religious moment. Anxiety will do that for you. I will say that when I crossed the cones, Tim's eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth formed a perfect "O"...

....like Mr. Bill.

So, I passed the riding portion of my exam and the written test is tonight. My favourite motorcycle is sitting on the dealership floor and every time I walk by, he calls out like a siren:

"Buy me, Beth. Think of the times we'll have together. Just you and me and the open road. You know you want me. Come. Be one with the hog."

I may just lose that September 15th bet after all.