Motorcycling

I grew up in the suburbs of a Major Metropolitan Area, as they say, all green leafy lanes and concrete. Plenty of shopping for things I can still never imagine wanting, and way too many cars to carry it all in. But I digress. Actually then there wasn’t nearly as much concrete or cars. Or shopping. And we spent a lot of time riding motorcycles, dirt bikes mainly. On the street.

But not street legal.

Nowadays such behavior is a sure ticket to a ticket, or worse. But then it was just what we did. We rode to each other’s houses, we rode to the store, we rode to the swimming hole. You get the picture. And I guess the police just had better things to do than pay any attention to a kid on a motorcycle, just riding around his neighborhood.

But of course, it’s not like that anymore. And I understand why. Roads are more crowded, cell phones proliferate, and, well, people are just more distracted. Hurtling down the road in 5000 pound rolling SUV projectiles.

Texting. Oblivious.

Then, adults would wave at us from their cars, smile, maybe stop and roll down the window.

“Saw your mama and she said time to get home for dinner.” And then to themselves:

“Such a nice boy…”

You’re laughing I see. Maybe you know me. But I swear these things actually happened. On a daily basis.

And at the dinner table.

From my Mom. “Mr. Davis said he saw you across town on your bike after school yesterday. He said you were riding pretty fast.”

Me. “Yes ma’am.”

My Mom. “You should slow down a little.”

Me. “Yes ma’am.”

True stories, all.

I’m sure my parents worried about me. Don’t all parents? But they never tried to stop me. Even then they were learning themselves about letting go. And teaching me to let go, and grow, and make good decisions.

Sometimes I even did.

Did anyone ever get hurt? Because, you know, motorcycling is dangerous. Yes, sometimes we got hurt. But we also got hurt falling out of trees, and getting hit in the head by baseballs.

Fast forward to quite a few years later and I have three kids, all of whom seem to be curious about motorcycles. Two girls and a boy. And at first, I discourage their curiosity. Motorcycling is dangerous, I explain. It’s not something I want them to do. It’s not something their Mom really wants them to do. When it comes up I get that look from her, that, don’t you dare go there kind of look. And I get it and pretty much agree.

But the questions keep on coming.

“When are you going to teach us how to ride?” They inquire. A lot. “You still ride.” They point out.

And so on…

So that’s how we end up one Fall day in a large pasture with a dirt bike, helmets, boots, gloves, and all the protective gear a smart motorcyclist needs. A friend of mine has mowed swaths of trails through the waist-high hay. Everyone is pretty excited about motorcycle school, a day of learning to ride properly in a safe environment. Which is a good thing. Pretty much the opposite of the way I learned.

They each get ten minutes, learning the controls, proper balance, slipping the clutch, stopping, starting, riding. 10, 12, and 14 years old, everyone catches on fast. They’re swooping and whooping through the pasture in no time. Watching them reminds me of just how much fun it can be. The kind of fun that you just don’t get, say, playing on an Xbox.

I’ve ridden motorcycles for a very long time and this is some of the most fun I’ve ever had on one, teaching the basics to my children.

And it all turns out ok. Everybody learns to ride, learns to be competent at another thing on their journey. And that’s kind of the point. To be competent. And confident. We don’t ride on the street. We don’t push the danger factor any farther than it should really go in this day and age. But we have a lot of fun. And there’s a feeling of accomplishment in learning new skills, skills that most of their friends never learn. Even if they wanted to. Riding a motorcycle teaches them to pay attention, to be alert. To be…present. Because there’s no room to be on a motorcycle and not be completely present, completely in the moment. Aware.

And carry that awareness with them, out into the world, in everything they do. At least I hope so. And believe.