Y is for Yesterdays

Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve

Astride Big Red, the USA was my playground with the back roads and highways reminiscent of the Game of Life, a board game in which players travel life’s roads, dealing with whatever befalls them. The time I spent cycling through life was extraordinary, even the occasional disconcerting or difficult times when the unexpected happened.

Honda mechanic in Greeley, CO, who got me back on the road.
He took the Gold Wing manual home so he could study it
and get me going the next morning.

For 25 years, I biked those roads, sometimes retracing and becoming familiar with them.  I knew to expect high winds on Hwy 40 coming through Amarillo. I learned, when on my way to Oregon at the end of May, I’d feel the sweet relief of coolness just north of Redding, California.

First scooter

The motorcycling years were a time of nurturing the sense of adventure inside me. A time of satisfying my curiosity about this country and places I’d only read about. I became stronger in body and spirit, more knowledgeable about geography, history, and regional cultures. It was a time of exploration and growth and finding out about my skills and capacities, my limits and passions.

Monterey on the California Coast

 Now it’s time to hang up my helmet. I sensed it. I knew it. I grieved it. I’m still grieving it.

Two things have eased the pain of change.  Scanning these past 25 years through photo albums and journal entries, I’ve relived countless memories of my yesterdays as a motorcyclist. Writing this series of blogs to retell my stories and share them with you has helped in my transition to former biker.

Though it’s been a time of letting go, sprinkled with a few tears and lots of smiles, the spirit of WingWoman lives on. And, as my younger daughter said, I will “always be a motorcyclist.”

Coos Bay, Oregon

~ xoA ~

“All my best memories

Come back clearly to me

Some can even make me cry.

Just like befoe

It’s yesterday once more.”

~ The Carpenters

C is for Chapel Hill

Chapel Hill, that beautiful community in North Carolina, is the home of my daughter Asila and her husband, David. It’s also the home of the University of North Carolina, and was one major destination on my first solo cross country ride in 1997.

Asila and David were newly engaged, and it was on this visit that I would meet his parents, Eileen and Steve, for the first time. I wanted everything to be just right. At home, I decided on the dress, shoes and jewelry I’d wear the evening we were going to dinner at the restaurant where David had proposed. 

Packing space was even more limited in Big Red’s saddlebags because I anticipated passengers on several legs of my journey.  I would be taking my extra helmet in one saddlebag. So, I mailed my dinner clothes before leaving home and hoped they would get there by the time I arrived. 

Steve and Eileen were both educators, so with common careers, interests, and family values -- and loving each others’ child -- we had much to discuss. During one conversation, they had a number of questions about me and motorcycling. When they said they wanted to have a ride, I saw in their faces that they meant it. “Sure, we can do that,” I said.

Pride swelled in my heart, but so did humility and a bit of trepidation. I felt honored that they trusted me enough to want to climb on Big Red and take a spin. But it is a huge responsibility to have someone else’s lives in your care while riding a thousand pounds of machinery running on two 4-inch patches of rubber.

Me with Eileen

Between all of us, we were able to outfit Steve and Eileen with appropriate riding gear. It was hot and muggy, but we all wore long pants, long sleeves, closed-toed shoes, and gloves. My size Medium helmet worked, though Eileen’s short-cropped hair didn’t take all the head room. And as for Steve? The helmet fit extra snug, and we practically had to pry it off him.

One after another, I gave them passenger instructions, “Mount from the left, put your foot here, sit easy in the saddle, and just go with the bike.” Then we struck out on the nearby route David suggested. It was perfect, not too long and with a few curves and turns. 

As I steered Big Red onto the roadway, with treasured cargo seated behind me, I thought, I have my future in-law on this bike. Oh Lord, don’t let anything happen to them. But I proceeded as if it were an everyday occurrence. We talked and they sat back and enjoyed the ride while we communicated over the intercom system.

And at the dinner party? We enjoyed the superb restaurant, with its fine food and delightful ambience, and another evening of thoughtful conversation. It was fun to listen as our kids retold the story of the night they became engaged and to see the spot where the waiter had presented the desserts, among which was the diamond David had chosen for Asila. 

This precious time together in Chapel Hill built a mutual respect among us parents and began the blending of our families.

~ xoA ~

Big Decisions

I tend to do a lot of pondering and mulling over a big decision. I let it percolate awhile, testing it out in my mind. Then I put out an inkling or two, trying it out on Judy and a few trusted friends. I mull it more, then decide. It’s not quick, but it's a recipe that works for me.

 

This latest big decision is life changing. It closes a chapter filled with excitement, exploration, lessons learned, and swagger. It alters my identity.

I am letting go of Big Red. It’s time.

My inner wisdom tells me so, and I am listening. Everything has a season, and this one has lasted nearly 21 years, more than 150 thousand miles across the United States and Canada and into Mexico. Extraordinary adventures, scenery, and friendships have forever changed and enriched me.

So, what brought me to this decision? Declining interest in actually getting out there and riding. Friend Bonnie described, ”It’s becoming more job than joy?” For two consecutive years, Big Red hibernated in her Cycle Shell from November to April. I woke her in time to make sure she was roadworthy before heading to Oregon. This summer, I’ve ridden once with Laurie to Elkton and to and from Honda World for Big Red’s regular maintenance.

Long stretches off the bike means a rider doesn’t get much practice. This is not a good thing, given the myriad situations that call for quick response and safe bike handling. Such a cyclist puts herself and others in jeopardy.

So, I think it is wise to pull back while, as my buddy Dennis said, I’m “at the top of my game.” I would rather do that than be forced to quit riding because of an accident or injury. Now, I will concentrate on finding a good home for Big Red while she’s still in good shape, too. She deserves a place where someone else can enjoy the 100K miles she has left in her.

I'm grateful for the special moments, the memories, and the thousands of miles. And, as we bikers say after surviving a distressing incident or a difficult ride, “Now, I have stories.” A lifetime of stories.

~ xoA ~

A Fetching of Firsts, Part 4: First Scooter

First Scooter 

Well, if I crash, I’m right next to San Joaquin Hospital! I thought. There wasn’t a relaxed bone in my body when I test-drove the metallic gold 125 Honda scooter that would become my starter bike. Wrestling with the handlebars, I managed to stay upright while taking the corner out of Fred Cummings Honda. I was riding on the sidewalk and yelled aloud, “What are you DOING? This is dangerous, girl!”

Circa 1985

 As I rounded that last corner, I caught a glimpse of my friend standing by the front door of the motorcycle shop, stretching and straining to see me. Trying the scooter had been her idea. “We ought to do something exciting. How about getting motor scooters? There are lots of back roads around here.”

The white-knuckle, E-ticket ride around the block came to a halt without mishap. Relieved and grateful that I’d kept the scooter upright, I reminded myself: put your feet down when you stop. Though I felt a bit dizzy when I lowered the kickstand and stepped off the scooter, a huge grin spread across my face. I’d made it. I was hooked.

After plunking down the cash to buy the 125 and accompanying gear, I was ready to practice the riding skills I’d need. Weekends brought frequent jaunts through the hills and winding roads of Kern County. Occasionally, I’d feel my stomach rise to my throat when it seemed that I was coming into a curve too fast. I’d let up on the throttle, lean a little, and talk myself calm. Then, feeling free, I would get back to letting the breeze blow in my face over the little Honda’s stumpy windshield.

 

Twenty-eight years later, I’ve owned two other scooters and two motorcycles. I’ve ridden all over the U.S. and in Canada, Mexico, and New Zealand. Some of the most challenging and happiest days of my life have been spent in the wind.

~ xoA ~