5 Reasons Why Learning to Ride Should Be Every Woman's New Years Resolution

As a lifetime member of the "Doom Generation," I tend to reflect briefly on how remarkable it is that I've made it through another year.  Although, to be fair, I've only made it through a calendar year.  Another lifetime year (which I think is more important, anyway) is still about 6 months out. While I don't normally pay much attention to New Years, this year I'm thinking maybe I'll at least participate in staying up until midnight.  I will probably be closed up in the garage, wrenching on the bikes and having a few drinks whilst listening to the chorus of gun-fire and fireworks (and trying to discern between the two).  I don't normally make resolutions, but I listen to everyone else as they make theirs. I've only known 1 person to be successful at it and in my words: "You made 2013 your bitch!"  So if you're like my friend, and you knocked every item off of your resolution list with success, then congratulations to you!  You've definitely beat the odds!

According to some statistics produced by the University of Scranton Journal of Clinical Psychology, the top 10 new years resolutions are (in order of rank):

Rank	Top 10 New Years resolutions for 2014
1	Lose Weight
2	Getting Organized
3	Spend Less, Save More
4	Enjoy Life to the Fullest
5	Staying Fit and Healthy
6	Learn Something Exciting
7	Quit Smoking
8	Help Others in Their Dreams
9	Fall in Love
10	Spend More Time with Family

Not really surprising, I suppose.  But if you note elsewhere on that page that only 8% of people who make resolutions are successful, I'd say maybe we should start really honing in on why these things are important enough to declare, but not quite pressing (or meaningful) enough to commit to.  But that's really not the point of this post.  In fact, I only really mention it because I am part of the 36% of people who never make resolutions... and given the success rate of those that do, I'd say I'm on the right track.  I don't know about you, but I feel pretty damn good about that; being on any track really, but especially the right ones. 

But I digress...

Instead, I've decided that I will start my new year by making a New Years Recommendation instead of a resolution.  Thus, the focus of this post is to actually take resolution #6 on this list and turn it into said New Years Recommendation for women far and wide; specifically the women, like my hair-stylist, who are enamored when I ride up on the bike so they spend a good 15 minutes expressing how awesome it is to see a chick on a sportbike; how they would love to learn how to ride but they are unsure of themselves or any number of other reasons they find not to step over the threshold and throw a leg over a motorcycle. I'm here to tell you why your number one New Years Resolution should be to learn how to ride a motorcycle. We will start with what appears to be the number one ranking resolution: to lose weight. So without further ado:

Reason #1: You will become more aware of your weight/build/body size, etc.  This can be both good and bad but it's all in how you perceive it.  You'll either realize how short you are when you sit on a sportbike and feverishly flail just to get a toe down, or you'll realize how out of shape you are after that first good day of riding.  Either way, riding a motorcycle will make you aware of where you stand in the realm of shape and physique, and this will help you knock out not one, but two (if not more) of your NYR's.  If you ride a sportbike you'll become especially in tune with your physical areas of weakness. But trust me, it's worth it because...

Reason #2: You'll be spending less.  Yes gals (and equally inspired men ...  because I'm all about equality here), that's right, riding a motorcycle is one of the most economical ways to travel: whether you're jutting around town, or road-trippin' to a far off destination your pocket book will thank you.  That little 4.5 gallon gas tank between your legs will carry you about 120 miles (if you're on a sportbike) or more depending on your bike and your riding style.  Insurance is significantly cheaper as well (again, depending on the bike and your 'riding style') with discounts for folks who have taken an approved riding instructional school.  Extra cash is great... you can spend it on a pair of kickass riding boots, tools... or those new Laboutin (say it with me fellas: "Lah-boo-tawn) stillettos you've been swooning over. Of course, it might take you a while to save up because really, even I accept that cars are being made to be more efficient these days.  And that's nice, but I don't need to spend 30 grand on a car just to get decent gas mileage. Besides: travelling on two wheels also forces you to organize... after all, a girl can only haul so many pairs of shoes with her.  Pick only the best.

So economical, you can bring your family with you!

Reason #3: I can honestly say that I don't know a lot of motorcycling enthusiasts who smoke.  I'm not sure why that is and it only just occurred to me as I was drumming up the idea for this blog, but its true.  I think out of all of the motorcycling enthusiasts that I know, maybe 1 or 2 actually smoke.  I know a lot of riders so that's a bold statement.  Quitting smoking is definitely one of the healthiest decisions you can make, so why not replace it with something exciting where you are just too damn busy to smoke: like riding.

Smoking: Ain't nobody got time fa-dat!

Reason #4: There are a few reasons why, indirectly, motorcycling can allow you and even inspire you to spend time with your family.  I was raised around bikes or cars of some sort so my quality time with dad consisted of hanging out with him in the garage as he wrenched on his bikes or fixed the family car. As I've gotten older I've bonded with my dad quite a bit over bikes over the years and I've learned a lot of great lessons in that process...  mostly that I should never under-estimate my dad.

Kawis are in the blood apparently 2007

But I'm not the only one... I sold my first bike, a 2004 ninja 250 only a year or so after owning it.  I was very sad to see my baby go, but once I talked to the buyer I knew it was the right family (literally) to adopt her out to.  There was a husband and wife and they came to look at the bike together.  My original understanding was that they were going to use it to teach their kid to ride on.  When I ran into them several years later at a stunt show, I asked them how it was going and they said: "Oh the bike is great! We've used it to teach several generations of our family to ride on." At that point, several years later, they still had that little 250 in their garage. I certainly can't think of a better way to bond with family.  But if your family doesn't fall in love with it, never fear, they can sit at home and be bored.  Any time you venture out with your friends on two wheels, you will certainly want someone to share your story and your pics with when you return home... to the nagging husband that you ditched in the garage to go riding with your girlfriends. 

Hey, his loss!

Reason 5: Falling in love...

I sigh a heavy heartfelt sigh as I imagine all of the different ways that love has manifested itself in my life through motorcycling. First and foremost there are few things that come close to the empowerment and freedom that riding a motorcycle entails.  It doesn't matter what you ride.  Women everywhere will tell you, with gritty smiles after long rides, races and track days; sometimes with scars and bruises, completely and utterly exhausted but with honesty: motorcycling is absolutely amazing.  It's exciting, it's invigorating, its an endeavor that will teach you more about yourself, what you're capable of, and what matters the most than most other hobbies; but you have to listen and learn from it... you have to be willing to be humbled.  You meet many incredible people (and a few pretty sketchy egotistical ones) but ultimately the world through the visor is a world through the proverbial rose-colored glasses.  I have fallen in love many times over; with people, with places, with bikes, and with life.  You'll find reasons to take the long way home, suddenly you'll pause at all of those forks in the road, you'll come to appreciate squiggly lines and country roads a lot more and if you're into sport-riding, you'll start looking for shit to sell just so you can do a track day. Of course, that could just be me. 

Oh... well now we know what was at the end of the high road

Neat random destinations: You ARE here

But even if random adventuring, total freedom, exilerating power (sportbikes)  isn't your thing, you'll still look like one hot badass chick when you roll up to a bike night on your own bike. But there's always that off-chance that you'll hate it.  In which case then at least you can say, "I learned how to ride a motorcycle."  And a lot of people think that's pretty damn exciting. So stop making excuses already, and sign up to take the MSF (Motorcycle Safety Foundation) course.  That part won't be that exciting, but the part afterward... with the open road, the serenity, and the you-and-the-bike will be amazing.

Girls and Gear: An Appeal from One Lady Rider to Several

I ordered a new leather jacket the other day after going the better part of a few years without having updated my collection. I had been halfassing my street rides in a textile jacket that was less likely to bulk and pinch in all the wrong places, and I am lucky enough to have a pair of leather pants that fits me well enough to make safety tolerable.    In the 8 or so years that I have been riding, I am happy to report that there is finally some variety in the riding apparel market for us ladies who like to carve a canyon or hit a track day, or maybe even just drag some knee or pop some wheelies in a parking lot somewhere (not that I do wheelies... I'm not that cool).

At this point, after around 8 years of riding, I've really enjoyed seeing more women emerge into motorcycling alongside me.  Of course, women have been riding motorcycles since the dawn of time, but I'd venture to say that only in about the last decade or so have there been enough women for apparel manufacturers to really start paying attention to our needs.  Up until then, and even still today, there seems to be a bit of a stigma that lingers when you lump women and sportbikes into the same conversation:  "Oh, you mean the umbrella girls?" or "The girls who ride on the back of their boyfriend's bike."  Of course, with anything there is usually a barrage of presumptuous imagery that goes along with said stigma: scantily clad women either standing off to the side, or suggestively straddling a motorcycle as more of an accessory than a sentient person who actually knows the proper way to sit and ride a bike. Women who actually rode their own were likened to Harley Davidson riding gender-confused entities who were built like cave-men and cussed like sailors. Now I'll admit that I can cuss like a sailor, but I remember fondly rolling up to my first bike night, by myself and having several different guys point out their confusion at the fact that I just "didn't seem the type.":

"Is this your boyfriend's bike?" 

"You can handle this thing?"

One guy to another: "Dude, she doesn't have any chicken strips." 

In fact, I've pretty much heard it all over the years but the most frequent observation that I get is from coworkers, peers, and non-riders: "You just don't seem like the type!"

Since times are quickly changing and the number of actual female riding enthusiasts (and ones that are beautiful at that) increases dramatically, there is a new persona emerging of the badass leather-clad, fully suited biker babe draggin' knee while her pigtails flail wildly behind her; and for those of us gals who aren't cromagnon gender-mutants riding around on over-chromed, underpowered oil dispensaries, the options for good quality, good fitting, and yes... even sexy gear has dramatically increased.

Women's Frank Thomas Suit... not too bad for a cheapie off the rack!

Still, there are plenty of women out there who prize their vanity over safety and they opt out of gear; donning little more than a t-shirt and some spandex-blend shorts with their super cute girl shoes and freshly manicured nails because that's hot. Now don't get me wrong: I admire pretty bodies as much as the next person.  The female form is definitely something that should be celebrated tastefully and with dignity, but the human body is one that is also fragile. For those who are not yet familiar with The Road Rash Queen, take a few minutes to click the link and see her story.  Warning: some of what you will see may be difficult for sensitive audiences, but it will change the way you look at those pretty girls riding around in their shorts and spaghetti straps. And if you are one of these pretty girls riding around in shorts and spaghetti straps, then consider how you are representing us as a minority in the sport.  Also consider my appeal to what you think is sexy... or maybe more appropriately, what you think people think is sexy: 

Less skin, more gear!
Rev'it Allure Jacket, my favorite corset, and a cam sprocket from an 04 ZX6RR

In theory, and in a perfect world, we all love and respect our bodies and want to show off our curves and perfectly tanned skin and there are ways to go about it while still protecting it. You might be surprised to know that I am not only advocating against road rash, but also against the "weatherization leatherization" of your skin. Yeah you're young, pretty and your skin is in excellent shape now, but all of that sun exposure will eventually catch up to you.  When you ride without gear you subject yourself to a multitude of dangers that stretch far beyond the road rash and injuries that you are sure to sustain in the event of an off; but there is also skin cancer, insect and debris-related injuries (ever been hit by a rock, a bird, or something that fell out of a truck at 90 mph?), oh, and dehydration - which makes your skin look even worse when it can't keep itself hydrated during an epic day of baking in the sun while riding and perspiring. So even if you manage to avoid being seriously rashed and maimed at the circumstance of a crash (whether you're on your own bike, or on the back of your boyfriend's), time will take it's own toll. 

I don't want to sound preachy here but what I will say is that from one woman on a bike to another: you're missing the mark on "sexy."  Of course, we live in a society that doesn't necessarily share my views, but we also live in a society that has absolutely no concern for your safety, your autonomy, or even respecting you as the beautiful woman you are.  We live in a society that encourages women to exploit their bodies tactlessly and with as little clothing as allowable in social media.

Because full-gear selfies on your own bike in the garage where you do your own wrenching beats out the panty-clad 'duckface' any day of the week.

(Rev'it Allure Jacket and Marryl pants)

So here, ha ha! let me "exploit" my own body in an attempt to appeal to the fact that sometimes it's not a manner of parading around your scantily-clad body to showcase that you are a pretty girl on a motorcycle.  Sometimes its about celebrating and respecting the fact that you are a beautiful, sexy woman who rides a motorcycle and probably does it better than a lot of guys out there. You and your body deserve respect, and you deserve to be protected while not having to stuff your feminine assets into boxy, bulky men's gear. And that's what is so great about apparel manufacturers finally taking some notice of the fact that women want gear, and they are making gear that is flattering and protective. We finally have a choice.  We have the right to choose (and as we all know, that's a pretty hot topic of debate these days). I hope that many of you take something from this, buy yourselves some gear, and avoid becoming the next poster-girl for road rash prevention. Besides, leaving a little something to the imagination is part of what makes things so interesting.

Ride fast, stay pretty!

Maintenance

I don't know what flies faster: time... or miles.

It seems like I just replaced those tires!
Didn't I just replace that chain?
Has it been that long since my last valve clearance adjustment?

What day is it?

So many miles, so little time.

The CLASS Reunion of My Passion for Track Riding

Sometimes in life, even when the chips are down, they all fall into place for one brief moment that presents an opportunity for you to seize a chance to find your way back onto a path in life.

A friend had messaged me about a riding school that I had been trying to attend for a couple of years now.  I had done California Superbike School, and seen my skills and riding ability improve almost overnight; having gotten a lot of compliments from people I rode with on a regular basis, and also feeling a lot more capable and comfortable on the bike.  My friends had spoken of Reg Pridmore's CLASS School for a while, saying that it was more street oriented and giving a lot of great feedback.  The only problem was that it usually only took place on weekdays, and at $225-$250 per day it was hard to bring my finances and my work schedule together in a way that would allow me to attend.

My friend pointed out that there were still some openings and that there were two days that it was being offered: Thursday and Friday at Streets of Willow at Willow Springs.  It just so happened that I had that Friday off so I jumped at the opportunity.  I dropped my bike off to be hauled with one of my fellow riders/CLASS instructor, and on Friday I met everyone, and my bike out at the track.  I have to admit that the three days in between were a special kind of torture.  Streets of Willow is one of my favorite tracks to ride because it is so technical and you don't have to ride very fast in order to be challenged.  This is great for first time track-goers who might otherwise get onto a bigger track and run significantly slower than the rest of the pack. I also just like the way it flows. It has a very good amount of tight corners and elevation changes, but I especially enjoy riding it in reverse.

Hangin' out with her friends before the long day

We finally arrived and I waited in line for registration, and then sat through the initial morning meeting. There were two groups: A and B; A was for the faster riders.  I was in B.  I didn't really feel nervous; quite the contrary, I felt like I was at home again, I felt at ease and there was an excitement churning in my soul that simply led me to believe that this day was going to be worth way more than I was paying. 

I glanced around and saw a diverse group of riders: women, men, young, old, advanced riders, timid riders, etc.  It was a good group, everyone was attentive and respectful. Everyone's mind seemed to be open to learn. Reg made it abundantly clear from the get-go that this wasn't a racing school, it was a school for street riders and, as such, we would be taking different lines around the course - the tighter line; the safer line.  That pretty much set the pace for the rest of the day.  The seminars alternated with 20 minutes of track time; during which you implemented the concepts that were covered during the seminars.  Coaches were out in force helping give pointers and keep things in line.

A few corners were harder to see around with these tighter lines and I felt myself struggling with confidence.  It wasn't too long afterward that I felt like I was making excuses for why I wasn't picking up the pace. I pulled a coach aside and asked him to give me some feedback on what I was doing wrong.  A few laps around and he approached me on the skidpad: "You look fine, your body position is good, you're smooth, it just seems like you're struggling with confidence."  I nodded and thanked him without feeling all that reassured.  A part of me really wanted him to tell me that my BP was off, or that I was still running wide, or something of technical note.  But in reality the biggest problem was in my mind and it wasn't something that was going to be remedied by following someone around a track or having someone follow me around the track.

Sometimes, we are our own biggest barrier.  What we believe translates, often unconsciously, into actions and reactions to situations; riding is no different. What we believe often keeps us tied into or committed (target fixated?) to an unhealthy situation, or a relationship, or a lifestyle that will inevitably undermine our potential. If we are afraid, or otherwise emotionally dictated, we are more inclined to knee-jerk reactions and incidental crashes.  CLASS was really good about instilling the importance of control and confidence.

I had some trouble at the beginning. I couldn't seem to hit the g-spot where everything fell into place and I got lost in the ride, it hadn't been all that satisfying for some time. It felt foreign.  It had been this way for the last few years or so but that's what happens when you stop trying.  There was always something, it seemed; mechanical failures, residual disappointments, and I got wrapped up in a few things that were beyond my control in other aspects of my life and let it get the best of me and subsequently create more estrangement between me and riding. This was only compounded by my own unrealistic expectation that I shouldn't have lost any speed or skill in this tumultuous process.  The frustration of not meeting my own standards really only caused resentment which perpetuated the estrangement; I used to be faster, I used to be better, what the hell?!  But somewhere in there was a yearning to get back to it; to find myself in a new place with a new love with more skill and that was why I was here. 

The one thing that stood out to me the most about this particular day, was that I wasn't getting frustrated.  I didn't feel the strain of my own expectation to keep up with myself, or the nagging expectations of someone else: "I know you can ride faster." You need to pick it up a bit..." For the first time in a while, I wasn't un-satisfied.  In fact, I was having the time of my life.  It was relaxing, it was peaceful, and I was smiling... from my jaded, fragmented, yet determined and passionate soul. I was satisfied with my meager pace, and my blasted confidence, and my bike with the front fork that sprayed just a little fork oil on the sides of my front tire when I hit certain little bumps, and the dip and then surge in power when I wussed out on a corner and let the rev's dip a little too much. I let out an embarrassed howl of laughter when I pulled an epic mis-shift on the back straight right after I had jokingly declared in the paddock "This is it, I'm going to make that corner my bitch!" I was okay with the fact that I was out of shape, and I had begun letting go of the discouragement, the past, the negativity, and started taking an inventory on all of the things that needed rebuilding; within myself and my bike; starting with the fork seals - Yes, I am aware I pointed out suspension needs in my last post as well, but hey... ain't nobody got time fah dat!

At the end of the day I stood in the pits, staring at the bike and the track off in the distance.  I hadn't stopped smiling all day and my cheeks were starting to hurt. There was a layer of dust, sweat and exhaust in my pores, my hair was jacked up, and my thighs were weak and wobbly. The CLASS folks had been so amazing in helping me with this day and words couldn't really sum up what it meant to me to seize this one opportunity for a healthy re-introduction to the passion that gives me the most joy in my life; reminding me that sometimes the bike isn't the only thing that needs rebuilding.

 

 

A CLASSy buncha guys right there...



Ride Report - Operation: Destination Conclusion

I made one last pit stop in Santa Maria to top off and throw my hoodie on for the long ride home.  It was significantly cooler in Santa Maria than it had been anywhere else on the trip so I needed to break out an extra layer.  Plus, I knew that the sun would set well before I made it through the last leg of the ride, and it would probably cool off.

$4.55 later, I was back on the 101 and then I hit 166.  Highway 166 is relatively boring if you're on two wheels, unless you have a liter bike.  The road itself is a two lane highway that cuts through the lower mountain areas in a series of broad sweepers and then straightens out into the Cuyama Valley.  It's actually one of the more scenic "slab" rides but I couldn't help but think about what a tremendous waste of rubber it was given the lack of technical twisties.  It was pretty barren so I settled into a modest pace and rode out the first stretch of sweepers until I caught up to a couple of vehicles. A big rig was up ahead and an older Mercedes was behind him.  If not for the fact that we were all approaching a blind section of the pass, I probably would have gone by them but I eased off the pace and settled in behind them.  The Mercedes was chomping at the bit to get around the truck.  Just as both of us were going to sieze the opportunity, the big rig swerved over into the oncoming lane, and continued weaving back and forth.  His long trailer swayed between to the two lanes that were protected by guard-rails on either side, and I held my breath as my immediate thought was that it was possible I might soon see a very serious accident if he overturned or hit an oncoming car.  I eased off the throttle and put some space between us all.  The Mercedes did the same, and just as the road curved into a blind corner, the big-rig settled back into his lane.

Once the road opened up again we made our way by.  I was reluctant, feeling a little like I was in that scene from The Matrix where Trinity has to maneuver the bike around the diesel truck as it closes in to smash her, but the big rig stayed in his lane and didn't show any signs of repeating his bizarre, erratic behavior. The front of the R6 shimmied modestly as her front-end traction was broken by the centerline reflector plates, but it dissipated quickly and we continued on our way on a mostly open road. The Mercedes was holding a decent pace so I settled in behind him and we carved our way along until we slowed for another, slower motorist ahead.  As we made our way through a blind sweeper he made his move to pass as the road opened up to another long straightaway and I gave it an extra second before I cracked the throttle and followed suit.  I came up next to the slower car and prepared for the Mercedes to merge back into the lane with plenty of space for me, but I was unpleasantly surprised.

Out of the corner of my eye to the right, I could see the front end of a patrol car sticking out from the bushes.  I rolled off the throttle gently but the guy in the Mercedes slammed on his brakes in an effort to downplay his maneuver. I was approaching quickly, applying the brakes now and a car was approaching in the oncoming lane.  I looked at the car next to me, the Mercedes was in front of us, but not quite far enough to merge back into the lane. I debated falling back and getting in behind the car, or pulling the pass on both cars with whatever distance I had to spare. 

Within another second the Mercedes had eased into the lane at a much slower pace.  I accepted the fact that I would probably be getting a ticket as I downshifted and charged forward, settling in front of both of them. I chuckled a little in my helmet at the thought of the CHP witnessing the whole ordeal, and probably hearing me yell at the guy in the car ahead. Once the CHP had disappeared in my rear-view as I entered another sweeping curve, I picked up the pace and left all of them behind.

The skies were a brilliant purple and pink, which made a beautiful backdrop for the yellow dusted mountains and rolling hills.  I contemplated stopping to take a picture while there was still daylight but I didn't want to put forth the effort. I was alone, but I was in good company.  Even though I had music playing in my earbuds, I tuned it out and listened to the hum of the R6 as she carried us through this empty part of the world. It was as though this piece of the planet had been long forgotten to civilization and we were there to enjoy it as our own sacred place. My wrist was cramping, my back was sore, and I was pretty sure that I had pinched a nerve in my inner leg from having very little meat on my bones and a flat, hard seat to sit on all day.  My thighs, butt, and hamstrings were sore and I was feeling fatigued, but it was here that I finally found some peace.  It all finally came together as the sun was setting and the roads became dark.  Lit only by my headlight I made my way through 40 miles of dark, desolate road. 

In life we all make choices.  We make choices that are fueled by our beliefs, our emotions, our desires, and our reasoning.  What we believe of ourselves, and of our world has a huge impact on guiding our decisions and conributions in life and at some point we all find ourselves staring in a mirror, demanding accountability for why we have ended up where we have.  For some, this reflection can be a positive reflection; relishing in one's luck, or prosperity, or happiness.  For others... for too many... this reflection is in shame, sadness, or bitterness.  Some people go their entire lives living unhappily, but never finding the courage or the willpower to look inward and ask of themselves what their true purpose is.  When people have no purpose they have no direction.  And when they have no direction, they become lost and angry. Angry people who are lost will grab onto whatever they can for some sense of power, to feel as though they are in control of the variables and when it doesn't work, they reach out for an excuse, for something or someone to blame. Seldom is there love there as often as there is fear; fear of being alone. I know this pattern all too well.  I've lived with angry people for most of my life and at some point I've had to let them all go.

As much as I loved him, the truth was that I had felt for a while that pieces of myself were slowly being chipped away from the inside out; leaving a shell of the person I once was. This ride was necessary for me to accept what I truly was in his life and to let go of what I always hoped and believed could be - to let go of it all really.  It was necessary for me to liberate myself from the hurt, the anger, and the hope that kept me holding on time and time again in great moments of emptiness, of deafening silence after the roar of uncontrollable emotion that had him storming out for days on end. It was necessary for me to remember that I've always had a sense of purpose beyond what I might be able to conform to as an accessory in one person's life; no matter how much I might want to. There is a world beyond it and that world can be anything that we choose to make it if we just think beyond our struggles and give from our hearts. It was necessary for me to be alone with myself, my motorcycle and an open road with infinite possibilities.  I needed to let my soul wander and my heart breathe and as the R6 hummed along beneath me I made amends with this one small injustice in what I hope will be a long and meaningful life.

Ride Report - Operation: Destination Part IV

I seated myself in the restaurant and plopped my backpack, helmet, and jacket down next to me in the booth.  I was lucky enough to notice an open outlet that I promptly seized the opportunity to plug my phone into. A few people in the bar stared awkwardly and I briefly considered that perhaps there was something smeared across my face.  I looked in the mirror behind me and saw nothing but helmet hair.  I've grown used to helmet hair, so I fluffed it a little with my fingers and thought to myself, what the hell is the deal with these people, this is a motorcycle friendly community... they even have a motorcycle museum! Surely it's not that big of a deal to see a chick-on-a-bike.

My server finally approached and I couldn't help but remark on how beautiful he was.  My GOD man, I don't even look that pretty when I'm wearing a push-up bra and an airbrushed face! He was so pretty that I felt like having sex with him would make me a lesbian and I was instantly dissuaded from objectifying him. He acknowledged my helmet, asked me what I rode, and before I could fully answer, erupted into a story about how he crashed his R1, with a passenger on the back who was wearing "Really short shorts!" and they both walked away unscathed.  Any other day, within the last couple of years I would have pitched forth a lecture.  Today, however, I was on an adventure... and I didn't care aside from the fact that he had learned his lesson and praised God for the luck of his passenger.

I ordered a cheeseburger and realized that, at 4:45 in the afternoon, it was the first real meal I had in the day aside from the two bites I took of a slice of cold pizza, and the strips of beef jerky I had munched on intermittently throughout my stops.  I scarfed down half of it, and ordered a growler of the Odin Stout to go; figuring that it would make a lovely homecoming reward when I finally made it back home.

Once I left the place, I was greeted by a couple who had been admiring my bike.  He wanted a bike, she didn't want him to get a bike, and he solicited my professional opinion in consoling her concerns. This happens to me a lot. I'm not sure why.  It's as if somehow, the opinions of a female sportbike rider are that much more supportive than those of some dude.  Okay. Now that I think about it, there is actually probably might be some merit in that.

They were polite and grateful for my feedback as they wandered off.  I made my way back onto the highway with a slightly readjusted backpack that was now a few pounds heavier, but I didn't mind.  I topped off at the gas station and decided to head for home.  I knew it was gonna be a long  ride but this stretch of road is mostly sweepers and some straights and while I knew I'd be riding it at night, I really didn't mind the thought of it that much.

While riding up the 101 to catch 166 the thoughts came back in a rushing wave.  I felt better this time, my heart was lighter.  I had accepted that I need to let go.  I had accepted that I needed to stop making an us issue out of what is clearly now my life from this point forward.  This whole trip had been a re-introduction to my own life as me living without someone who may or may not have ever been up to the task of sharing a life with me in the first place. All of it was speculative though, and I had to let it go.  I had to let it all go and start re-defining the terms by which I plan to live the rest of my life.

At that very moment, Florence and the Machine came on in my ear, erupting into a soulful howl of beautiful desperation and angst.  In the foreground of a crescendo of thundering drums, dramatic deep violins and singing words that seemed to reach into my soul and bring my feelings to life:

You want a revelation

You wanna get it right

But it's a conversation

I just can't have tonight

You want a revelation

Some kind of resolution

You want a revelation

 

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never new daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

 

I'd do anything... to make you stay

No light, no light...

 

Everyone goes through this. It is one of the more unfair aspects of life.  There are at least a million songs written in every genre of music by people who process their heartbreak through their creativity.  Using their instruments; be it the pen, the guitar, or the piano as a medium for cathartic release.  We are all human and we live our lives on loosely defined terms, buying into social norms and unfounded, unrealistic expectations; winging it as we go and finding reasons to regret when we should be finding reasons to grow.  When we find ourselves rigidly clinging to those terms even in light of new developments of truth is when we find ourselves in trouble; at risk of becoming stagnant ghosts of our own past.

For this reason, we owe it to ourselves to pursue the truth even when it hurts.  To accept reality, even when it no longer benefits us; and to let go when the purpose has been served or the cause has been lost.

The truth may not always feel great, but it will certainly set you free.







Ride Report - Operation Destination Part III

I rolled into Ojai with quite a bit of fuel to spare.  I was pretty impressed, usually the sportbikes get crap for gas mileage but for some reason the R6 was running at about 40 mpg. I attributed it to the 'pansy pace' and pulled into a gas station to top off anyway. I really didn't know where I was going to go from this point so I erred on the side of caution and pulled out with a full tank. At the gas station, a gal on a ninja was waiting to lead some friends who were on cruisers in the direction of 33.  We exchanged cordial nods and I yanked my stiff knee over the seat of the bike with more unnecessary groaning before filling up and chatting with an old guy who compliment how pretty the bike was.  I followed some roads around until I landed somewhere near the 101 within range of Highway 1.  I decided to pop down there for a breath of cool ocean air and I cruised along on what seemed more like an access road than a major California Highway. I flipped up my visor and took a deep breath.  The sadness in my heart was stifled by the cold moist ocean air and it was rejuvenating after the long ride I had just taken. I glanced down at the temperature gauge on the bike and noted that it was reading significantly lower than it had been the entire trip.  Apparently the ocean air was a reprieve for both of us.

I popped back on the freeway and rode up the 101 briefly before entering into Santa Barbara.  I thought I might stop there and grab some lunch, but then I forgot that I remember very little about navigating around there since most of my friends have left.  I felt too exhausted and dingy to hit any of the places on State Street so I stopped for a minute to drink some water and consider my next move before I hit the road again and made my way north.  At this point my objective was to explore the logistics of overnight sleeping at a camp ground.  I didn't bring my sleeping bag.  I didn't bring much at all but I didn't really care.  I had a backpack for a pillow and two layers to throw on if I needed it.

Most people would think this was stupid.  Some ill effect of improper planning but I had thought out my necessities well ahead with the consideration that I wasn't opposed to sleeping on the ground next to my bike somewhere.  Hotels on the central coast are easily upwards of 100 dollars a night and I just couldn't reconcile the idea of spending that much money for something that wasn't really 100 dollars worth of reward; at least not on this adventure. Yeah, it could get pretty chilly here at night, I thought, but whatever happens, however bad it sucks, I know it's only going to be temporary and I'll live through it.  If I decide I hate it, I'll just get on the bike and ride to a Denny's somewhere. Homeless people make it work, and I can too.  I don't know why people feel like they need to bring bagloads of shit for a sleepover in a dirt patch.  Although, if I did somehow manage to finagle my way into a campground, I was most certainly going back to town for some beer, pretzels, and a roll of toilet paper. 

Priorities, man.

There were a few state beaches and coastal areas but the campgrounds were all full and I was turned away by park rangers who said that I could pay for day parking, but that was it. I didn't care that much and I wasn't that interested in just randomly picking a place in the middle of nowhere. So I rode... North... exiting at various locations and exploring the roads.

 

 

 

Once I had given up my quest for natural sleeping accommodations, I continued on toward Solvang.  Solvang is a little Danish community that is nestled a few miles up off of the 101 between Santa Barbara and Santa Maria.  There is a motorcycle museum there and a lot of really good eats.  I decided this would be as good of a place as any to stop in for some food while I decided whether or not I was going to try and hunt down a hotel room (and subsequently continue my ride on Sunday) or if I was going to make the daunting trek back in the evening.

 

It was about 4:30 when I arrived at the brewery and I pulled into the parking lot behind a guy on a chopper that had the trade-mark overzealous exhaust pipe.  He got off of his bike and did a double-take as I assume he realized I was a chick. I nodded politely, let my backpack fall of my shoulders and made my way into the restaurant where I was greeted with awkward stares.

 

 

 



Ride Report - Operation: Destination Part II

After the little wake-up call, I had re-focused.  I rode the last few corners of the course with unsurpassed concentration until the road opened up into a long straight line that lead through the valley, over a dry creek-bed that is prone to flooding (as I was informed by the sign alerting me to Cross at your own risk!) and eventually to Highway 33.

Prone to flooding: Cross at your own risk

 

These trees were absolutely stunning

 

Once I hit 33 I thought I might find a place to pull over, snack on some jerky, drink some water and take a break.  However, I really didn't want to stop in the sun so I just kept riding.  As I went by a rest area, I waved at a gaggle of sportbikers who apparently had the same idea, but more initiative.  I felt a little self-conscious riding in my jeans with my armor, but I had planned to take it easy and I didn't want to have to sleep in my leathers should I decide to find a campground. 

 

I moved along at a decent pace, the bike was running extremely well but the suspension in the front felt a little stiff.  It wasn't a big deal though since most of this road is nice and smooth.  I hardly noticed with the exception of a few times where the bike protested some unexpected speed bumps.  At one point the handlebars started to wobble but nothing remotely close to what I had experienced in the past on this bike and I brushed it off with a little more throttle.  Because a little more throttle never hurts, right?

 

As I wove my way through the mountains and foothills along Highway 33 I lamented that I hadn't ridden it more often.  It's quite a stretch for me to get to and it usually means some degree of long, straight line riding. The R6 glided along smoothly with almost no effort.  Opening up the throttle and leaning into corners was substantially less frightening than doing so with the throttle pinned on the DRZ (which I had done recently) and coming around every corner with the handlebars shimmying feverishly.  It certainly added character but that was by no means a graceful ride.

 

A few miles up the road I pulled off in a paved turnout.  There were a couple of people on mini-bikes preparing to blast up a nearby trail that was clearly marked: No Trespassing.  I smiled as one of the riders blasted off and up the side of the mountain, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him.  As I dismounted the bike, my hips and knees cracked and I carefully stretched them with a faint groan.  The other rider was still trying to kick start the bike while looking at me with an embarrassed smile. I nodded politely and after a couple more exhausted kicks, the bike sputtered to life and he blasted off up the same trail where his partner had disappeared minutes before.

 

I pulled out my jerky and drank some water as a group of adventure bikes went by.  At the end of the pack, trailing behind by a few seconds was a rider on what looked like a KLR 650.  It sputtered by as I gave a polite wave and he responded with a long awkward stare as he rode by. 



I wandered around for a few minutes, stretching my legs before I got tired of standing around and pressed on. I had actually anticipated that at any given moment the sportbikes would come buzzing up behind me but I never saw them.  I was alone for almost the entire leg of the journey, and I found myself getting lost in the zone more and more as I realized how alone I really was. The R6 hummed a healthy tune as I worked the throttle in and out of the corners in a dance that carried us further out of the valley and further up into the mountains.

If you've never ridden Highway 33, I suggest doing it at least once in your life.  Of all of the majestic roads to experience in California, it truly holds its own.  Once in the mountains, there are views abound and a little wind to keep things interesting in certain spots, which was particularly fun on the DRZ, but not so much noticeable on the mighty Red Raven as she sliced her way along the asphalt ribbon and carried us out to the CA coast.

Ride Report - Operation: Destination Part I

I awoke from an otherwise restful sleep with the usual burn of anxiety that accompanies the grieving process.  I knew I was tired but my brain immediately kicked on, spouting fragmented thoughts and adding fuel to the fire of the anxiety that was brewing. My room was still dark, but I could tell by the faint purple glow creeping in from the crevices between blinds that it must be around six or so.  I hadn't opened my eyes yet.  I was still desperately clinging to the idea that this might pass and I might be able to fall back asleep.  Finally I gave in, opened my eyes and looked at the clock; it was 6:15.  On a Saturday!  I thought, I only wake up this early for track days!  I let my head fall back into the pillows with an exasperated sigh. I tossed and turned for another hour or so, tormented by the frustration of wanting to sleep but wanting to shut my brain off. Well... I guess I'm gonna go riding. I thought, as I threw back the blankets.

As I showered, I laid out some possible ideas for the day's agenda. I didn't know where I was gonna go, I just thought of a general direction: West. I hadn't really even planned on coming back any time soon.   I needed to mail my PCIII to a fellow forum member, and go to the bank.  The post office didn't open until 9:30 so I waited, impatiently, checking tire pressures, charging devices, packing a backpack, finding things to do.  Everything except mapping out a trip. I wasn't preparing and I really didn't care. I knew the area and the climate well enough to know that if worse came to worse I'd be fine. I grabbed a hoodie, a change of clothes, my toothbrush, and deodorant and threw it in a backpack along with the cargo net in the event that my back got too tired.

By 9:45 I was ready to rock. I knew that daylight would be limited given my delay in departure but I didn't have any real destination and I figured if worse came to worse I could always grab a spot at a campground and sleep in my hoodie and my jacket. 

I hit the road.  I slabbed it south for a few miles after deciding I would do Highway 33 out to Santa Barbara and go from there.  There are several different routes you can take to get to 33, and I was torn between doing Lockwood Valley Road, or Cerro Noroeste.  I've only ridden those roads once, on a loop and I wasn't entirely sure that I would remember the course but I didn't care. I made my way to Frazier Park after what felt like an eternity on the freeway with my thoughts running in every direction as music blared in the background through my earbuds. 

Once in Frazier Park I gassed up in Lake of the Woods, a tiny subdivision, if you will of an already small Mountain community.  I bought some jerky and a bottle of water and added it to the backpack. Once back on the main drag it wasn't long before I had made my decision to take Lockwood Valley Road. 

LVR isn't one of those roads that's in the best of condition, after all: it's a mountain road.  But it's not as bad as most roads.  There are some bumps, breaks in the pavement and I found quite a bit of dirt this time around.  As most of us know, you really never know what you're going to encounter when you ride a mountain road as some sections are prone to being washed out from flooding, damaged from rock/landslides, or torn apart for reconstruction.  It really came as no surprise to me when I approached this section of a 20 mph corner.

 

 

I coasted over the moat of gravel and kept on.  It was quiet, peaceful, and the weather was just about perfect; sunny and in the 70s. The bike was running beautifully, although as I hit a few bumps I remembered that I had put it on the agenda to service the forks.

 

Lockwood Valley Road is only about a 30 mile stretch of road that runs straight through a valley and then up through the mountains in tighter ribbons that shift in elevation and radius.  It's a narrower road with some pretty steep drop-offs once you get to the higher portions. Once at the higher elevations, the mountains on one side fall away, exposing a majestic view that seems limitless.  It really is a remarkable place, one of the millions of remarkable places that comprise the California landscape.

 

Somewhere out there is HWY 33



 

The descent begins almost as quickly as the whole ride began.  A couple of steep downhill hairpins (if you're riding in a westerly direction) and another 6 miles or so of tight corners before it opens up into a straight shot that ends at Highway 33.  The last time I had ridden this road, we were going in the opposite direction and I was riding the DRZ.  The R6 felt quite a bit heavier in comparison (especially going downhill) but it held up well. Which isn't saying much since I pretty much pansied it down the hill. It was during this portion of the ride that I realized how disgustingly out of shape I am. The R6 was a good sport about it, even tolerating my multiple stops for pictures by starting right up for me every time.  I counted each successful start as a blessing given how isolated I was from civilization and I was pretty sure my phone would have no signal should I need to use it. 

 

 

 



 

Depending on your attitude, this can be a lonely ride for one person to embark upon.  Most of the mountain rides around here are like that though and I used to do them a lot more often when all of the bikes were running tip-top.  Over the last couple of years my solo adventuring had taken quite the hiatus and it was good for me to be alone again with the bike and my thoughts.

 

There is something incredible about being in a relationship with someone who shares your interests; especially if those interests are huge passions of your own; such as riding.  But even then your interests in riding can be different and, depending on your personalities or philosophies on life, can add unnecessary pressure or stress to a ride.  I missed him, I wished he was there. Even in my clarity there was a lot of hurt, a lot of frustration, a lot of constantly going back and forth in my mind as to whether or not it was even worth being this hurt. Not that it mattered, nothing would change the fact that I was... that I am  literally sick with sadness but also looking forward to what's next. The last time we had ridden this road it was during arguably better times, but we had still always found a way to bicker and it inevitably always made me feel like I was holding him back.  In fact, towards the end of things, I felt like I just wasn't running the pace he was looking for... in anything. And yet in other ways I felt like I was miles ahead of him.

 

I anticipated that I would have these feelings.  It was why I chose the route, as some confrontation to get it out of my system and lay some new memories onto that sacred ground that I was sure to ride again. It was my goal to create a new chapter in a book we never got to write; to reconcile the hurt and the meaning and to lay it to rest like I feel that it should have been.  It was my goal to detox my mind and soul from all of the impurities of anger, frustration, hurt, shame, guilt, and everything else that comes along with processing a major loss.  All of these things were eating at me, weighing me down and getting the best of me.   

 

I've had a lot of opportunities to experience and process loss over the last few years and it had only just now, in this moment,  occurred to me that I never truly learned how to let go... of anything; of my friends who died, of myself - what I could have done to prevent the losses, my failed accomplishments, the disappointments, my hopes, my frustration and stifled anger - my fears, and now of him and what we had or didn't have. It is true that he may have always had one foot in the door.  It is true that he probably always wanted to leave, and I should have let him go the first time he vanished for a week without a word.  But there is nothing to be done aside from what can be done right now.  I need to let go.  I need to let go of the brake I muttered abruptly in my helmet, as quickly as the realization manifested in my mind like some answer retrieved from the depths. What?  The brake?  My attention returned to the ride, I was looking through the corner of a hairpin and in the corner of my eye I could see and feel the bike running wide as I thoughtlessly lingered with just the slightest bit of pressure still on the front brake.

 

Let it go...

The Gypsy Heart & The Motorcycle that Carries It

I wish I was fortunate enough to be one of those people who started motorcycling earlier in life.  But alas, it came to me relatively late.  I mean, sure my dad rode when we were kids.  Our family vehicle was this Yamaha enduro that we would ride around on; my brother on the gas tank, and me on the back - both of us wearing slightly oversized helmets that smelled of stale foam and sat on our heads heavily with just the slightest bit of lopsidedness. I remember sitting at a traffic light, in the fall weather on the way home from the babysitter after dad would pick us up when he got home from work.  The damp air was heavy with the smell of exhaust and I occasionally glanced down at my feet, which barely reached the pegs. I'd look around me at the faces of the people in their cars. It didn't seem odd to me at all, yet all of the expressions that I saw from within the car bubbles were strange and judgmental. I never really cared.  They reminded me of the faces of the other kids in my class, all bitter and bullying because we went to a rich school that was out of our district, but in the district of the person who watched us after school.   

I loved riding around on the bike, but I never really thought of it as meaningfully as I do now.  I guess maybe that's because it was always just expected to be a part of my life; part of our disadvantage as a lower-socioeconomic level family.  It was necessary to get us from Point A to Point B and we didn't have the money for a lot of things so we didn't really do it recreationally. Only now, 20+ years later have I been fully reunited with motorcycles of my own, and I don't think I've ever felt more at home anywhere else.

There is somewhat of a gypsy in my soul; an aimless wanderer who is always wanting to see more, do more, love more, laugh more, experience more that life has to offer.  There are a lot of really long drawn out reasons why I never developed a sense of permanence or stability in anywhere I lived, but I think I'm all the better for it.  I think there is something to be appreciated of knowing that wherever you are isn't where you have to be.  And lately I've been feeling restless.

On the way home from work today I found myself taking the long way home.  I missed an exit and didn't mind it.  Then I almost missed the other exit, which would have put me 20 or 30 miles out of my way.  I know what happened, I was riding along and saw the freeway mileage markers and I thought: I'm gonna just keep riding... I could just keep riding and land somewhere and come back.  I've ridden enough of these backroads to be able to find my way back home... even if it gets dark.

Seconds later I came to, and I was less than a quarter mile from my exit, in the furthest lane, and I was gradually rolling on the throttle to keep going. I stifled the impulse and made the exit, but from there I took the longer way home, stopping at the lake to take in a sunset.  I made it just in time:

 

 



I don't expect anyone to understand it.  I guess there are parts of my life that even the people closest to me aren't entirely familiar with, but that are pivotal in how I view things, why I become restless, why I do what I do and why I'm who I am. I was, very much a gypsy in my earlier years after high school, sleeping on couches, staying in a camper and not really minding much about it because I knew that it wasn't going to be permanent.  I knew that I wanted more, and that I always will.  But it never seems important because when I get on the bike, that's all that matters. It's all I really need (with the exception of maybe a sidecar for Piper Dog) but those things are easily attainable.  They are much more attainable than what people expect of themselves to achieve in a world where motorcycles are seen more as recreational vehicles than they are practical transportation.

It may not have meant that much to me back then, but because of those days I think it's safe to say that while I may not have been born to be a motorcyclist, I was most certainly raised to be one... and one day it isn't going to be a surprise when I just keep going.

I've always found it funny that all of the most inspiring stories have come from people who have followed their wandering hearts; people who have just kept going... not to run away from themselves but to find themselves.

 

Love and War

Today has been one of those strange days of random, unrelated encounters that have all resulted in some sort of unsolicited affirmation.

 

As I rode to work this morning, a little disoriented from the recent lack of sleep and grieving process, I must admit that I was questioning the legitimacy of investing in humanity. As I exited the freeway, I came to an intersection where there was only one other car with a woman at the wheel who was staring out the window with a distant gaze as if waiting for the light to change, but yet not really waiting for anything at all. It was as though she had simply found herself there and she was a million miles away in thought.

 

She looked weathered, probably more in spirit than in body but her body wasn't too far behind. As the light turned she proceeded through the intersection, moving along in her day, willing herself toward some unknown destination. A few seconds later, we approached another stop light.  She looked in her rear-view mirror and let out a polite smile as we made eye contact. I returned the gesture with a polite nod.

 

There was no traffic this morning. Only her and I sitting at a stoplight on an empty street in one of the most downtrodden and dangerous areas of town; an area where on any given day another youth falls victim to senseless violence.  This area is a prison of hopelessness, violence, and despair. It's the kind of area that you read about in the newspapers.

 

As the light turned green and she pulled away, oblivious to her surroundings,  I thought about the many faces of the human condition that I have come in contact with. I thought about my contributions to the world, my beliefs, my capacity and potential. I thought about how much love and passion I have poured into trying to slowly and modestly make the world a better place. I never feel like it's enough.

 

Every time I feel like I can't possibly give anymore, care anymore, or love anymore I am reminded that there is a big world out there filled with people who are hurting, lost, angry, and alone. People who have surrendered all hope that the condition will improve; and instead resigned themselves to lives of modest success, constant struggle, and loneliness. Many of these people have been broken down by toxic relationships and failures.

 

As I watched her drive on, her eyes in the mirror looking at the road ahead, I thought to myself: how do I reconcile the magnitude of anguish I've encountered in my life? How do I find a reason to defend anything, much less advocate for a race (human) that seems hell-bent on consuming itself and its planet? And then I remembered a conversation with my friend, just recently where he offered a simple bit of advice: "Enjoy the most human act there is..." Mockingly I retorted with: "War?"  He corrected me, "Dance." In spite of a few additional arguments I made, somewhere deep inside I knew he was right. Even in the throes of my most agonizing pain, there is still something there that compels me to move forward.  To keep going, to give more, love more... even in this world that is so hell-bent on self-destruction.  Even to this race of humans that have no idea of the weight of their actions and interactions with each other. It's what I do.  It's really all I know and sometimes I fall victim to becoming consumed by the natural losses that ensue.

 

Life is beautiful, but life is also war; it's a war that we wage every day unknowingly against ourselves. The only way to win that war is by fighting back with love; even when you feel like there is nothing left... even when you feel like you're the last man standing.  Some people choose to fight, and others become casualties and spend their lives as prisoners; we owe it to ourselves to stay on our feet and to defend even the weakest of our brethren. The people who are often the most damaging to us, are the ones most in need of real, honest, love.  My hope is that they find it... that we all find it somewhere in the world. Gods know I'm not perfect... but I'm still in it... for whatever that's worth.

 

We exist... all of us.  We exist and are compelled even in the darkest of circumstances because beneath it all there is some spark of hope; some fundamental will to see it through to actualize what we are capable of and to dance... freely and without reservation.

Life...

I was recently reading this article that said that less and less women are opting to have kids.  The article pointed out that for most lower-upper middle class wage earners, the cost of having children exceeds the scope of their resources as more and more insurances are starting to decline coverage for child-birth and related medical services.  Meanwhile, in the lower end of the socioeconomic bracket, access to this coverage is readily available and, for the most part inclusive in their government funded healthcare.

I got to thinking about myself as a woman who has the means (albeit barely) to offset this reproductive trend.  More importantly, I can offset the social and economic strain of financially irresponsible reproductive decisions if I just adopted; taking a perfectly good child out of a broken and corrupted system and giving them the love, support, and opportunity to break a cycle and become a beautiful human and a dignified person. It has always been my belief that if I had children, I would adopt.

But who would I choose to be the father?  HOW, as a woman and maternal figure would I choose the father of my child? I mean, after all, we aren't talking about motorcycles, we are talking about tiny humans... little existential time bombs that if not wired properly, could have a catastrophic outcome once they achieve their true action potential.

What it boils down to is that of which I see in my closest friends; unconditional love, commitment, and  in never knowingly leading another person astray; from their autonomy, from their potential, and from their capacity to choose... for themselves given the proper amount of information.  The Father would be someone who is strong and wise enough to look beyond even his own identity and residual aspirations, failures, and accomplishments to see forth the potential in a tiny person who is yet, un-damaged, un-provoked, and not yet corrupted. The father would be someone who could be free to lead by example and engage in consequence; a person who realizes the significance of his influence and chooses not to taint or corrupt his own influence.

Should we strive for this? Should we strive to provide and/or contribute the best of what we have to offer?  And why is it that it seems that people who share these values are so few and far between? Should we simply revoke ourselves of the responsibility and say, like our parents did, "They will figure it out for themselves."  One of the most awesome things I hear my friend say to her young sons is "You choose."  Those words have a way of resonating to the very core of the human spirit.  We are free, and we are free to choose, and we ought to honor that by choosing in the best interests of that which is beyond us and possibly more capable than us. 

My Thoughts on Riding: For Beginners and Street Riders

This one is from the archives.  Originally posted on a motorcycle forum, thought I would dig it up and share it with my readers here as well.

Everyone likes talking about bikes and mods, and tires, and whatnot but there seems to be an almost taboo assignment to the role of the rider in the act of proficient motorcycling. In light of the start of riding season (in most areas) I thought I would throw out some wisdom from my own modest perspective that people seem to overlook.  Please bear in mind that this is coming from the perspective of someone who cares more about being a smooth and consistent rider than leading the pack.

I am not expecting that any of this is going to make you a better rider, but rather I aim to share some insight that might better allow you to avoid putting yourself in otherwise avoidable situations. If you have a death wish, or a genuine disregard for responsible riding then you'll probably be clicking your way out of this post by now. But for those of you looking for a little feedback on how you can be a safer rider and still have a little fun, then read on.

********
Traffic

1. There is a time and a place to ride like a fool: If you like to do wheelies in traffic then expect that you are going to crash in traffic. If you like to speed and weave in and out of traffic, expect that you are going to crash in traffic. While there are occasions where the designated speed limit is inappropriate (rural areas maybe?) expect that if the posted limit is 35, then there is a reason you shouldn't be doing 90. Cross traffic, school zones, business districts, etc. All of these places are cesspools for motorcycle accidents and hauling ass through them only increases your chances of getting taken out. So use a little common sense and if you just absolutely MUST go 90 through the yellow light at the intersection, then you should probably be taking into account the dude inching out from a right turn who "can't see you."

2. On that note, and this is probably the most important bit of wisdom I share with anyone (especially those who like to lane split): bear in mind that if the DMV indicates that drivers should scan their mirrors every 10-15 seconds and you are lane splitting at 50, even the most upstanding motor-vehicle operator is not going to notice your presence until he cycles through another scan. Since we all know that drivers very seldom follow the guidelines outlined by the DMV we can safely assume that the car driver will have NO way of knowing that you just came barreling through the row of cars behind him and that you are now right in the path of the lane change he is in the process of making (without using a turn signal) . Yes, he is accountable for not scanning his mirrors, but you are also accountable because there is no way that in 10-15 seconds he will be able to appropriately take note of your presence when you are riding that quickly. This is only compounded when you are weaving in and out of traffic.

3. So we've concluded that drivers are inattentive assholes. How can you avoid this? Well... you can't. But you can reduce your chance of getting bit by it when you are hyperattentive. We've all heard the theories on target fixation and I think this is a good rule of thumb to apply to street riding as well. When you are in traffic it's good to know where you're going, but its also important to know where everyone else is going as well. While we can't read minds we can make ourselves aware of driver cues. I spend a lot of time reading side mirrors and the flow of traffic when I am riding in a gaggle of cages or lane splitting. If I can see in a guys side mirror that he is doing a crossword puzzle, I can assume that his behavior is going to be erratic, he might even become startled by my sudden presence. So I put myself in the best position to avoid succumbing to his destruction; OR I pace along behind him until I see him notice that I'm there. If I simply fixated on the free spot in traffic, or the lead of the line, then I might not notice that traffic flowing erratically, or that the guy is texting and he is about to panic and jerk his wheel into my path.

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Peer Pressure

4. Chicken Strips: This is actually a pet peeve of mine. I find it to be a mildly ignorant assumption that chicken-strips = slow. Espeically, when we are talking about street riding. Sure, plenty of newbs are intimidated by the lean capabilities of their bikes. But just because a person has a quarter inch strip on each side of the tire doesn't necessarily mean that they are slow by any means. It has a lot to do with body position. When I am hanging off the bike, I actually lean the bike less but it doesn't mean I'm riding any slower. I have passed people who are leaned over way further than me but cornering way slower than me. What a joy it was when the same asshole who was poking fun at my "chicken strips" at the beginning of the ride, had nothing to say by the end of the ride.

5. Keeping up: This is where my perspective bias really comes forth. Since I care more about being smooth and consistent, I obviously sacrifice a lot of speed. That's just my personal preference. But the way I see it, the more skilled you are at riding your bike the faster you will go naturally. It doesn't necessarily work the other way; the faster you ride your bike doesn't necessarily mean that you are capable of maneuvering it on a whim. A few months ago I went on a ride with a guy who was pretty quick. He blew past me in a stunning display of bravado to keep up with the alpha males of the pack. I held my ground, watching him run wide and check up in almost every corner. All the while I thought: He's lucky there wasn't a car in that lane, or a cow right there." Shortly thereafter he crashed, as I expected that he would. His riding not only put him in danger but it put everyone else in danger as well. Since he wasn't very skilled at riding, his tactic for passing was to tailgate the other riders all the way through corners until they either waved him on, or he found a straight to blast around them on. As we all know, my personal experience with tailgaters is of the worst-case variety so I'm never going to take that kind of riding with a grain of salt.

6. The Company You Keep: I've been fortunate enough to have laid-back, supportive riders as friends. But I've met plenty of riders who like to bully newbies into riding beyond their skill levels. All I will say is you're better off riding alone if this is your social circle; ESPECIALLY if you are inclined to try and prove people wrong. While riding solo has its disadvantages, riding in a group of bullies can be twice as hazardous. At least when you are riding solo you aren't going to feel pressured to ride beyond your means and you can move at your own pace.

7. Canyon Riding: If you haven't already read my post on subject, you can read check it out here.  It goes a little something like this: When riding in an unfamiliar environment, take a step back, do a site lap, and ride your own ride.  We all enjoy following a more familiar rider, but we don't really learn much by playing copycat and it could lead to some very devastating consequences.  For example; lets say that you trust that the lead rider knows the lines and the course - what happens if he shoots wide in a corner?  If you are playing Follow the Leader, you are likely to go exactly where he goes.  It's best to ride your own.

Good riding starts with good healthy practices.  These points of information won't make you the perfect rider right off the bat, but they are some key areas that riders often overlook.  In being mindful of these things, you can become a more skilled rider and in doing so, enjoy many, many great years of riding.

The Love of Riding: From a Chick's Perspective

In light of a series of rapidly impending recent events (I say that all in hindsight), I've been putting a lot of thought into my current "situation." It goes a little something like this: At this moment, I am a 33 year old woman who is recently singled up, has 3 bikes that range in the spectrum-of-functioning from "totally crapped out" to "needs a little TLC." I have a dog, I have a lot of really amazing friends. I have an education and an opinion, and most importantly, I have self-respect and an occasionally obstructed human will toward growth and enlightenment. I would have thrown "confidence" in there too, but as of late it's wavering a little.

Since most guys are still very much stuck on the traditional norms of how women should be, I have definitely had my fair share of men who say "You're too smart," or "You're too much of your own person." So it only made sense that boyfriends generally took issue with other key aspects of my life... such as my passion for riding. I think that in some ways this stands as a deterrent for women in a couple of ways: 1. they don't feel like they are capable of learning how to ride proficiently because they have boyfriends who aren't sympathetic or patient with their learning process; 2. Some women also view motorcycling as a man's sport and they don't wan to compromise their femininity.

Most days I can't recall if I started riding in 2005 or 2006, but I know it's been a while, and I know that I am still very much a pupil of the craft. Back in the day I was "ACHICKONABIKE!" and today I am "another chick on a bike." It is really cool to me to see the way women have branched into sport-riding, for many reasons but partially because it means there is a larger market for women's gear; which means I don't have to shop in the mens/boys section anymore.

I have come a long way from that fateful day when I very first threw my leg over an 04 Ninja 250. It was a pristine bike, purchased with only 26 miles on the clock from another woman who had given it a shot and decided it wasn't for her. While it wasn't completely foreign to me, it was the first time in a long time that I had been so bold as to make it happen for myself on my own. It was liberating, terrifying, humbling and exciting all at the same time. I'm not usually the type of woman who pulls the gender card (because I believe that who you are is who you are, and all people are of infinite potential), but I really felt like it was a pivotal point even for me; she who does whatever she sets out to do without regard for fear or impediment. It was... humbling. It was as though at that moment I was in a direct confrontation with my own ego and I eagerly accepted the challenge to cast aside everything I thought I knew, and let myself start from scratch; to let myself be "a noob." Although, sometimes that was easier said than done.

With the help and direction of my dad and best friend, I made it through the wobbly stage and actually got to a point where I could keep freeway speeds. There were a LOT of newb mistakes in that time, and I even squidded it up at times; wearing a t-shirt and jeans with my Chuck Taylors. There were stalls, putters, a lot of feet dragging, duck footing, stiff-arming, the occasional target fixation, and more "oh shit" moments than I can really count. Every mile clocked was another mile that I started to fall more in love with riding. It wasn't long after that that I simply connected with riding as not only an outlet for release, but also as an inlet for experience; experience that led me to reflect not only on the riding skills at hand, but the habits of my own personality, attitudes, and ego. Riding changed me.

Riding challenges me to confront my fears (irrational thoughts), and instead take the reigns and be accountable for myself. In the past, it helped that I was concurrently studying Philosophy and Psychology in school. Some of the theories that I studied in my classes I found to be applicable in my development as a rider, which in turn effects me as a person. The way that I perceive and approach confrontation is one of the more notable parallels. Learning better control over my survival reactions on the bike, I also translate that into developing better responses (as opposed to reactions) in social confrontations. Over the years I've become more refined, less impulsive, and generally more successful at dodging a total catastrophe (whether it's social or mechanical ha, ha!).

These days I've adopted more bikes to the stable. I've experienced catastrophic mechanical failures, somewhat catastrophic crashes, catastrophic relationship failures, and I've lost close friends to the road. I believe I can say that I've seen the dark side of riding and I am still very much madly in love with it and willing to commit to it for as long as I am capable. Any activity that challenges you to succeed (or win), also challenges you to overcome; yourself, your experiences, fears, etc.

There are many women who have been riding much longer than I have. There are many women who are just getting started. I applaud and highly encourage women to take it at their own pace and reach out to more experienced riders who will be patient and supportive in mentoring them. When all of the rest of the world seems to rush down on you with stereotypes and demands for you to fit in a mold that just isn't your style, motorcycling is one of few pursuits where you are free to carve out your own; whether you go into track days, adventure riding, or a combination of everything. Break away from the group and do a solo ride. Find what motorcycling means to you and go with it. Years down the road when that boyfriend is in the past, or that group of friends has grown out of riding to BBQs, you might still be out there seeing the world, making new friends, and coming to understand how capable you really are if you put your mind to it.