Wild Motorcycle Tales Here's a great story from Karen. Got your own story? Send it to me. Rain Rider At first I enjoyed riding the motorcycle as a passenger. Then my husband, Randy, showed me a 650 Bergman Scooter on some type of web site. Then the investigation began. My husband was checking out the bike in every way to see if there was satisfaction or complaints. A lot of people loved the bike and the track record for mechanical problems was few. I took the plunge and attended a motorcycle training class with my neighbor, Jenny. She had been practicing on a small bike at home and she did well right away. I think I was nearly the worst student of the group. I whined a lot. My instructor was happy to see me graduate so he did not have to see me anymore. Randy took me out each weekend to gradually build up my basic riding skills. Now I am learning to relax with the sweepers. I know that I must commit to the turn and not flake out in the middle of the turn. As traffic comes my way I work on relaxing and completing the turns better than the last time instead of worrying about the traffic. It is when Randy takes me to unfamiliar roads that I start holding on to my bike with "The Death Grip." This occurs nearly every time he takes me on a tight clover leaf entrance and exit ramps near Freeport Texas. For him it's just a baby curve; for me it feels like when I reach the top I may fall into infinity or crash into the oncoming traffic. We got rained out in the Hill Country on my first tour ride. I was able to go up and down one curvy small mountain side before the thunder clouds let go. We were staying in a shelter at Garner State Park when we decided to head home before the roads were impassable. We planned to outrun the worst of the storm and that meant we had to ride long and hard.
Randy was worried that I would not be able to ride very long before I got too worn-out. My focus was to out run the rain so I could have a few days left on my vacation. The rain hit my hands like needles and the wind beat me up. I told myself that if Randy can do this then I could too. After nearly 200 miles of wet riding, both of us needed refuge so we found a tiny family owned motel in La Grange called The Oak, located nearly in the center of town. The room was huge, very clean; there was a large TV, microwave and a refrigerator for an unusually good price. We had one day to ride around before Randy said we had to get on the road again. He was right. The rain would be with us all the way home. My vacation was pretty sad but now I have a new nickname. Randy calls me "Rain Rider" because I could keep up with him nearly the whole time while the rain was hammering the road. I guess my instructor would be proud of me now. -- Karen
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