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