Today I watched as my husband pulled his Harley out of the garage for his first ride this season. I wanted to be going with him – on my own bike – so very much. But instead, I’m watching and waving goodbye from the front door. There’s just something about that first warm and sunny spring day when the roads are clear of the winter’s dirt and gravel that calls for the bikes to come out. But this summer would be my first in many when my old Ninja would be staying in the garage.

I made the decision to park my motorcycle for the season for a couple of reasons. I am pregnant and think it would be safer to eliminate the risk (the risk being much greater because of other drivers on the road rather than my own skill level of course!). Bike insurance is also expensive, and with the baby on the way along with a new house, we can benefit from the one lesser expense. Well, it is the smart thing to do, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it!

My interest in bikes started back around the end of high school when a friend of mine had a cruiser-style bike that he would take me for rides on. I caught the bug right away—feeling so much more alive out in the open like that. We’d be going out the highway and I’d have a little chill when, suddenly, I would feel a warm pocket of air just long enough to say “ah, that’s much better,” before it would end just as fast. It didn’t take long for me to have the desire to be in control and driving the bike myself instead of being a passenger. But that would take a few years for me as my parents (who I lived with at the time) were not fond of the idea of motorcycles. “They’re just too dangerous” was the reasoning. I’m a reasonable person and agree that motorcycles offer no protection in an accident, but that feeling of being so free was stronger for me.

So, I waited a few years and after college when I was working full-time, I enrolled in a motorcycle safety course. I was the only one on the course that dropped one of the bikes, but I improved and I passed! I was so excited because now I had my license, my own helmet, jacket, and gloves—all I needed was my own bike. That came the following summer. I had a friend help me shop for a bike that I could touch the ground on both sides with flat feet (no one wants to balance the weight of a 450+ lbs motorcycle on their tiptoes— at least not me!), and we succeeded. I now owed my first motorcycle—a 1994 Kawasaki Ninja ZX7 (750CC). It was like most people’s first car—cheap and in need of repair—but it was mine. The repairs were done and I let my friend keep the bike at his place; he’d come pick me up and take me out to an open parking lot to practice. I had so many comments from people in the bike world that I choose quite a large bike for my first, and the only response I had was that it was my first and any sized bike would feel the same to me so why not start with one that I won’t “out-grow” in a few years and one that will have power and stability on the highway.

After about a month of practice, I had the bike brought to my house where I could go on my own at my own pace. That first day when my friend brought it over, I just had to drive it up and down the street once before the rest of my day’s plans. All of the neighbours were out watching as I slowly drove my neon green bike down the street and then tried to make the turn around the court…and they continued to watch when down I went (super slow and a tight corner with very little experience was a bad combination).  The bike had a crack in it and I was completely embarrassed, but I learned. I practiced from that point on, but on other quiet streets without spectators.

I met so many different people who were into biking and because I had gotten a sport bike, most everyone I began to hang out with were also into sport bikes. They showed me the great twisty-turny roads and were nice enough to be patient while my confidence grew and I was able to keep up to them. Summers became about finding the time on the sunny days to get out and feel the fresh air. It was a whole new world of new people, parties and social gatherings, and taking the longest route possible to get some ice cream—riding around in all of that gear is hot! I always kept my common sense that said if I was going to ride, then I would always ride with my safety gear—even on the hottest of days.

One big social aspect of biking, for some people, is to show off. It could be by doing wheelies and other fancy tricks or burnouts. I loved to watch all the fancy tricks and was amazed at the skill and even sometimes the stupidity: where those riders got the money to fix their bikes when the dropped their bikes was beyond me. But they always came back to try again and amaze us. As much as I enjoyed watching the tricks, I didn’t learn to do anything more than a 3-4” wheelie. I’ve watched and heard of friends crashing and getting injured or worse. My interest was the freedom and eventually the speed.

Summers are full of events for bikers from the daily rides and social gatherings to the drag race season. I decided to go along for the party at the drag strip one weekend. It was two days of racing cars, bikes, and snowmobiles with the evenings full of bonfires and alcohol. The atmosphere was extremely friendly and pleasant. I came home with the smell of burnt rubber on all of my clothes, the sounds of revving engines in my ears, and the urge to go anywhere FAST. About five years ago, I got pulled in to the atmosphere. Pulling up to the line for a chance to go as fast as I could for a quarter mile was nerve-racking and exhilarating: I was hooked! It didn’t matter whether I won or lost (I almost always lost) because it was so much fun. The only thing I watched for on my time-slips was whether or not I was improving (after each race they would hand you a small receipt-like paper stating who was in the race, who won, and what your time was). So many people were encouraging and supportive giving my suggestions on how to improve.

Motorcycles were also a common interest when I first met Pat, my now-husband.  Our first date was when he met me and my friends for a ride on the bikes; me and my friends were on sport bikes and he showed up on his Harley Davidson. We enjoyed a beautiful afternoon of open roads, stopped for ice cream, and eventually went to dinner. Pat still has his Harley and I still have my first and only 1994 Kawasaki Ninja in our garage waiting till we can go for a ride together.

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