Why I don’t Ride

Motorcycles and I were never good friends. Every memory I have with a motorcycle is a bad one. I’ve prepared examples.

When I was a kid we lived on Liable Road in Highland, Indiana and very near The Calumet River. There was a bike trail that ran alongside of the river. It was legendary. Two boys riding on separate dirt bikes were racing towards each other at top speed. They crashed around a blind turn and lay there with severe injuries for hours until someone came along. Oh, and my wife’s brother, Tim, discovered a dead body floating in the river while standing on the trail. Like I said, legendary.

This trail ran right near my aunt and uncle’s house. I had several cousins. They had a motorcycle. My Uncle Jack drove it all the time. I remember him hot-dogging it every chance he got. In my opinion he was reckless and dangerous. I wanted no part of him on that motorcycle. So how did I get talked into climbing on behind him for a ride on that damn trail? I’ll never know. But there I was. I thought he had it at top speed when he put more speed on. I could barely hold on. My grip was very tight. He must have sensed my fear, so naturally he had to go faster. When the ride was over I climbed off with shaky knees swearing I would never get on a bike like that again. Funny, how stupid I am sometimes. I ended up on a motorcycle one more time.

My Uncle Jack and Aunt Shirley moved across town with their children, bigger home and large garage for Jack’s welding work. He also rebuilt great cars. And unfortunately for me, he had a motorcycle and a dirt bike. My cousin Jackie owned the dirt bike. I had no interest in the bike. But my cousin had a way of making you feel really small. He picked on me all afternoon until I found myself on the dirt bike, strapping a helmet to my dumb melon head. I said I would go for a ride if he stopped picking on me. I had to reacquaint myself with the controls. And felt like it was just best to get started and get this over with. The bike was surprisingly fast and I nearly crashed just taking off. I gained control and slowed down. Jackie said to go east and pick up the trail alongside the train tracks. So I did.

Sure enough there was a trail through the wooded area leading to the edge of land. I slowed down and found the trail turning and running alongside a very high cliff, maybe 100 feet above train tracks. Normally, I would admire the picturesque view, but my nerves were bundled. I white-knuckled the handle bars and prepared for a drive on the edge of a cliff. No worries, right? Well something did happen. The bike shut down.

I rolled to a stop and looked at the bike. I have nearly zero Intel on this foreign vehicle and could not sort out the issue. I sat there for a while trying to decide what to do. I saw my cousin kick one of the foot pedals to start the bike and decided to give that a try. Nothing. I did it again. Still nothing. I looked out into the distance. A train was coming. I kicked the pedal again. Nothing. I took a closer look at this machine and started learning more about the controls. But nothing would make it start up. The train was getting closer.

I put the kickstand down and dismounted the bike. I walked all the way around it. I put my hands on my hips in a gesture that looked more like failure than confusion. I did not like the cliff. It was a fast drop off down to the train tracks. My sense (fear) of heights was kicking in. I unsnapped my helmet and walked around the bike again. Nothing seemed out of order. The train was coming in.

I fiddled with the handlebars. I feared I might be flooding the engine so I stopped. I walked around to the side of the bike and gave that pedal one more good kick. SHIT!!!! The bike started up and I wasn’t even on it. I began running alongside it, putting myself to the very edge of the cliff. The train had finally arrived and was passing below me at a very fast speed. I was running with a dirt bike at a very fast speed. I made a decision to jump on to the moving bike. My steering went wild. If I lost the trail now, it would be a 100 foot drop to the train track with a fast moving train. I cried out loud in utter fear, crying on my helmet strap. Why did I agree to this crazy idea?

The train passed by and my cliff trail turned back into the forest. I had managed not to kill myself. I slowed the bike down. For the first time I felt like I had control over the vehicle and may have even admitted to myself that I was enjoying the ride. Before long, I ended up back at my cousin’s house. He was in the driveway smiling wide.

“Did you have a good ride?”

“Yeah, it was alright.” I lied. I turned the Godforsaken machine off and climbed off. I pulled the helmet and gave it back to Jackie. He put it on and disappeared in a loud burst of sound and speed. I stood there looking at my shoes. My hands were shaking. I promised myself for the last time in this lifetime that I will NEVER, EVER, EVER get on another motorcycle or dirt bike! EVER!!!

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