It all started one weekend before Valentines Day.

It was my turn to plan our time together and I had decided part of our day would be spent test driving sports cars. “Now that will be lovely!” my husband offered in the best excited tone his proper English upbringing would allow. (It is hard to tell sometimes whether he actually experiences rises and falls of excitement. But I know that he does. After 18 years of being together I can tell if he is only slightly moved or deeply touched by subtle things like a twitch of a cheek muscle or a seemingly imperceptible deviation in breathing.)

So I was content. I had managed to plan an outing that would make us both happy.

I had been a van driver WAY too long and my inner “wild place” was getting to the point that “wild” meant not feeling guilty when I didn’t get to church on Sunday. I wanted to re-visit my free spirit and set her flying and soaring; to see things from up high again. I wanted to be the woman I thought I was 10 years and 15 pounds less ago. So I wanted a sports car, and my husband and I were out to find one!

We looked only two places before we found a little beauty that caught our eyes. A silver Mazda Miata. We got the keys and with David ( my husband ) behind the wheel we took her out for a test drive. I sat patiently beside him, feeling the car accelerate, watching David go through the gears. Not so fun for the passenger (who will always be me because I don’t drive a stick). The thought of having to learn to drive a clutch made me tired. When we dropped the car off I was ready to move on. I was having much more fun searching than finding at this point.

As we buckled into David’s sporty little Volvo he politely suggested the Triumph-Honda dealer just up the road. I was all about making him feel good that day so I managed a smile and said “Sure, why not.”

As we exited the car and my size 7 wide feet hit the pavement of the parking lot of the bike dealership, my 47 year old, 5 foot 1 inch frame began to pull itself up just a wee bit taller. I felt my shoulders square, my stomach suck in, the “girls” perk up and a breeze came out of no where to seductively tousle my hair. In that moment I was the epitome of the “perfect pear”.

I gracefully stepped into the showroom and scanned the glinting chrome, my gaze fell on a white 2006 Honda Rebel 250 (hold the giggle please!). With time standing absolutely still along with the air in the room, I wound my way through rubber and shiny metal to the one machine calling me by name. Without a moments hesitation I grabbed the left bar in my left hand, planted my delicate left foot and with a modicum of effort, swung my ample thigh over the seat and planted the focus of my pear shape securely on the seat of that bike. A light came out of nowhere over me, a small choir of angels descended and sang the Halleluiah chorus three times in its entirety before I realized my husband was standing in front of me with a huge grin on his face.

We left with one white Honda Rebel, 250 and one black Triumph Bonneville America, 750.

The two weeks that led up to the delivery of those two bikes were worse than the two weeks leading up to child- birth! I couldn’t sleep for constantly reliving sitting on that bike. I picked my husbands brain for technical information about clutching, shifting, stopping starting, and turning. I would wake up with a start from a bike dream in the wee hours and David would be in on the computer looking at images and stats of his bike. I would then lie awake imagining taking a trip into the country on mine.

The day they arrived it felt as though the young boy driving the pickup that held our two new babies had taken “nice and slow” pills that morning. He moved as though his boxers were woven with lead!! He chatted and stood and asked and blah, blah, blah, GET MY BIKE OFF OF THERE… I WANT TO SIT ON IT!!!!

Finally, with both bikes sitting ever so elegantly in our driveway, sparkling in the noon sun, David and I raced to don our protective gear. I knew that David, who had ridden all of his life growing up in England, would take time getting used to his bike and then take it around the block. He wasn’t paying ANY attention to me. So I devised a “cunning plan”.  I pushed the bike to the top of our slightly sloping driveway, swung a leg over, found the hand brake and coasted down the driveway, amazed at the balance it had while moving. I guess I did that a couple more times. David returned from his little “get to know you” outing and helped me start my bike. He told me about the clutch, brake and first gear. As he prepared to leave again I was trying to master the stall. I was getting pretty good at it too but somehow I learned how to get it moving slowly without stalling. So I was moving forward in increments of inches down the drive. Letting out clutch, inching forward, holding (you have heard of death grip?) onto the throttle and brake. I decided I would turn the bike around and head back up the drive. This is when all the angels, here-to-for singing their praises with wild abandon, fell stunningly silent. Now that I think about it I do recall the sound of a distant drum roll dramatically commence from somewhere behind me at this point.

I found out later from my two daughters who were watching my strong female example from atop the trunk of my husband’s Volvo, that the older one turned to the younger one and announced  “ Ya know, she’s gonna’ spook herself and fly off the back of that thing!”

As the drum roll got louder and my heart beat exploded out of my chest (always a good sign to get off the bike and take a break) I let out the clutch and leaped like a horse (ok, a pony) from the starting gate, trying to brake but only managing to accelerate, into the front end of my husbands sporty little Volvo!!

I leapt off the bike after it had come to an amazingly quick halt only to hear a bugle playing taps faintly from behind the neighbor’s garage.

I looked at the girls, their eyes wide and mouths gaping. I looked at the bike with its foot pedal firmly planted under the front bumper and gasped at the front head light of the car dangling from multi-colored wires about 6 inches below a volley ball sized dent. It looked like one half of a pair of those googley glasses where the eye-balls pop out on huge springs and flop around. I looked back at the girls and burst out laughing.

I couldn’t believe it!!! Anna, my older daughter, told me later she thought God knew how anxious I was about crashing and so got it out of the way right off the bat. David was still out on his bike and I did NOT want him to pull up and see the bike like this. So, for what seemed an eternity (where are those dang angels when the heavy lifting starts I’d like to know? ), the girls and I struggled hard with lots of expletives on my part and nervous giggling to extricate that bike from under the car bumper. Just as we righted it I could hear the happy hum of David’s bike coming home. The girls draped themselves over the offending “eye” of the car and I stood in front of them as he pulled up, expertly (of course), into the driveway. As I approached him I said “I just want you to know that I am alright.” He NEVER even looked at me. Somehow he knew instinctively where to look, and as I popped up and down in front of him saying, “Really, I’m ok, I’m ok” He side stepped me and surveyed the damage.

I knew he was mad because he started to breathe a bit louder than he normally does and rub the top of his head about every 2 minutes or so which, I just realized, may be why he is prematurely balding, but I digress.

About 15 minutes into this and David began to calm down and because there was no damage to the bike and no damage to me ( priorities ), except I did leave some blue denim on the wheel fender, we realized that perhaps I needed a whole lot more instruction before attempting to ride again.

I like to think that the money we saved with the deal we got buying the two bikes at the same time more than covered the $600.00 worth of damage I did that first time out. I also like to think I was extremely lucky, and now I am extremely thankful and dedicated to inspiring others to ride intelligently, safely and above all patiently.

My husband still hasn’t named his bike yet…..he named his car though, “Bull’s-eye”. For a short time, in order to prolong the laugh I named my bike “Dart”. But now I call her “Jeeves” as in “Wooster and Jeeves” an English comedy about a light hearted young man named Wooster and his valet Jeeves who is always looking out for his innocent young ward.

As I have read and chatted with other women who ride I realize that if I take my time and be patient with my abilities or lack there of, and treat Jeeves with respect she’ll take me where I want to go with as much care as I am willing to provide. In other words she will do exactly what I tell her to in the way that I tell her.

I have definitely re-discovered my free spirit and I have let her loose to ride high. I missed her and I am VERY glad she is back. I have a new life motto now too which is: To joyfully embrace the new people, perspectives and pathways I encounter while riding. God willing perhaps our pathways will bring us together…I’m the one in white!

As the saying goes, “Here’s to you always having the shiny side up!” And if you are hearing the call of your free spirit, listen to her, but go get instruction first!!

Post script:

I started riding “Jeeves” in February of 2006. June first I graduated to “Stella”, a Yamaha V-Star Midnight Custom 650cc. and between the two bikes have managed to accrue 2100 miles as of yesterday. Not bad for a 47 year young, plump but exciting, mother of three and wife to one wonderful rider! After passing my MSF in April I decided to approach each ride as another learning experience and I encourage even the most experienced of riders to constantly hone their skills and avoid complacency while riding. I tell all new riders to be aware of the statistics surrounding accidents involving riders taught by friends and family as opposed to riders who participated in safety courses. I never ride without all my gear and I thank God that I didn’t end up in the hospital that first day. It would have ended my journey before it got started. Ride Safe!

                                                                               PSS. Two Weeks ago and 4000 miles later I traded in the Yamaha for a Suede Blue and Vivid Black Harley Sportster 1200L. Her name is “Baby Girl” and she is an awesome ride. I know, I know… and so does my husband’s wallet….but it was the way to go for me… three bikes in a year got me safely to the rider I am today! I’d rather spend $$ on that than a hospital bill! Ride safe!!