Summary: Just so you know, I am about to die. Apparently there is no other alternative for me. Sad, I know. Of course, I know this because lots and lots and lots of people keep telling me so, including friends, siblings, my dad, and many of you over on my personal Facebook page. But, why? Do I have some awful disease? A spreading and untreatable infection perhaps? Maybe I have a hit-man after me? I’ll take away the suspense and tell you it’s none of the above. Nope, I’m about to die in a much more sudden and gruesome way. Via motorcycle. On Thursday I started the Rider’s Edge course over at Harley-Davidson to learn how to ride a motorcycle. I’ve wanted to ride a Harley for at least the last twenty years, though I think much longer. My favorite toy growing up, the one I kept all the way through college, was a Harley Hog. He was a mean-as-nails squinting earringed pig dressed in a leather Harley-Davidson jacket. Leading up to the course, I told a few people that I would be taking it. “That’s a good way to die real quick,” my friend told me. “That’s a good way to leave Noah without a dad,” my sister said. I ignored them and signed-up for the class anyway. It’s all these same people preaching death that have kept me from doing this my entire life. Mom and Dad would never let me ride my friends’ bikes. I was turned down hard and fast in both marriages. Both of my wives felt the same way. That I would leave them widowed. On the first day of the course, I sat in the middle of nine other motorcycle noobs, waiting to begin. “At the Harley Dealership, about to start a course. This little boy is about to become a man,” I told my peeps over on Facebook. Almost immediately came the reply, “Or an organ donor.” 74 people then liked that reply. I’ll admit it. As I sat there, the responses, and all the voices that have constantly kept me away from it, and all the unknown, it started to weigh on me. Maybe this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, I thought. I considered doing “the smart thing” and walking right out of there. I mean, what if some idiot pulled right out in front of me while I was riding? What if I had to seriously slam on the brakes because something was in the way? How the heck do you do that on two wheels? How would I swerve last second the way I do in a car? What would I do if an animal ran out in front of me? And, what would I do if a tire blew? Everyone was right, I was soon to be a dead man. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS PAGE Still, I’d already paid for the class so I stayed put, even as the fear grew. Four days later, after spending 14 hours on a motorcycle and six more hours in a classroom, I emerged a motorcycle rider. One by one, every fear I had was dissipated as we learned crucial motorcycle riding skills and techniques. We learned what to do in every one of those situations, and you know what? It turns out that if you’re the right kind of motorcycle rider, there is very little you can’t handle. In the course we learned how to go over obstacles that suddenly appear in the road. We learned how to take last minute quick swerves without crashing. We learned how to come out of tight corners when we find we’re going into them too fast. We learned how to slam on our brakes, and we definitely learned how to avoid the situations that kill the vast majority of motorcyclists who do lose their lives on the road. By the end of the course, most of my fear was gone, but not all of it. After all, always having a little fear is probably what keeps you alive when you’re out and about. On the range, we had learned and practiced and tested on 500 Buell bikes. Those are little bikes. Once we passed that test, they brought out a real Harley and let us test again on the bigger bike so that we could legally drive the bigger bikes. This was really helpful to me because I’m a big man and those little bikes make me look like a clown on a tricycle.
