Motorcycle

I bought Randy's Ducati Monster a couple of months ago. I should post a picture, but I haven't taken one yet. Why, you may ask, do I own three motorcycles when I can only ride one of them at a time? I don't know. Why does Ross own... four cars? And probably ten motorcycles?

But I digress. I've always loved the way the Monster looks; I don't remember who designed it off the top of my head, but I know it was designed by some hotshot Italian designer and it looks it. It's muscular and timeless, a work of art in steel and aluminum, and very masculine. It's also very real-world; it does not force the rider into a contorted, feet-up, hands-down position like a racer-boy. It has a relatively low seat. A civilized ride. Randy bought this one last summer (flat black paint, 750cc) and rode it all year. Ross kept joking with him that it would someday be mine.

But I yielded to temptation and whim early last summer and bought a '99 Honda VFR 800. Ross had found it on Craig's list. He and Everett and I were looking at the listing and admiring it. Ross said, "I should buy this." Everett said, "No, I should buy it." I said, "I should buy it." Ross said, "Yes, you should."

Dear reader, I did buy it. It was a great deal, and I had been wondering if a full-fairing bike would increase my highway confidence. It did, although I still had a world of confidence-building to do. The VFR felt great, stable, and powerful while cruising down highway 100. It felt great, stable and powerful while riding to work.

Then came the day when Ross and I decided to ride up to Viper Motorsports (where Everett works) for their grand opening. It's an hour's drive north of the cities, all on the interstate. And so I discovered that riding for an hour at 70 mph, surrounded by traffic, is absolutely terrifying to me, at least in my relatively neophyte-motorcycle rider status. It's not that I was unable to make all the decisions and actions required of me. It's more the fear of the unknown, the fear of the speed and the lack of confidence in my responses. I never lost control, but I was terrified of what would happen if I did. And the thing is, if I had years of riding under my belt I would have that much more belief in my control and ability. I don't have that yet, and I want to acquire it in a less terrifying mode, in smaller doses.

On top of that scariness, once we got to Viper Everett helped me change the tires on the VFR (I had just bought new ones to replace the worn out ones it came with) so I had to ride home with new, still slippery tires and in the rain, no less! But the ride home was actually far easier. That amount of riding had given me a modicum of comfort-level.

One more VFR part of the story; I rode it to work last fall one day. I left home and pulled up to the stopsign and decided to practice coming to a complete stop rather than a rolling stop. First stopsign, right turn. Second stopsign. Right turn, but there was a manhole cover I decided to avoid by turning more sharply. I gave it gas and let out the clutch, and... I killed the motor. Not enough gas. It lurched forward, already turning, and started tipping. It was too far, I couldn't hold it... it went down, right on the corner, taking me with it. I was fine.
With help I got it up, rode to work, rode home. The only damage was a broken mirror stalk and a few scratches.

So when Ross told me Randy wanted to sell his Monster and would give me a good deal, I jumped. I could sell the VFR in the spring and enjoy the Monster. Those VFR experiences had made me doubt whether it was the bike for me. But the Monster now, there was a handsome bike of manageable proportions, with a tourquey two-cylinder engine, great for cruising around town.

Last week I got the Monster out for a first ride. It needed some fresh gas so I thought I'd just ride to the gas station and back, and then maybe go further. I started it, though the engine showed an alarming tendency to not want to idle, either running too high with the choke, or just dieing with the choke off. I kicked it into gear and rolled down the driveway, feeling very cautious. Through the stopsign and down the street, into second gear and suddenly I felt like I was moving very fast and it wanted to MOVE! I made the right turn, and then the left, and rolled into the gas station with extreme care. After putting a couple of gallons in I slipped the clutch like mad to circle the pumps and head back home. Riding it was terrifying, like holding a massive bull with a piece of yarn. I worked the clutch, fearing that if I let it out too fast the thing would leap away with me and careen across the street.

I got home and started up the driveway, and the thing killed. So there I stood, feet on the ground, one hand on the clutch, one on the brake. I knew I couldn't push it up the driveway; I'd have to start it again and simultaneously let out the clutch, the brake, and give it gas. No way. I let it roll back down to the bottom, started up and cruised up to the garage. Then I got off, went in the house, took off my gear, and cried on Toad's shoulder.

In my defense I was having an emotionally bad day. Work was getting me down. I should have ridden a smaller, friendlier bike for my first ride of the season. But, heck, this was supposed to be my dream bike, and it scared the crap out of me! Ross told me once that he could see the appeal of climbing, but the process of working through the negative fear was too much of a burden for him to make climbing worthwhile. Sometimes I feel that way about motorcycling.

But there are other days. Better days.