Back in the early 80’s, I was somewhere between the ages of 7 and 9, perhaps I was 8. Anyway, I was playing at a friend’s house, and he was not someone that I normally hung out with. Kind of like my age at the time, it’s hard to say why I was there that day. The boy had a little red mini-bike, like the one in this picture, and as unattended children will do, we were riding double, zipping around the circumference of his house. There were no helmets, no parents, and no long pants. It wasn’t long before he wiped us out on a grassy corner, and I was laying under the bike. Really, it wasn’t too bad of a scenario. Someone, surely it was his mom (I kind of remember her being around hanging laundry out or something), lifted the bike off of me and I noticed that the skin on my leg looked weird. It was kind of jagged and hanging in white strips.
Next, I was standing on the porch of our neighbor’s house where my mom was visiting. Mom came to the door and I said “Mama, I hurt my leg,” and watching the color drain from her face and her look of horror, I started crying. My mom was a police officer in our small town, so she had some medical training and knew how to respond at an accident. I think that must have kicked in because she scooped me up and ran across the road to our house. It was a pretty good jaunt because we lived in the country. These were not pretty lawns, in curb and gutter suburbia; there was acreage between our houses in rural America, but it didn’t matter, she was in full blown mama mode!
Arriving home, she ran cold water in the bathtub and deposited me into it. If I wasn’t crying before, I was by then. Somewhere during the commotion, she called the Lebanon Hospital and they gave her instructions on how to best wrap the 2nd degree burns on my leg and get me transported to the emergency room. I’m sure that there had to be pain when the little bastard turned that bike over on me and let the exhaust burn my leg, but I don’t remember it. My burns healed, but not in time for me to fully enjoy summer camp, and the scars eventually faded. The only thing I took away from the incident was that I was a passenger and not in control of the situation. It was a long time before I rode a motorcycle again.
Fast forward to 2009, and I met a guy. The guy. Where he goes, I go and it really doesn’t matter how we get there. A lot of the time we go by motorcycle. The more we traveled, the more comfortable I became, and eventually I started getting ideas of riding my own motorcycle. Not all the time, but just to see if I could, and if it would be fun.
In March of 2013, I completed the Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) Training course at age 39—ok, I was less than a month from 40. For a year prior to that I had practiced riding my Honda CRF 230 on the back roads and trails around home. At first I practiced in our pasture. Ryan (the Guy) took the bike out in the open area so that if I fell it wouldn’t be on the pavement. He showed me how to start it, where the brakes were, and gave me an idea of how to operate the clutch. I had a few false starts, killing the bike, trying to find the sweet spot letting out the clutch and taking off, but then I was wheeling around the pasture in no time!
Pretty soon I was riding around our neighborhood confidently. Ryan decided that I was ready for some trail riding so we loaded the bikes and headed for the famous trails of Rampart Range which are close to home. I started out following him on a trail, but fell further and further behind as I crept along. The banking of the trails and the berms were hard to navigate. Then we approached what appeared to be the top of a hill on a giant roller coaster, and I grabbed the front break on the slick gravel. This immediately washed out my front wheel and down I went. I tried in vain to pick up my bike; it was too heavy and I was too freaked out. Ryan came running up the hill after looking back and seeing my predicament. I was stopped just over the rise in the middle of the trail where I was a perfect target for a fast approaching motorcycle who could not see me. He rode my bike to the bottom, and we were off again. Up the roller coaster, and at the top, I would freak out and tip over. This happened 3 or 4 times before he got me out of there. I wasn’t quite ready for Rampart.
A week later, feeling dejected, I wanted to go again; perhaps I could redeem myself. We headed to Pueblo, CO where there is some open desert riding. It was a great day and I managed to stay upright the entire time. I even found myself at the top of some very steep hills and could ride down. It was a huge victory for me.
By the time I took the MSF, I had gained confidence and I passed with flying colors at the top of my class! The Honda was fun and had all the necessary accoutrements to be road legal as well, but I rarely found myself riding it. I just didn’t have a strong desire to take the trail bike much further than the post office or around the loop close to home. I wanted something cool, and pretty never hurts. Ryan Offered up an older model Ducati Monster that he had in the garage. It wasn’t just pretty, it was ultra cool! We went about seeing if I could get it off the stand and reach the ground with both feet. Just barely on both accounts, but it was enough to give it a shot.
I was nervous as I left the driveway; that bike was beautiful and covered in delicate carbon fiber, and I feared damaging it in any way. Motoring down local County 105 in the afternoon sun, I became a bit more courageous as a slight blip of the throttle allowed me to race to speeds I had never dared to try before. The Monster was powerful, responsive, and fun!
I found a safe place to turn around and head home thinking that this could be my new ride, when sitting at a stop sign waiting for traffic, the unthinkable happened. I started to pull away, easing out the dry, grabby, clutch and lightly rolling the throttle, I wasn’t even moving yet, and a light patch of sand caught the front tire. In slow motion, the center of gravity changed and the bike was falling over. Try as I might, I could not hold it up My foot and the tire were now slipping in the sand. The only thing to do was sacrifice my body and make sure that it didn’t hit the ground too hard. As I carefully crawled out from under the bike, trying not to allow it to scrape on the pavement, I realized how heavy it was and wondered how I would ever pick it up. Luckily, a passing car stopped and although driving that day, he was a motorcyclist as well. He was friendly, helped me pick up the Monster and took no pleasure in my mishap. He left me to gather my thoughts and take off on my own.
This was not the first time that I had tipped over or crashed, but I was alone and this was a beautiful, retro, bike. I carefully eased out the clutch again and started for home thankful that there was only one small scratch on the exhaust that was metal—not the expensive carbon fiber one that for some reason was not on the bike that day. Arriving back home, I told Ryan not to worry! I had sacrificed my body to save the bike, and we were both ok. We wisely decided that although fun, the Ducati was not the bike for me; too heavy at the tank, a bit too tall, and too much horsepower. Even though I wasn’t settling on that bike, that one ride did seal the deal for me. I wanted a motorcycle that I could jump on with confidence and ride anywhere. The quest was on.
The Barbinator hanging out with a Vintage BMW
Like any quest, sometimes it’s about what you learn along the way. My next bike looked like it came right out of the driveway of Barbie’s dream house. The 1990 Honda VTR. A cool little sport bike that was white and trimmed in blue and pink, had been dubbed the Barbinator in more than one review. Nevertheless, it was light, and I could reach the ground. Although it offered limited horsepower, I could still run up to 65 or a little more if necessary. We brought it home and I scrubbed on it to make its white wheels white again. It was kind of pretty in a chic kind of way, and it had some cool factor.
I rode that bike up until the Spring of 2016, but I didn’t ride it a lot. Short trips here and there, and finally I decided that I was going to ride it or sell it. Ultimately, when I started to put miles on it, I realized that the sport bike seating position was not comfortable for me. My natural position was more upright. Because I had been riding, Ryan wanted me to be more comfortable, as well as have a bike that could keep up out on the open road. We had discussed a little sister to his BMW 1200 GS, but had not explored the option completely. He was now on his favorite quest—motorcycle hunting!
When he showed me the picture of what would be my new bike, I was enamored! The powder blue on the tank and fenders was “my” color, and the spoke wheels ‘spoke’ to me. The 2001 BMW 650 GS was too good to be true, and I could not believe that I would be able to reach the ground or pick it up off the stand. When we arrived at the dealership, and I threw a leg over it, I could do both! By adding some mechanical piece called a kouba link, the bike could be lowered just a bit more, thus giving me more connection to the ground.
My first ride was in 20° weather just a few hours prior to a late winter storm, but I wanted at least one quick ride before the roads 
turned to muck. I knew that it would be my only chance to try it out. This was it! This is what I had been longing for, I just had not known it. The bike felt steady under me, easy to maneuver, and had plenty of power when needed. I was dreaming of my first rides already.
When the weather cleared, I rode to the grocery store, to the mall, and for joyrides up the canyon and down county 105. Ryan and I took a trip to Woodland Park for breakfast (Pine Creek Perception), a hundred miles round trip. I took a 200-mile solo adventure to my sister’s house east of Pueblo, CO and found the need for rain gear as I rode through a deluge on Interstate 25. The bike was steady and carried me through, tires gripping the pavement securely the whole way. I was smitten with this motorcycle and my confidence level was growing with each ride.
Throughout the fall of this year, I rode the bike back and forth to the barn a couple of times to ride my horse, and to the office as well. Using the BMW as a commuter has been cost effective and it’s given me opportunity to improve my skills every time I go out. For 2017 I am looking forward to putting together an overnight ladies trip to a winery in Stratton, CO. Additionally, I am contemplating the idea of riding solo when Ryan and I take a trip back east in June. I think he’s more nervous about it than I am.
Finding the right bike has been a learning experience and a skill builder. It’s hard to believe that it’s been over five years and I finally have the confidence to ride my bike when and where I want to. Over the winter I keep reading articles and keep learning. There is so much to know and consider when you are out there on the bike with no protection; being smart and thinking ahead is the best defense. It’s been a long time since I was the little kid on the back of that mini-bike in an out of control situation, but I think it instilled a healthy respect for motorcycles that I carry to this day.
I appreciate your time, and I value your feedback. Please take a moment to rate or share this article below. Your comments are also welcome. All the best to you! Until next time ~ Jennifer
