I passed my test to get my motorcycle license today, a joint pursuit my husband (Stu) and I did together this weekend through Motorcycle Safety Foundation's Basic Rider class. It represents the fulfillment of a promise I made to myself years ago to "get back on the horse" and finish what I wasn't able to back in my early twenties. Back then, I had purchased a '76 Yamaha 360 from an Italian tenor when we were both spending our summer at Central City's Opera House. He was selling that old blue bike for a couple hundred after using it for his time singing in Die Fledermaus; I had always wanted to learn to ride, and the price and time seemed right. But he only gave me the most basic of instructions in heavily-accented English, and on an old bike that had trouble enough starting, the dirt roads, curves, and hills where I started my journey proved to be difficult no matter the will of the young girl straddling the seat. I dropped and spilled, and each time I killed the engine was one more chip away at my exuberance. When the season ended and I came back home, I decided to take a rider's course. It didn't seem kind or forgiving for the virgin rider, and I felt quickly left behind. Discouraged, and with little support from loved ones who were concerned I was being foolish, I got rid of the bike. But I kept my helmet, for I always knew I would eventually come back and try again.
Someday.
It took a decade. A camping trip with family two summers ago to Yellowstone National Park reawakened the desire - for the beauty of that magnificent landscape seemed the ideal example of miles spent savoring the journey as much as the destination - a manifesto for riding if there ever was one. Stu and I talked about the our discovered mutual desire to ride, but we were trying to pay off our credit cars and cars, so it was dropped onto the pile of hopes for the future, along with children, a house, and travel dreams like kayaking in the Pacific Northwest or exploring Tuscany.
But earlier this year, we Netflixed the TV documentary series Long Way Round with Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman traveling from London to New York on BMW motorcycles. Our hunger was reawakened, and this time we didn't talk ourselves out of it. We'd met several of our financial goals as a couple, and summer in the Rocky Mountains called like a siren's seductive song. Someday had come.
...and I got back on the horse. First day on the range -a cold and rainy one for June -saw me spilling the Honda Rebel I was training on while making a right turn. My foot got pinned underneath, my knee skinned and leg bruised. And it was wet and cold on the asphalt waiting for the instructor to come lift the bike off of me. Time slowed, and memories of my failures from a decade ago fought for dominance against my stubborn determination not to be beaten again despite the discomfort of the situation.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. I'm fine. Just...fine."
"Do you want to continue?"
"Yes...Yes of course."
I struggled with hesitation and fear throughout the weekend on those darn right turns, and dropped the Rebel again this morning attempting a tight right U-turn, but at least I stayed on my feet. And I only lost a few points on the skills test this afternoon (scored perfectly on the written). And I earned my 'M' on my driver's license -something I hope to get from the DMV this week. After that? We buy our bikes! For now, I'm sore all over and exhausted. But excited for the road ahead!
"Why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?"
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch. 6
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