I have wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle every since my husband took me on my first ride. He had a 1979 FXE. It was big, black, twinkling with chrome, but what I liked most was the sound. It was like riding a thunderbolt from heaven. I had never had a feeling like this. It was exciting, the feeling of the wind in my face, a symphony of nature beckoning my senses, and the freedom. I could imagine I was flying and I was hooked. Many times over the years I had called about riding courses but never actually went. This year I will be turning 40, call it mid-life crisis, but it was either now or never.
I enrolled in a course Beginning the second weekend in May. After a brief in class lecture Bob, our instructor, lead us outside to our practice bikes. We were placed into groups of three. My partners were Barb and John. Barb had been riding for almost a year. John had been riding for years without a license. It was then that I discovered that of the other twelve students, I was the only true novice. “Locate and turn on the fuel petcock.” Instructed Bob. “Pull the choke all the way out and
"Great job you fell just like a pro. I phoned my husband from my cell phone. It's like riding a horse-you got bucked off, but get back on it, I know you can do this. On my first attempt I dumped the bike. I was terrified, the vision of dumping the bike was still fresh in my mind. " I followed the instructions and when I released the clutch the bike jumped forward and died. This time however my first instinct was to hit the kill switch. I was so embarrassed and nervous that I had forgotten to hit the kill switch. The next morning I was rearing to go. My legs were skinned and my toe was throbbing, it hurt to walk, I thought for sure it was broken.