So. It's been quite some time since I've written here, which is what inevitably happens when I start any sort of diary/journal/blog/regular-writing thing (I wonder how many abandoned blogs are out there in the blog-o-sphere?), so I shall just excuse myself and move on. *Ahem!* Except... in looking back at my last few posts, I realize I was incredibly, seethingly pissed off about everything for a few months there. No wonder I didn't want to revisit my blog! Let's be honest, I'm still pissed off about some of those things, less so about others, so it was worth writing about; I'm also still lamely dragging my feet on my qualifying paper, which is perhaps why I have come back to you in the end.
Oops. Guess my cover's blown.
Aside from shirking academic responsibility for the past several months, whilst shouldering a stupid amount of employment responsibilities (I knew I should have found myself a sugar-daddy for grad school), I have also been having a sordid love affair with my motorcycle. When I first started riding last summer, I was plagued with uncertainty and a lack of confidence. I bought a 1986 Honda Rebel 450 from another woman rider (to my great squealing delight and Scott's great amusement at said delight), which is an old, somewhat rare, but primitive standard cruiser (the Rebel 450s were only made in '86 and '87 before being discontinued). By primitive, I simply mean that you can see all of the motorcycle's parts; they're relatively easy to tinker with; and there are very few indicators on my bike. I don't even have a tachometer! I bought this bike first and foremost because the seat position makes it easy to ride for newbies like me, and secondly, because it is so basic, I thought I could easily learn how to tinker with my bike... I completely overestimated myself.
MSF courses are a great intro (and I'd recommend it to anyone who wants to learn, regardless of whether you have mentors handy: http://www.msf-usa.org/), but the intro classes don't really teach you anything meaningful about the mechanics of your bike, like what or how to perform basic maintenance. I've spent most of my life being told "don't touch that! you'll break it!" Insert flashbacks of my older brother, who inspired me to ride and did teach me a little bit about mechanics - I at least know what a carburetor does in theory - but wouldn't let me touch anything. For a visual-haptic learner like myself, this is a surefire way to 1) bore me to tears as you explain things that I can neither see nor touch, particularly since at that time, I was not actually doing any riding except on the back of a motorcycle; 2) scare the crap out of me when the day finally arrives where I can and should touch something on a motorcycle because I am in the driver's seat and I need to maintain my bike!
When I first started tinkering, I was afraid to tug at any hoses (what if they tore?); timid about unscrewing anything (what if I couldn't get it back on, or I put it back together wrong?); and definitely worried that any pressure I put on my bike as I tinkered would knock it over and that would be the end of that! Some of this fear is psychological - my bro really pulled a number on me - thanks a lot, Bryan! But the other half is definitely monetary - if I do screw it up, I'll have to take it to a shop and pay someone to fix my hunk of metal with the kind of money that grad students don't have just laying around. Then again, if I don't take care of it now I'll still have to pay someone to fix my hunk of metal due to a lack of proper maintenance. At any rate, it's been a slow painful process of tinkering; reading manuals; reading blogs and fix-it web instructions; and fending off my husband and other male friends who know they can fix mechanical problems easier and faster than I can, but I am finally growing more comfortable with the functioning and mechanics of my bike. At least, the basic stuff. I can't take my engine apart or anything yet, but on my own, I recently changed my oil and filter; cleaned and lubed my chain (which no one told me I had to do as frequently as I discovered I should - oops); and most amazingly - I just replaced my old dead bike battery with a new one!!
...
I realize that all of this sounds like something that any idiot should be able to do, and in truth, any idiot should be able to do this, but converting my bike from a non-starting hunk of extremely heavy metal, to a happy hunk of moving metal was extremely gratifying. And riding is even more gratifying, now that I feel I have some small amount of mastery over what the bike actually does. All was going swimmingly, and I was riding more frequently, getting better at mastering tight and fast turns (I no longer have a slow trail of angry cars behind me in Napa!), and just generally feeling more comfortable with the operations of my Rebel, when she walked into my life. Oh my cheatin' heart...
I never really understood why my brother was so obssessed with the mechanical aspects of his motorcycling - the machine itself seemed to trump his interest in actually riding, and he was constantly tinkering and tuning and replacing and fixing. When he wasn't doing that, he was upgrading to different rides; I think he must've had 3 different bikes in a 5 year period. I thought, "why isn't he just happy riding? that's what this is about, isn't it?" (Any seasoned rider knows this is a very green statement). Just being able to ride is amazing. But I think I understand now.
My friend, who has ridden motorcycles for most of his life, just got an 1990-something clunky Bandit 600. It's ugly - it has a torn up seat, the engine case leaks oil when it's on its side-stand, there are cosmetic scratches and breaks in the rear faring, and his turn signals only sorta-kinda work. But he's a resourceful and mechanically gifted person, so I know he'll be able to fix it up in a jiffy. He pulled up glowing the other day - "wanna take it for a ride??" DO I EVER!! I was a little hesitant as I climbed on it - the problem with bigger bikes is that I'm vertically challenged and have to stand on my tip-toes to hold up even more weight (my bike weighs almost 400lbs; his bike weighs about 460lbs). I was also incredibly unsure of the seating position - on my bike, you sit like you're sitting in an office chair. On a Bandit, you're leaned forward, with your feet kicked slightly behind you - with all the extra weight under me, I was definitely intimidated. But - as soon as I started moving, I realized that riding my bike had never been this easy.
What have I been missing out on?!? Ugly though it was, the Bandit accelerated with ease, shifted smoothly, and wasn't nearly as difficult to come to a stop on - something about the weight distribution actually made stopping more effortless. And although the seating position scared me at first, I found it easier to turn corners because my body was tucked close to the bike. Amazing!
I may never look at my Rebel in the same way. Awesome starter though she was, I've definitely got the itch to move on the better things. Come spring, I hope I can find another new lady rider to give her a good home, learn to tinker, and generally build riding confidence...
