12:24pm Wednesday 27th January 2010
By Rebecca
I’m at an age where things are quite steady. I don’t take many physical risks. I drive like a very, very old person. Not hesitantly, just carefully. Sensibly. The way you do when you take your test. I have a routine. I always have my hair cut in the same way now. My life is stable. And I’m all for that.
There’s been lots of big talk from me over the last few years; now it comes down to it, I find that I’m not feeling up to the job.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel I may be getting too old too fast. Settled. Comfortable.
It’s been about six years since I rode a motorbike. There’d always been conversations about me getting back on though they’d never resulted in any action. My husband commutes on his and a couple of Sundays ago just said casually, “Go and fill the bike up for me will you?”
There’s been lots of big talk from me over the last few years; now it comes down to it, I find that I’m not feeling up to the job.
“I’m not confident any more. It’s been ages. I don’t think I know how to ride…” I could hear the tinge of a pleading, slightly whining tone in my voice.
I watch him wheel the bike out of the garage half hoping he’ll say, “It’s getting too late/dark/cold to go now. I’ll go in the morning.” No, he’s not one to let me off anything (refer to Ben Nevis ascent.)
I unhook my bike gear and start layering the items on. This is one time when the mirror is useless. It’s irrelevant whether my hair’s neat, my lips shiny or the shoes match the skirt. I’m going to lose my gender identity anyway.
There are many stages to dressing in the only complete set of outdoor clothing I have which includes thermal vests, men’s thermal leggings (are they still leggings even when they’re for men?), leather trousers and jacket, (I’m starting to look quite large now – always a good look on a bike) and bulky socks. My pride and joy is an RAF jumper I got from an army surplus shop and whose name tag reads, ‘LM Money’.
Now I can’t bend or walk particularly well (boots are rigid, number of clothes prohibits it). Zombie is the only accurate description of the way I look – arms and legs straight, hands hanging stiffly down. It’s a relief that bike gear has no fashions. Not that I can see anyway.
After my bike was stolen some years ago, I saw it as a ‘sign’ and decided to be responsible and mature and not ride again. Perhaps that was the onset of my mindset. But I’d see bikers and feel pangs. Of jealousy, regret, a sort of yearning. I remembered the sensations of being on the bike, the lightness of it, the sensitivity of the controls, the self-reliance of it – I’m responsible for my safety.
They say you never forget how to ride a bicycle. Maybe it’s the same with a horse or plane. It’s not true for a motorbike. Not entirely. At least not for me.
“Just don’t stall it,” he adds before I go. I’m now shaking and prickly under the armpits. Will I even make it out of my road? My main worry is that if I fall over, I know I can’t pick the bike up by myself. I’m too proud to say I don’t want to go.
Then I’m off – a little jerkily and with real uncertainty. Hand on the clutch all the time, too timid on the throttle, I’m likely to stall the thing. Not the way to ride. Some of it feels natural, most the time I need just to concentrate hard. I know I’m frowning and pursing my lips.
Oh my! Here I go! On to a main road. At a mini roundabout, the idiot to my left doesn’t give way to me (typical). Then I’m suddenly aware of every crack and ridge in the road and the potholes on Station Road await me. If I go over one, I’ll fall off (into it). And the car behind me is far too close. So they’ll drive over me and my bike and the pothole will be filled – with me.
At about 25mph I trundle down the hill. I’m still not enjoying it very much. I look in my mirrors and see a truck or big car behind me which panics me. Can they see me (with my fluorescent bands and helmet)? Please leave a bigger gap than that, I pray. I can stop much quicker than you…
Bikers have the reputation of being wild or irresponsible or just rebellious. But I’m convinced we’re among the safest road users about. Being careful is paramount as it’s the rider who gets hurt in an accident. The training is more advanced than for a car and there’s much, much more attention paid to road awareness.
My face is stinging with cold and my left fingertips (still on the clutch) are beginning to sting. I can hear my own breathing (nerves, fear), my helmet is beginning to fog and my body’s tense. I approach the Tesco roundabout and stop.
Then the finest moment occurs. There’s a biker coming from the right. Has a jazzy helmet and nods at me as he crosses in front of me. I nod back. I’m elated. He doesn’t know I’m terrified. To him, I’m just a member, a fellow rider.
I say ‘he’ because men sit differently on bikes – backs are straight or slightly hunched over their machines, more intimate, I could say. Women tend to arch their backs. I’ve seen myself in shop windows so I know.
But that nod, that universal acknowledgement is what makes my journey. It says everything about riding that I like. The joy, the challenge, the unique experience. When I used to drive a Seat 600 (old style, 20 years ago and it was about 20 years old then), other drivers with the same car used to flash their lights at each other. It’s the only other time I’ve known this kind of mutual acknowledgment.
I should be using words like ‘thrill’ and ‘exhilarating’ and ‘excitement’. I’m being honest when I say that I was mostly scared, which I suppose is exhilarating. Like funfair rides.
When I did my bike training over a decade ago, there were some hours spent in a classroom (well, a garage). Once out on the road and connected to my instructor by a manky earplug on a one-way radio controlled unit (i.e. I couldn’t answer back) he said every rider can go fast, the skill is learning how to go slow and keeping control of the bike. Defensive riding, they call it. And it is really. I was thinking of this as I came home. Slowly.
But as I approach my home zone, I’m starting to enjoy it. So I take the longer route.
“We’ll go out for a ride together in the summer” hubby says and I’m flattered. I’ve always been a careful, timid rider; he used to get exasperated at my slowness before so I wonder why he wants to go anywhere with me.
If I’m truthful I’m not a real biker. I never maintained my bike myself and did only basic checks on it though I always liked washing it. I only ever took a passenger once (my son to work – he already weighed more than me) and it was frightening. Into Acton in rush hour.
There are few things I do which frighten or challenge me in new ways. This did though. It sent adrenalin into my blood and was invigorating. I suppose I would tentatively say it gave me some new confidence.
And I rediscovered an old pleasure (which is like discovering it for the first time). It gave me a feeling I’d forgotten. Something about using my wits, remembering how to do something and reliving the mixed feelings of the experience.
I return home feeling different from when I left. I swagger a little artificially when walking to my front door. For some reason I don’t want to show the terror I’ve just lived.
I should be using words like ‘thrill’ and ‘exhilarating’ and ‘excitement’. I’m being honest when I say that I was mostly scared, which I suppose is exhilarating. Like funfair rides.
And I should also be saying, ‘I’m going out there every weekend guys!’ Because bikers are meant to be fearless maniacs. We’re not. We just try and stay alive. And the chances of getting hurt increase with every journey. So my tameness rules after all.
Biking is risky. I’ve been in aggressive situations with men (and women) drivers cutting me up, trying to push me into the camber or just making my ride dangerous and difficult. I’ve been knocked over by a bus (the driver was back behind the wheel after a month) and thrown into the road at a red light by a driver going at about 40mph who ‘didn’t see the red light’.
I won’t be going out often but by golly! I’ll be riding again. Slowly maybe, but that doesn’t lessen the enjoyment on a bike.
“Try something new today” – or go back and do something you used to. Maybe most people do. But I seem to have let a few things lapse since having my daughter. And I feel if I don’t, I may stagnate in my safe, unchallenging Buckinghamshire life otherwise.
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