Commentary
Motorcycle Mama
My life as a badass biker chick, or taking the parking lot in the Motorcycle Safety Foundation Beginner Rider Course
rsk282@nyu.edu
Does riding a motorcycle make you a badass biker chick? I decided to find out.
Despite my initial fantasy to rough and tough it like a true biker, and to learn to ride from a motorcycle mama on the open road, I enrolled in a Motorcycle Safety Foundation Beginner Rider Course. That’s what every supposed “wild woman” I approached insisted I do. And that turned out to be good advice — though my adventure was not without a few bumps in the road.
There I was on the pavement, my 222-pound motorcycle tipped over and pinning me down by my ankles. I had managed to keep the bike from falling over the previous day, and for most of this final day of the course. I was proud that my amateur 5’ 2” body could rule a Suzuki GN 125.
Then, moments before my final riding test, the motorcycle gods humbled me.
I dismounted, but without putting down the kickstand. As if in slow motion, that red shiny machine tipped over, and took me with it. I coolly picked myself up, but my riding coach, Mike Dobias, came over and said deadpan: “Oh, that’s embarrassing.”
Luckily, my ego wasn’t too badly bruised, since no one saw it happen; I was having a solo class that day.
Mike was a cool guy. He looked younger than 45, and his waist was smaller than mine. He wore a skullcap with neon flames, and rode to the course each day on his white Triumph Daytona 955. He was my guide and source of confidence.
His motto, of sorts, was to not expect perfection. While this does not easily penetrate the mind of a perfectionist, I had to keep reassuring myself that riding a motorcycle requires mastering a variety of skills. In the 10 hours over three days I spent riding in the parking lot, I learned how to take curves, and to weave, swerve, stop short, shift gears and make U-turns. I accomplished all of this with relative ease.
I’m embarrassed to say that the hardest part was getting the thing to move. There was something impossible about simultaneously releasing the clutch and engaging the throttle. I consoled myself by rationalizing that having never driven a stick shift car put me at an understandable disadvantage.
Still, I passed my road test – and, I might add, with a higher score than course instructors need to get certified. My fastest speed was 20 mph, which to experienced riders is like crawling. But it was thrilling for me, a girl who until then had never considered riding on the back of a motorcycle, let alone be the driver.
Now I can technically call myself a rider. But I’m not a badass. You’ve either always been, or never were – riding a motorcycle doesn’t change that.
“There’s a lot of fun out there; motorcycling is just one of them,” Mike told me. “Good, clean fun.”
Training on a 222-pound Suzuki.
Photo courtesy of Rebecca Kritzer