What You Don’t Know

What You Don’t Know

Author: Jackie

From our September, 2007 Newsletter.

How it all started….

“What you don’t know, can’t hurt you” is not necessarily a good thing as it relates to motorcycles, but under certain circumstances ignorance can be bliss.

My first attempt to ride what seemed like a big, black monstrous machine, (in actuality only a Honda 90) did change the course of history for me. My angels should have received combat pay for their Divine Intervention on numerous occasions.

Newlywed that I was, I believed my sweet adoring mate wouldn’t put his tender young bride in such a tenuous situation that would cause damage to a previously unscarred, 20 something body. “Here’s the brake, here’s the clutch and here’s the throttle,” sounded straightforward enough. This shouldn’t have been too difficult since I already knew how to drive a manual transmission car. Seeing my hesitance, he re-explained where everything was and reiterated the advice to ease out on the clutch while giving it some gas.

This all seemed simple enough; that is until I started circling the block clockwise unable to remember whether the little lever on the left or the one on the right stopped this monster. My brain immediately short-circuited when I realized he was not on the back as promised. I was alone on this devil! Tentatively I pulled on the levers and started a leapfrog process, which got me around the block once. I screamed out “You’re not on the back!!” as we jerked right past him. My ears, straining for a reply picked up, “You think I’m crazy??”

Thoughts like, “I’m going to die before my first born even goes to kindergarten” gave me the incentive to make two more laps around the block, getting slower with each one. Afraid to touch anything that would cause it to speed up or jerk more, we got slower and slower until finally, we fell over in an ungainly heap on the ground.

Motorcycle class # 1 went well in my books. All I acquired was a slightly bruised ego in the process. For two weeks I sailed around Marietta, Georgia enjoying my new mode of transportation and the looks I got.

Week #3 found me with my newly acquired knowledge, venturing across town. My 3 year-old toddler was bungie-corded to my back for safe keeping. (Please remember in 1969 there were no rules pertaining to the riding age of young children on motorcycles.) We came to the railroad tracks with roads crossing them from 5 different directions. Nobody really knows who has the right of way at this particular intersection; it’s always been a dilemma for me. Now I had one more complication to consider – those tracks looked sort of shiny and slippery with grooves I didn’t recall seeing before.

We eased on over and suddenly the front tire started slipping on a rail. Panicking, I grabbed everything I could from the clutch to the brakes to the accelerator. Something was going have to stop this thing, and NOW. In a heartbeat we were slam dunked to the ground after performing the biggest wheelie in my history of riding. People came out of the cars almost before we landed on the ground. Luckily, my little “backpack” and I were unscathed but she never rode with me after that.

From this bumpy start came an enduring love affair with motorcycles. Fortunately, my “baby” developed her own passion for bikes and now rides an RC51 and can do circles around me at the drop of a hat. They are our passion and I can’t imagine life without motorcycles. They certainly changed the course of history for this family.