Issue # 275 As They Leave the Nest
Nancy Irwin experiences the growing pains of motherhood as she coaches novice charges through their first stages of motorcycling into becoming full-fledged riders who are now ready to set out on their own.
As they leave the nest
There are so many things to be grateful for, and one is that I’m an experienced rider. Another is that I have the pleasure of knowing new riders and watching their confidence grow along with the joy they find.
I’ve been riding with two friends. Chris Langford is in his second year of owning a bike and Duane Mallaber has been riding for a few months now, plus a season when he was 16. He was no beginner when he took the course this spring, and had the dubious distinction of being the only one in class who had ever had a motorcycle accident.
It’s a treat seeing our three bikes together. Mine is the old one, well-worn, looking very much a dirt bike. Chris has a shiny 2002 Kawasaki KLR 650 C, the European model with extra beefy suspension, and the sexiest KLR enduro I’ve ever seen. Duane hunted a lesser version of the Brutale that called his name. After some effort convincing him that a litre-bike was way too much machine for a novice rider, he bought a 2005 FZ6 sport touring Yamaha with low mileage that he found in Pennsylvania, chosen over a brand new, old stock 2009 model for sale at a grand or so more, because he liked the colour and the way it looked.
Don’t try to tell me that the look of a motorcycle doesn’t mean anything, and that it’s all about function. We get very attached to our motorcycles. They are something we straddle, and wrap our legs around. We hold the grips and move our hands, reaching for clutch and brake levers. Riding motorcycles is a sensual experience. We bond with our machines, laying on them, face forward, in the wind, or relaxing back, feet resting on highway pegs. We ride them! We care how they look and feel. Like Goldilocks, we want them to be just right.
When Duane bought the bike I asked about fluids and tires. The shop claimed it came from a good customer who traded up, had never been dropped and all the fluids had been changed. I wanted to go with him to look at the bike but another friend with a truck shared that pleasure.
I advised Duane to check the tires, because a 2005 bike with 3,500 miles might have new-looking tires that are actually old. I thought this should be negotiated before traveling all that way, but he was so excited, and deeply disappointed by one that got away. It was still March, and he feared all the bikes would be bought up if he waited a moment longer!
Funny, but Chris had exactly the same stress when he went shopping online the previous March, and the few really good ones had disappeared so quickly.
Duane liked the bike and bought it. It was black and silver, and beautiful. So were the tires. Try convincing a new rider that tires that look brand new are old, hard, and need to be recycled.
Duane learned when he got his bike on the road that it had been dropped. The shop had replaced the clear windshield for some reason. I can now guess why. Bits of the plastic were broken and vibrated when riding. A more experienced person would have noticed that before handing over the cash. Thank you dealer in Ebensburg for successfully tricking a novice rider. The good news is, $371 in parts plus labour will bring the bike back to new. Lesson learned.
Chris and I flew to New York over Easter. Based on his abilities in Toronto I felt he was ready to ramp it up. I put him on the back of a 1993 500cc Ninja (my friend Cheryl Stewart’s back-up bike) and rode a few blocks. It felt extremely unbalanced. I pulled over and asked if he was ready to be the rider. Turned out he was as uncomfortable being the tall lever as I was controlling it. We switched again.
In rain gear, in a heavy downpour, I directed him onto the BQE (read, major highway), and over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan. We rode to our first destination, and after an hour of shopping were able to put our rain suits away. No rain was a definite improvement, but he described the little 500 “like putting on shoes that are way too small and trying to run in them.”
The bike was no bigger with a passenger on the back. He wanted to go out on his own. Did I ever feel like a mother! In the end I relented, having put my own mother through much worse. With only one full year of riding under his belt, Chris found himself galavanting around New York City solo, on a loaner bike.
I may not be the best person to be hanging out with novices, but they get good, fast, and I’m often involved in their war stories.
Last weekend Duane took me for a countryside tour in the rolling hills where he grew up. We came down an imposing hill with an amazing view. I learned this was the hill on which Duane had his motorcycle accident back in ’76, when the road was still gravel. Now I understand. He was going much too fast when he started to brake, and locked the rear wheel.
Duane wanted to know how fast his bike would go, and risked telling me what he did. Instead of freaking, I told him to go to track school—next year. I also learned he accidentally popped a wheelie. I asked if he knew how he did it. He did and won’t be doing that again any time soon. Thank goodness he wasn’t on a 1000cc bike. He’s still getting the hang of slow speed starts and slow speed corners. Anyone can go fast in a straight line. Controlling a bike around tight corners in first gear requires real skill, which takes time to develop. I want him to live to be an experienced rider.
Chris keeps his eye on his odometer. Last summer he put 5,000 kilometres on Thumper, and most of those were in the city. He got the KLR with 8,400 km on it, and can’t wait to break 8,400 of his own, at which point he’ll have outridden both previous owners. He’s a city warrior on that fabulous lime green enduro. Duane bought his with 3,500 miles on the clock, which now reads 5,250. He’s proud of his 1,750 miles.
And so it is that I have two fun new street riding buddies, riding newer, faster bikes. I’ve got the pack horse and end up carrying the load. And I know things they don’t know, like just how sweet it is watching them grow into their motorcycles.
