The title makes it sound more scary than stupid, but I assure you, it was mostly stupid.
The versions of this story have changed since last summer because I was so ashamed of it that I rarely told the truth about my injuries a year ago. This is the real story; sorry if I lied to you.
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Then, last summer, my friend casually mentioned that her boyfriend was going to Harley Davidson motorcycle classes at a discount for Veterans. There are classes? And I get a discount? Deal! I signed up, and the spark jumped to a full on bonfire in me.
With the class one month away, I thought it might be good if I had some practice before I got there. I took my DMV course and passed on the first try. I looked on Craigslist and found a red 1995 Suzuki Savage with 900 miles for $700. I bought it the day after. This is my impulsive side at max volume.
The versions of this story have changed since last summer because I was so ashamed of it that I rarely told the truth about my injuries a year ago. This is the real story; sorry if I lied to you.
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I have wanted to ride a motorcycle since medic training in 2004. I was walking around Ft. Sam in sunny San Antonio, to the good cafeteria on the specialty side of post, and I saw the most badass female Sergeant park her bike and confidently walk into some random medical building. She had such a get shit done energy that I could feel it from across the street. That sparked a "someday" in me.
I assumed "someday" would be when I got home from training, but then I had college and babies and priorities that weren't conducive with a superfluous death machine as a side toy. So the spark burned out and I lived the crossover/SUV mom life for a decade or so.
Then, last summer, my friend casually mentioned that her boyfriend was going to Harley Davidson motorcycle classes at a discount for Veterans. There are classes? And I get a discount? Deal! I signed up, and the spark jumped to a full on bonfire in me. With the class one month away, I thought it might be good if I had some practice before I got there. I took my DMV course and passed on the first try. I looked on Craigslist and found a red 1995 Suzuki Savage with 900 miles for $700. I bought it the day after. This is my impulsive side at max volume.
The guy I bought it from, a fit leather faced Marine in an oil stained t-shirt, asked if I wanted to test it before I bought it. I said I don't know how to drive a bike, so I couldn't. He gave me a quick lesson, in typical condensed and small-words Marine fashion ("Go is here. Clutch is here. Stop is here and here. You can figure the rest out.") and had me hop on to zoom through the neighborhood while he yelled explanations I couldn't hear to the air behind us. I thought sounds easy enough, so I paid my money, drove my car home, and he delivered the bike that afternoon.
An hour after delivery (remember, impulsive full volume), with only my one sentence of instructions and a written test behind me, I drove my new bike to a church parking lot about 5 blocks away. I made it with a lot of stall-outs and at between 5-10 miles per hour until I had to turn the corner into the lot. I'm still not sure what I did wrong, but some combination of pulling the handles too fast and attempting to accelerate through the turn and before I knew it, the bike came out from under me and I was bleeding on the ground. My phone had fallen out and was crushed under 300lbs of steel, and my joy had turned literal pain.
I got up, with gravel sticking to the blood on my left knee, elbow, and wrist, and attempted to pick up the left side mangled bike. I looked around to see if any neighbors or church workers saw it happen, no one did. Motorcycles are much heavier on the ground than they are on 2 wheels, so I struggled through the pain to get it upright, then to turn it back on since pushing it home seemed both exhausting and embarrassing.
I got up, with gravel sticking to the blood on my left knee, elbow, and wrist, and attempted to pick up the left side mangled bike. I looked around to see if any neighbors or church workers saw it happen, no one did. Motorcycles are much heavier on the ground than they are on 2 wheels, so I struggled through the pain to get it upright, then to turn it back on since pushing it home seemed both exhausting and embarrassing.
As I got back on and putted my way home, it was the first time after any failure where I very distinctly caught myself thinking, "Today, I'm sad and I hate motorcycles and I want to quit, but I bet that a year from now, this will be a funny memory and a story I can tell about hard lessons learned. I just have to believe it will be." One year ago will be June 22.
That foresight didn't stop me from hiding the bike in my backyard so no one would ask me about it, almost cancelling the classes that eventually gave me my confidence back, and crying about what an idiot I had been for as many days as I had to change my bandages.
Two weeks later, the weekend of my non-refundable endorsement training at Harley Davidson Eden Prairie, I went to the classwork on day one, bike lessons on day two. With butterflies in my stomach, I could do the slow practicals, but the day after would be practicing our turns. As we learned the figure 8 box turns, the anxiety of my fall came back and I tried and failed once before I scooted behind a trailer to take some breaths and cry it out. The female instructor found me and said it's normal to be worried, but confidence will get you further than fear. She told me about dropping her bike and how she remembered feeling like me only 2 years ago. That little pep talk was just what I needed, and I killed it on day 2, passed the tests and was the best student in the class for the figure 8. I conquered my fears and with certificate in hand, went back to my bike.
I had mapped out a route and made it to my buddy's garage to fix the mistakes I had made. There, he painted the scratches, straightened the dents, and within a week, I felt brand new on my old bike. Today, I've added 1,500+ miles from there and I love it more than most things. I named her Carol (Danvers) because I like making it sound like I'm out doing stuff w my best friend. "Carol and I are going to run to Target!" "Carol and I want to get to Sturgis someday!" Super normal, don't question it.
The fall taught me caution and patience, this failure was needed to keep me in check. It turned down the volume on my impulsivity, and made me a better biker. Now, the rides give me a total freedom I haven't had before, a camaraderie I've missed since the Army, and a zen only paralleled by meditation. I love it and I'm so grateful I pushed past this fail.
Two weeks later, the weekend of my non-refundable endorsement training at Harley Davidson Eden Prairie, I went to the classwork on day one, bike lessons on day two. With butterflies in my stomach, I could do the slow practicals, but the day after would be practicing our turns. As we learned the figure 8 box turns, the anxiety of my fall came back and I tried and failed once before I scooted behind a trailer to take some breaths and cry it out. The female instructor found me and said it's normal to be worried, but confidence will get you further than fear. She told me about dropping her bike and how she remembered feeling like me only 2 years ago. That little pep talk was just what I needed, and I killed it on day 2, passed the tests and was the best student in the class for the figure 8. I conquered my fears and with certificate in hand, went back to my bike.I had mapped out a route and made it to my buddy's garage to fix the mistakes I had made. There, he painted the scratches, straightened the dents, and within a week, I felt brand new on my old bike. Today, I've added 1,500+ miles from there and I love it more than most things. I named her Carol (Danvers) because I like making it sound like I'm out doing stuff w my best friend. "Carol and I are going to run to Target!" "Carol and I want to get to Sturgis someday!" Super normal, don't question it.
The fall taught me caution and patience, this failure was needed to keep me in check. It turned down the volume on my impulsivity, and made me a better biker. Now, the rides give me a total freedom I haven't had before, a camaraderie I've missed since the Army, and a zen only paralleled by meditation. I love it and I'm so grateful I pushed past this fail.
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