Last Saturday was the perfect day to get out on the bikes
for the season’s first shake-down ride, although it was a bit breezy.
Being this is tax time, we stopped by the office of our Tax
Guy™, freshened up the gas in
the tanks, and squirted the dust and last year’s dirt off the bikes. We only
rode about 60 miles and made a lot of stops that day, but for a first outing,
it wasn’t bad. We had stayed away from the foothills because we knew it was
windy up there, but by the time we parked the bikes later in the afternoon, the
winds had moved onto the plains.
Still, not a bad day of riding. The temperatures were just
about perfect and we didn’t even need a jacket most of the day. The winds were
warm-ish, and the sunshine kept us comfortable. Being a First Ride™, I was reminded of other First
Rides over the years; especially those first few years.
I got so nervous about getting back on the motorcycle. Would
I remember how to ride? Would I still remember how to work the clutch and the
brakes? Would I overcorrect on a corner and have the wheels slide out from
under me? Did I have all the gloves, jackets, glasses, and whatever else I
needed to feel less stressed? All these questions and a hundred more raced
through my head as I prepared for the day. The adrenaline rush always
exacerbated the nerves, and the first part of the ride was always a little
tense for me.
Now, I am more relaxed. I trust that the bike will do what I
ask it to. I trust my skills and experience. And as always, I watch out for the
Other Guy™. The Other Guy is
the most dangerous part of my ride. He is the one who is not paying attention
to the two-wheelers out there. (That applies to the bicycle riders out there
too, but that is a topic for another blog.) He is the one who puts me right in
his blind spot then forgets I’m there.
Motorcycle riding on the street is a defensive activity. I
never assume the guy next to me is paying attention to the fact that I am
there. Heck, half the time, they don’t even see the cars next to them, they are
so busy with their phones. I always assume that I am invisible to other
drivers; they certainly treat me like I am. I have had too many experiences
where a car blew a red light, pulled into my lane without looking (including the
Colorado State Patrol), and looked me in the eye at a stop sign only to pull
out in front of me, to ride any other way.
Despite all of that, I love to ride. I love the feel of the
air on my skin, the sun on my face, and the sensation of floating over the
asphalt. The air carries the aromas of budding trees, newly plowed earth, and
critters not lucky enough to make it across the road.
Even the days I ride when I’d rather not have to, have their
own sense of accomplishment that goes along with “I did that!” when recollecting
the trip afterwards. They mostly come around when we are tied to a schedule and
need to be home on a certain day. Many of those are days we remember with a shudder,
a laugh, and a silent “Thank You” to the Creator that we survived the
experiences.
I determined long ago that life is a gamble; when your time
is up, you have no say in whether you are going or not. So, I figured I might
as well experience what there is to experience.
Riding is one of those things that I love. There are others, but I haven’t made
them happen – yet.
