Once upon a time, (specifically 1998) this gal used to ride motorcycles. I know, it’s hard to imagine but I did. I actually owned two. A Kawasaki Ninja 250 cc and a Ninja 500 cc. I fell into the motorcycle lifestyle by dating someone who owned three (I think) and he took me for rides all the time. I loved it. I wanted my own bike so that I could go on bike tours, learn how to maybe race one day. Laguna Seca was one of my most favorite places to be. To watch the races, meet the MC racers and see all of the new upcoming bikes.
I actually taught myself how to ride the motorcycle by myself because 1. The guy I was dating – well, that didn’t last and I couldn’t rely on him. 2. I was kicked out of motorcycle training class. Getting kicked out of the class is a funny story in retrospect but at the time I was mad as hell. I wanted to take the class not for safety reasons. Of course, in my head that made sense. I needed the certificate so I didn’t have to do the driving test baloney at the local DMV. I show up at the class with my bike. Others chose to use the bikes given by the class. I am talking rickety as all be out. I decided to use my 250cc for the class. That was probably a bad idea. I had practiced on the road but clearly not enough. When I took off in the parking lot, I popped a wheelie. Stupid. The rules were, pop a wheelie – you are OUT. I was so incredibly pissed at the time. What I should have done is patted myself on the back. I was a N00b who popped a wheelie.
I never did get a motorcycle license. I know legally I should have but I didn’t. I know a TON of motorcycle riders who do not have licenses, and they ride. I got away with it for about two years. Of course the inevitable happened. I got in an accident. I was lane splitting down I-80 in rush hour traffic. Was I going a bit too fast in the lanes, probably. Some woman made a lane change right in front of me. I swerved and skidded on the freeway. I almost skid under a semi truck and was rolled on. I was able to get up fast enough so that I didn’t get squashed. Nice case of road-rash on my right arm and leg. Not very attractive at all. The woman gets out of her car and I am trying to get out of there. She asked “did I hit you?” I said, “No, and I have to get out of here.” I promptly left. She didn’t hit me. I didn’t hit her and I wasn’t crushed by a truck. I was lucky.
Problem was: I had to go home and there is my son at home. Oh boy. That did not go well at ALL. My son begged me not to go out on the bike again. He said he didn’t want to be alone if something happened to him. Well, folks – that did it for me. I couldn’t consciously go back on that bike after that discussion. I told myself when he was 18 I would start ridding again. He is 22. I sold the bikes promptly. I should have NEVER EVER done that. I should have kept them. I miss motorcycle riding so much and every single time that I am outside somewhere and I hear that sound. Everything stops and my attention is pulled to wherever the boys (girls too) roam.
I’ve made a promise to myself that I will one day ride the great highways and never make the stupid mistake of selling something I loved so much EVER AGAIN. Please don’t ask me if I will get a license…it depends if I get kicked out of class again. Probably. 🙂