Being a novice motorcycle rider, I KNOW that the only way to get better is time in the saddle.
The strangest phenomenon has happened the last 3 weeks…I got scared.
Scared to take off, scared to stop, scared to turn right, scared to go over 30, scared to go too slow around the corner, scared I’d drop the bike, scared to disappoint my husband, I almost threw up today as I put on my helmet and headed down the driveway.
If you know me, you would have your jaw on the floor. I hate fear. I refuse fear. Fear is a 4 letter word that I don’t allow in my vocabulary. In fact, my greatest successes in life have come from when some one has told me “afraid not…you are too…” My “hell no” kicks in and I prove them wrong. I refuse to fear, I refuse to be labeled. I am a warrior, not a worrier.
The first single lane right turn I was going too slow, I gassed to quick, wobbled, and went wide. No traffic coming so…no foul so to speak, but it made the hubs mad, and he gassed his 110, leaving me behind in disgust. We pulled to a dead end road, and worked on the clutching, and discussed my thought process. I thought I would barf right then and there. The nausea choked me. I was sweating and shaking. I was disgusted with myself.
That is the problem…my thoughts, and riding to please him, instead of just riding. My husband demanding to understand my thought process shook me. I’m overthinking.
I’m a visual-verbal learner. When I finished my rider’s training, I had so much confidence I rented a new Fat Boy low with a 103 engine, and rode that big dog home 48 miles through curves, highway, traffic, and speed with strength and confidence. I never thought I couldn’t do it. I had never ridden anything bigger than a Honda 250. But my confidence, and training held true. I never believed I couldn’t do it.
It wasn’t until my husband started asking me questions, and inspecting my process that things started to fall apart. I’m not saying it is his fault. He has a different way. He has to think and talk. I have to see and hear. I left my way, and lost my confidence. On that bike, I am responsible for that throttle. I will go at my pace, and when my husband babies me, as he has done for the last three weeks, I will peel off, and ride my own pace. Baby-ing me will not make me a better rider. That road is real.
Well, you might ask, what happened? I have to stay true to my way. I got angy, grabbed my gumption back, kicked that devil in the ass and said
I rode home confessing my ability all the way. The voice I have to respect and believe is mine, especially when I am quoting scripture to myself. I can do “all things through Christ who strengthens me”!
This is my bike, and I’m riding it. Nobody is telling me different.
The best part of the ride was coming back into the neighborhood, I negotiated all the parked vehicles on the street, the lawn crews, all the turns, waved at our neighbors who didn’t know I had a bike, and shocking all the burb-nerds with the fact that yea, that was me on the bike. That is me, on the bike. Deal with it.