Uneasy Rider Finale And More

It's been two weeks since I finished the Motorcycle Rider's Training Program. Some of you might have wondered what happened. Some of you probably figured that since I hadn't posted anything I either failed the class or perished in some Snake River Canyon type stunt gone horribly awry. Some of you have moved on with your lives and couldn't care less about my quest. I'll try to satisfy all of you.

We arrived at the range on our final day to discover that due to a scheduling snafu (I think that's a polite way to say f*#k up) the parking lot/range where we were to demonstrate our motorcycle riding prowess under the watchful and critical eyes of the instructors had been taken over by about 57 semi-trailer trucks. At first I thought that weaving through the maze of 18 wheelers was a surprise element of the test, but these mother truckers were having some sort of training. I don't know if it involved learning the phrases "breaker, one- nine", "there's a smokey on my six" or "what's the twenty on some commercial beaver?", but I'm sure there was not a module on doing a long haul with a monkey as your co-pilot.

After weighing all the options, the instructors decided that they could replicate the elements of the range that were needed for the test in another parking lot. After a short delay we were in business. I screwed up a few things by trying to do them too fast, and was sure that my haste would cost me my certification despite executing some of the drills flawlessly. We finished the range portion of our testing and went in for the 50 question written portion. I was more confident going into the written test because, let's face it, I'm brilliant when it comes to cypherin'. I missed three questions on the written test. I wanted a perfect score, what with my genius and all, but, as I justified it to myself, I still got an A. Then it was time to go into the hallway and get the results of my range test. despite a few flaws, I passed with a lot of room to spare. I can't remember ever having been so excited about a grade. I'm waiting for my certification to be mailed and then it's off to the Secretary of States' office to make myself an officially licensed motorcycle rider. To be honest, despite what the "man" says, I think I'm really only qualified for some more parking lot riding at the moment. Being the cautious sort, I want to do a little more practicing before I hit the open road to fulfill my "Easy Rider" fantasy.

"Daughter" is away at Girl Scout Camp this week. People always ask if I miss her and I don't know exactly how to answer. I guess i miss her a little, but I'm not weeping because of her absence. Maybe if she weren't somewhere having a great time, I'd feel differently. I look forward to her return, but every parent knows, even if they won't admit it, that every once in awhile, it's nice to have the kids gone. I always envision "Daughter's" absences as becoming a hedonistic opportunity for "Wife" and me. Oh yeah, we'll drink, eat, go to movies, and do other things that decorum prevents me listing here except to say that a spatula, trampoline and a garden gnome are involved. Reality however, doesn't share my joie de vive. What ends up happening is "Wife" has to work late, my schedule changes, and we end up falling asleep in front of the TV while the gnome looks on with an expression that is a mix of disappointment and relief.

Thinking about "Daughter' got me ruminating on "The Now Dead King of Pop" Michael Jackson. I haven't written about his death, because I'm tired of everyone canonizing this freak. Yes, he was a great artist, but he was also an accused child molester, skin bleacher and nose destroyer. In what could be the greatest example of money being able to buy you anything, he brokered a deal with a woman to bear him some spawn and then paid her to go away. Hanging out with a monkey must have gotten old. Now it turns out that "Peter Pan" didn't care enough about his human accessories to make arrangements for their care in the unlikely (Really? Nobody saw that coming? He had undergone so much elective surgery even Joan Rivers was laughing at him and was allegedly popping so many pills that he made Elvis look like a medicine phobe.) death. Because his focus was more on mixing up a batch of "Jesus Juice" than on caring for the kids, the court has granted temporary custody of Prince 1, Princess and Blanket (you're right, he wasn't nuts) to his mother. Good move. Let's put these kids who already have had to go through their lives in a daily Halloween parade, into the house that spawned their oh-so-stable father. It's enough to make me grab my crotch, shriek like a girl and walk backwards.

Starting Thursday morning I'll be filling in for Steve and Johnnie from 2-5 am. They're going on vacation through July 13, and I was tapped to handle the early morning portion of their shows. I'll also be back to my regular weekend times this week. There have been a few schedule changes on management's part, but those are done for the time being. I'll keep you updated on any changes. Gotta go lay out the spatula and tighten up the trampoline. Later...Brian

Uneasy Rider (Ride With The One That Brought Ya)

The motorcycle gods must be the jealous sort. I had been eying a new mount for last night's class, falling prey once again to the grass is always greener philosophy. You'd think I'd know by now to be happy when things are going my way, but no. I had a great night of riding on Wednesday. The Yamaha Dual Sport had treated me well. It's throttle had rolled smoothly, it's clutch eased out without a hiccup and it's gears shifted with fluidity. But like Hugh Grant, I couldn't be happy with the ride I had at home, I had to go slumming for what seemed at the time like a flashier, dirtier ride.

Under the guise of "wanting to get the feel of a different bike", I decided to step out on my trusty Yamaha with a jet black Honda Nighthawk. The name sounds cooler, the look more hardcore. It emitted a biker's siren song that I was unable to ignore. I should have known better. The minute I mounted this motorcycle hussy, I knew I had sullied my riding experience. The flashy bike was too small for me. My knees were in my armpits and my hands were too close together because of it's curved, enhanced handle bars. I was uncomfortable and my riding showed it. I had trouble with the first couple of drills. My accelerations were jerky, I gunned the unfamiliar throttle a few times and I was unable to execute even the simplest "maximum straight line stop". I cursed my weakness and my choice in motorcycles as I stared longingly at my Yamaha, now being ridden clumsily by one of the women in the class. Neither one looked happy. I seized on the opportunity.

When we had finished a few drills and were given a break, I approached the woman and asked if she would be interested in trading bikes. I tried not to seem desperate, but it was hard to conceal the longing in my eyes. "You want this one back?" she asked. "Well, only if you want a change." I feigned nonchalance. With that the deal was done. I approached Yami with trepidation. Would the bike have me back? Could we rekindle the bond we had just a day ago and become the sleek hybrid of man and machine that would allow me to pass my evaluation and become a licensed motorcycle rider? The bike resisted for a few minutes. It had to. It's seat wouldn't allow me to get too comfortable. I knew it wouldn't sound manly for me to shriek, "this seat is killing my ass." so I accepted my penance in silence. Soon things got back to normal and the rest of the night went great. We swerved and cornered like we had never been apart. Later I will be taking my road test and I'm confident that I have the right bike under me. Now all I have to do is ride the right way and not think too much and I should be OK. After the road test, there is a fifty question multiple choice test. By the time I leave, I will know my fate.

On the physical front, my thighs still hurt like I've been leg pressing the Octomom's diaper pal. Good Lord they're sore. Now I know why biker's always have that menacing walk. It's not that they're overly tough, it's that they can't bend their legs. While I'm trying to give off the vibe of a tough guy, I'm walking around like Wilfred Brimley with a hangover. I realize that if I ever buy a motorcycle it will have to be big and wide with a sweet seat. Wow, man and machine have never been so in sync.

After the class I'm heading off for the first of another "Two Scoops of Brian" weekend on WGN. I'm sure I'll regale you with some more motorcycling tales as well as a lot of other fun, entertaining and interesting conversation. I hope you can tune in. It don't cost nuthin'. It's time for me to ride off into the sunset. Have a great weekend. Later...Brian

Uneasy Rider (Smoothing Out The Ride)

Fear and trepidation have been replaced by confidence and respect. Last night's episode on the range made me think that I might actually be able to ride a motorcycle. When I arrived at the trailer, I asked the instructor, Tom, if I should change bikes to get a different feel for things. He suggested that I stay with the same bike since it was only my second night and I would still be getting used to the controls etc. Being a complaint and dedicated student I situated myself next to the "dual sport" Yamaha (I know I said it was a Kawasaki yesterday, but in my novice mind they're the same) that I thought was the one I had attempted to ride the night before. I had wanted to change bikes because I was having a throttle issue with the first bike. I call it a "throttle issue", more experienced riders would probably call it "that doofus doesn't have the touch to work the throttle correctly." In my defense, a more experienced rider did tell me that the throttle had too much torque. See, there was a throttle issue. The problem was that during our first night on the range, my throttle was an all or nothing proposal. I thought I was "rolling on and off" (dig my biker lingo) with the appropriate feel, but all everyone kept hearing was my bike letting out high pitched roars as I inadvertently gunned the engine. I blame my first choice of gloves too. I brought different ones last night since I was positive that the texture of my original gloves was sticking to the rubberized throttle. Yeah, sure it was.

It turns out, I grabbed the same model bike, but a different one than I had been on previously. Fortune and the biker gods were smiling down on me. This bike's throttle rolled smoothly, and my new gloves allowed for firm but smooth control. When we hit the range, I approached each drill with a higher level of confidence and even found myself smiling a few times. We practiced navigating curves, leans, and head turns. My confidence grew as I slowed, looked, rolled and pressed (oh yeah, I got the terminology down) into curves at increasing speeds. I don't think they give awards half way into the session for "most improved rider", but Tom told me "you're getting smoother and smoother Brian", so I'll take that as a good sign. It's not all about curves though. We also did a drill that involved weaving. When Tom, and Tony (the other instructor) explained the drill I thought, "you gotta be kidding. I'm just now able to shift into second and navigate a curve and now you want me stunt riding in a Junior College parking lot?" Turns out, I was born to weave. Motorcycles that is, I don't think I have a future running a loom.

My perspiration problem from the night before was kept in check by a new florescent green bandanna. The color may have left something to be desired, but hidden in the traditional bandanna design were little skulls. Nothing says rough and tumble biker like a guy wearing a skull embossed day-glo bandanna riding in formation between orange cones. I am having a small problem with my thighs today. The problem is, they hurt like hell. Who knew that riding a motorcycle took leg muscles? Perhaps squeezing my legs around a giant vibrating beast is taxing muscles I didn't know I had. I have a new found sympathy for "Wife". I may have to start calling her my "Old Lady" by the end of the week, but only with my biker pals.

Gotta run. I need to study. We may be having our 50 question test tonight if the rain gets too bad. If not, it's more practice. I'm planning on trying a new bike tonight. I've been studying the foot pegs, rear brake pedal and gear shift on some of the other models and they seem more conducive to my giant feet. I'll let you know. Start seeing motorcycles! Later...Brian

Uneasy Rider (Takin' It To The Streets)

I'm posting a little late because I'm still picking bugs out of my teeth and soul patch after last night's inaugural ride. It's not that I was going fast enough to kill any bugs, I think they had become depressed with their lot in life and chose my face as the location for their self inflicted demise.

Pulling into the parking lot, I was filled with an explosive mix of excitement and dread. I could see all the motorcycles lined up outside a rusty storage trailer and I knew that it was time to pull on my big biker panties and saddle up or tuck my non chaps wearing tail between my legs and scurry off into the night like a wee lass. Big biker panties was the call. First I had to choose a helmet from inside the shed. Knowing that my head is on the large side, (I maintain it's because I have a big brain) I looked for a dome protector that would sufficiently cover my noggin'. I tried on a full face helmet and was immediately overcome by claustrophobia. That took all of seven seconds. After trying on a few more helmets of varying sizes and styles, I settled on a "3/4 helmet" in biker appropriate black. Now that my head was protected, I needed a reason to protect it. I needed a bike.

I surveyed the rag tag collection of bikes that was available and tried to picture myself astride one that was big enough to keep me from looking like the famous picture in the Guinness Book of World Records of the fat guy on the mini bike. The instructor informed me that the Kawasaki Hybrid Street/Dirt bike was the tallest and would probably be more suitable for the "big guys" so that was to be my steed. The class spent about 20 minutes getting familiar with our bikes. We reviewed where all the controls were, how to properly mount and dismount the bikes and the signals the instructors would use to communicate with us. All I kept thinking during this period of time was, "Please don't let me die on the first night." Finally we were able to mount our bikes. Away we go, right? Nope. We just reviewed how to start the machines and then we got to start the motorcycles. After the initial excitement of ignition we were told to turn off the engines, dismount and start walking. There is nothing as odd as watching 12 people walk motorcycles across two parking lots. We were a parade of wannabes, looking forward to future biking glory.

The next three hours were spent trying not to crash. That may be a bit dramatic. We started with the "straddle walk", which is getting used to EASING (capitalization at the request of the instructors and to remind myself that hard squeezing is never good whether on a motorcycle or when picking produce) out the clutch. We did a few other beginning drills to let those of us who were true novices get the feel of the bikes. After a while, it was time for the first drill where we would actually be riding with our feet up. I felt like Leonardo DiCaprio hanging from the from of the Titanic (hopefully not foreshadowing a future crash) as I picked up my feet and headed down the range. I think that I did OK, except for one brief mistake that garnered me my first biking injury. I misunderstood the teachers directions and in my haste to correct myself popped the clutch causing the bike to lurch forward like a wild stallion. The foot peg, caught my inner calf and caused a mid level scratch. If that's as bad as things get, bring it on.

My biggest problem of the night was my excessive production of bodily fluid. By the time we had walked our bikes to the range and finished a few laps of "straddle walking", I was sweating like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. Streams of sweat were pouring from my helmet like the impact absorbing liner was actually a water balloon that had burst. My glasses were covered in sweat and I knew I couldn't take my helmet off every 30 seconds to wipe my head Pavarotti style. Thankfully I had brought a bandanna with me for just such an occasion. I wrapped it around my head "Aunt Jamima" style and plunked the helmet back on my damp dome. it worked like a charm and gave me the added look of a seasoned bike when I removed my helmet. Win, win.

I'm running late, so I'll have to give you more details tomorrow. I think we're doing some "maximum straight line stopping" today. That sounds pretty bad ass doesn't it. Later...Brian

Uneasy Rider (The Saga Continues)

I was more than a little nervous when I arrived for the first night of my motorcycle rider's education class last night. It wasn't so much the fact that I had never operated a vibrating hunk of steel before, it was having to enter a classroom. I was overcome with an odd sense of deja-vu as I walked into the generic building on a local Junior College campus. I was worried that if this academic endeavor played out like some of my past experiences, I would be found with my head on the desk soaking, "Madge the manicurist" style in a pool of my own saliva. I reminded myself that I was taking the first step to becoming a big, bad, hog riding son of a gun, so I grabbed a couple napkins for drool absorption and headed in.

I checked in with one of the instructors. This procedure included showing him my driver's license and all my "gear". When someone registers and is accepted into the class, they receive a number of emails giving all the details of the class and a list of the items a student is required to bring. The emails begin with the bold typed line "READ THIS ENTIRE E-MAIL CAREFULLY". The list of required gear is short, long sleeve shirt or jacket, sturdy long pants, full finger gloves, over the ankle boots or shoes and some protective eye wear. Pretty simple , right? For me yeah. I got checked in and took my usual delinquent seat in the back of the classroom. I had arrived early, since the second line of the confirmation e-mail stated that the doors would be closed at the beginning of the class and no one who was tardy would be allowed in. Having English as my primary language assured that I understood the rules. That wasn't the case for some of my other English speaking friends. I listened to one buxom, young red headed woman try to explain why she had shown up in gym shoes by telling the instructor that she "had read the letter, but since she didn't have some of that stuff she just ignored it." He ignored her pleas as well as those of her slack jawed male companion and banished them from the class. Yeah! That's how hardcore bikers roll. One blond girl was turned away after arriving ten minutes late. She pleaded with the instructor to let her stay saying she had gotten lost and the "cops" had given her bad directions. A weaker man (me) would have caved owing to her cuteness and incessant eyelash batting, but that's why I'm the student and not the master. The class was skewed surprisingly older with me falling somewhere in the middle. I had worried that I would be the oldest student and that II would be relegated to learning to ride a Rascal due to my advanced years, but thankfully that's not the case. The group is also evenly divided between men and women. I spent the first twenty minutes trying to figure out who'd have more trouble mastering the motorcycle than me. I know it's petty, but I hate to be the worst at something.

The four hour class was spent going over the fundamentals of a motorcycle and how to start and ride one. I was a conscientious student. Hi-liter in hand I followed along as we went through our book. I made sure to make a lot of eye contact with the instructors, hoping they would take that as a sign of interest and commitment and not one of creepiness. I even put aside my "I'll be cool and not ask questions" attitude and peppered the proceedings with pointed inquiries that I'm sure have cemented in the teacher's minds that I have no business riding a motorcycle.

I am now reasonably certain where the throttle, clutch, gear shift lever and brakes are located. I'm also pretty sure that I can turn the bike on and cut the engine when stopped, but if I need to use the horn, turn signals or high beams, I may be in a bit of trouble and have all of them operating at once. I got very confused during a brief explanation on "counter steering". My confusion was so evident as I pantomimed the motions that one of the instructors felt the need to announce to the class, "Brian is really confused." I was then told I was probably too analytical (a first for me) and to just "go with it". Right on! Just go with the flow. Isn't that what riding is all about? No! As I learned it's about non stop vigilance, visibility and being mentally prepared. It's also about dropping hundreds of dollars on a high tech helmet to protect your dome. That point was driven home a number of times.

Tonight we ride. At least I think that's what we do. We're meeting at the "trailer" to get our bikes and helmets and then walking the bikes across two parking lots to the range. That's the plan any way. I'm off to buy some cheap rain gear, because a little weather can't dissuade true riders from their quest. Barring any wheelie popping tragedies, I'll report back tomorrow with some meaty details. Saddle up! Later...Brian

Uneasy Rider

You know the old saying "Life's too short." Well today I am paying attention to that saying and doing something I've wanted to do for a long time. In a couple of hours I will be attending my first motorcycle riding class. I've always wanted to ride a motorcycle, but except for hitching a short ride on the back of a college pal's Honda, (I didn't know I was "riding bitch" at the time) I haven't taken the hog by the horns and mounted the steel horse.

My friend John told me that the State of Illinois offered a class that would prepare you for and administer the test to certify you as a legal motorcycle rider. I figured that sounded official and regulated, but I was sure that cost would be an issue. Nope, the class is actually free. Well, there is a $20 registration fee, but that is supposed to be refunded at the end of the class. I had actually registered for the class last Summer, but had to drop it because of my knee surgery. Karma? Foreshadowing? Divine intervention? Who knows? This year I was not to be deterred. I monitored the website and on the day registration opened, I was in. Tonight I begin a five day, 20 hour crash (probably the wrong choice of word) course. By Friday, I hope to have passed the test and have the little "M" added to my driver's license.

I will confess to being a little apprehensive about the whole endeavor. I have been getting a lot of encouragement from "Wife" , friends and even some of the listeners on WGN, but there is a small part of my addled brain that keeps thinking of Gary Busey and my late father's admonition that "No son of mine will ever ride a motorcycle." I really need to do this though. Whether I love it, loath it or just survive the class, at least I'll have done it. I'm starting to look down the road and realizing that it's better to not have a lot of "I wish I hads" at the end of your life.

In my mind, I see myself astride a big Harley riding through the badlands of South Dakota, or along sun drenched fields in Montana where there is no traffic and the only thing I could possibly run into is a wayward buffalo. That's probably a better visual than me perched atop a "crotch rocket" swerving through a traffic jam on one of the local expressways. There has always been something a little freeing and rebellious about riding a motorcycle, and maybe that's what I'm hoping to tap into with this class.

It's time to get ready. I have to change into some more suitable "biker" clothes. I'm sticking with jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt and some boots. I was going to get outfitted with leathers. Chaps, jacket, do rag, the whole nine, but that would be like a guy showing up to a rec league softball game in spikes, full uniform and a cup. Maybe the cup isn't such a bad idea.

I'll post updates all week. Time to get my motor runnin'. Later.....Brian