Curves

The elegant tree.

Motorcycling is like yoga for speed freaks – a lot about balance. Learners topple the way we do in tree pose in beginner sessions. My first bike weighed 311 pounds, had an engine that sounded like a lawnmower, shuddered at 55 miles per hour, and gave even non-bikers the opportunity to smirk over her paltry 250 CCs. But at least she could be picked up when I dropped her - which I did, frequently, just like I drop myself in raven pose on my yoga mat. 

When I do this, I land on my head.

When the insurance check arrived after Rebel's destruction, I decided that my six weeks of experience and a mild concussion rendered me ready for a 471-pound, 500 CC Kawasaki Vulcan. At stoplights, this baby chomps at the bit like Secretariat at Churchill Downs. We take off like jockey and race horse, and we feel real cool doing it.

But there’s this concept called a learning curve. I'm not even talking about trying to figure out where to lock my helmet or why there's no gas gauge - let alone, reverse gear. The night I bought her, I tried to back the Vulcan across the grass into my backyard. 160 pounds makes a big difference. This stubborn new mule wouldn't budge, and neither would I. I gnashed my teeth and yanked those handlebars, grunting like an Olympic weightlifter until my arms gave out and I dropped the thing. Attempting to lift it was like dragging a 500-pound man out of quicksand. I couldn't do it without help. I felt foolish and stupid. I can't lift my own bike? Just give up, McQueen. It's over. 

Not fully recovered from that humiliation, I rode to work the next day. The bike sputtered and died at every stop. I thought amateur things like, “Pull out the choke, rev harder, is the battery failing, did I buy a lemon?” Ultimately, it quit with the permanence of an obstinate child, so I got off and pushed - discovering that I am strong enough to propel the beast forward over pavement. At least there's that.

Determined to stay upright.

Just as a cute cop pulled over to help, I remembered something important. I bent over the seat, flipped the fuel valve to the reserve tank, and the bike started on the first try. I shrugged goofily at the officer and sped away, thinking What kind of damn fool novice nearly runs out of gas?

The thing about learning new things is that curve. And the thing about learning curves is they get a whole lot steeper the more years that pass. Negative thoughts much more easily creep in, like I don't need to do this. Why even try when it's so hard?

I don't have the answer yet. All I know is that as the curves get tighter and steeper, I am ever more determined to get around and over them - upright and forward, with plenty of momentum.