No Wing No Prayer... It was a Honda!

Today, I had my first motorcycle lesson. I barely slept last night because I was nervous and excited about how I would go... my first time in control of a bike. This is how it played out:

I arrived at 6.50am for a 7am start. I would like to point out here that this isn't ideal. If you want me to concentrate and avoid death from car drivers hell bent on using me as target practise, I suggest starting these lessons at a reasonable hour, like 10am. It's not that I have anything against car drivers, I mean, I am one of those people who drives around the city in a 4WD, a stereotypical "soccer mum" without the kids, school or soccer. But, to be fair, at this time of the morning you have peak hour traffic, which means you have people in cars, eating breakfast, doing their hair and make-up and of course the serial texting drivers. Add a learner motorcycle rider to the mix and you should have an ambulance on speed dial... Or maybe a chopper would be faster in that sort of traffic. My point is, I am not learning to ride a motorbike to become a "temporary citizen". I can think of much cheaper, less painful and guaranteed ways to meet the Coroner if that was my aim.

My instructor was late. Great start. I thought he must be so safety conscious that his motto is "it's better to arrive late than to never arrive at all". That was giving him the benefit of the doubt, in my mind, that was a comforting thought. But no, he had to go and ruin it by telling me he was waiting for a builder (who didn't arrive). Over the next four hours I heard all about the antics of the builder, the tiler, the tile shop, his girlfriend, the guy he took out for a ride yesterday who hit a dog, put a hole in his jacket, scratched his helmet and broke the mirror off the bike. Then I heard about the politics involved in his job... All of these added up in my mind to Strike One! Oh, and I did a little bit of riding. Maybe that's an exaggeration of what I did, but I was on a motorbike, it was turned on and I was controlling it.

Strike Two occured about 5 minutes into meeting Mark, my instructor. He decided to have a toilet break which had him returning with a rather large wet patch on the front of his jeans.... I don't know the story behind this, nor do I want to know, I think enough has been said on the matter. All I want to add is this, I can not unsee this, it has been burnt into my minds eye, forever. And from the gagging and vomiting in my mouth a little, I think we can confirm my inability to handle human excretment of any kind has not improved.

When we eventually got to the point of actually touching a motorcycle, I had to do a safety check on it... WTF do I know about a bike to make sure it's safe? It had tyres, a seat, lights, blinkers... So, I thought it best that I entrust Mark with his expert opinion on making sure the bike was in good working order. BIG MISTAKE! In Mark's opinion the bike was fine, safe, in good order, low on petrol, but suitable for what we were doing. This was AFTER I pointed out the brake light wasn't working consistantly. Never mind, he lubricated the front brake thingie (technical name) to fix it. I was horrified beyond the point of noticing the protective gear I was putting on smelt like homeless-man sweat. So, we jumped on the bike and took off to a local training area. Well, that was the plan. It turns out the bike wasn't fine, wasn't in good working order and definitely wasn't safe! Of course it couldn't be the brake, it was lubricated... Yep, it was the brake. Some how, apparently without Mark touching it, the brake managed to not only turn itself on, but get stuck on as we hit gravel. My first lesson almost started with both me and the instructor face first in gravel. Instead, we turned around and grabbed a different bike. I might just add, we didn't do a safety check on this one. By this stage it didn't matter to me, I was convinced I was going to die.

Finally, it was my turn to become the rider, the one in control! After all the boring theory bits were covered, I was able to take off, straight into a corner. As everyone who has been taught to ride a bike has been told, "look where you want the bike to go" - I am the exception to this rule, so we discovered. I blame years of car driving and counteracting the steering so that you don't go where you are looking for this rare talent I possess. I manage to look right and turn left causing so much confusion to myself that panic ensued forcing my legs to extend and spread infront of the bike. I guess I was using wind resistance as a brake while squealing, because... well, that's how I roll! I managed to keep the bike upright the entire lesson, not from skill, but sheer strength and the ability to stall it at critical times.

Despite my shaky start, I managed to master, (my description, not Mark's) the art of getting on and off the bike, braking, changing gears, steering (in my own way), slow riding and some slightly faster riding. I also have the ability to feel and sense what the bike is doing - they were Mark's words. He also said I was a better rider when I didn't think about what I was doing. This can only mean I'm a natural! By this stage I started to realise the smell coming from my jacket... it wasn't me. I swear, I don't smell like a homeless man, nor do my hands normally smell like a public toilet. I'm not sure if it was the smell, the heat, fatigue, dehydration or a combination of everything, but I started to feel unwell. Luckily, the lesson was over. It was time to head back to base.

Mark has so much confidence in me, he thinks we should do some road time on my next lesson. I think he is getting ahead of himself thinking I will have a second lesson! I will give it a week and see how I feel about it. The end result will be worth it. To be able to jump on my own bike and take off, to get away, to escape, to have freedom. I have no doubt I will return, I just need some time to forget the fact that I had other people's bodily fluids on me.

Today, I started my love affair with riding.

Jessie