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 turn the key to the on position.” So far so good, this may be easier than I thought. “Put the shifter in the neutral position. Squeeze the clutch lever, press the start button and once the motor starts release the clutch.” I followed the instructions and when I released the clutch the bike jumped forward and died. Shifting was a bit of a problem for me, but between Barb, John and a bit impatient instructor I finally began shifting smoothly.
             The next morning I was rearing to go. We were learning balance, turning and “push turning”. On my first attempt I dumped the bike. It landed on its side, the motor still running. I was so embarrassed and nervous that I had forgotten to hit the kill switch. A few of the students laughed, but Barb assured me that she had done that too. Next came actual riding. I was terrified, the vis...

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Motorcycle. (1969, December 31). In Retrieved 12:27, January 21, 2017, from