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