Sometimes, you can want something so badly and give it so much effort, concentration, energy and commitment... and it still doesn't happen.  This weekend, I took the Basic Rider Training course to learn how to ride a motorcycle.  I work with a bunch of riders on the daily, including a couple of really talented, really impressive women.  They do cool things.  I want to do the things.  So I decided to learn how to do the things.  Cool things are not easy.  After a grand total of 6.5 hours in a classroom and 8 hours on a riding range I discovered that riding is much, much easier on paper.  On a multiple choice test, there is no one standing with a clipboard watching and scoring one's every move.  On a multiple choice test, the poor decisions don't compound.  And on a multiple choice test, they don't toss one out if one falls down.

Reading through the "textbook" and verbally processing the principles of riding was right in my wheelhouse.  Mentally grasping concepts, picturing how it's supposed to work, embracing the bike/rider motion dynamics... it was a cinch.  Nonetheless, on a drizzly Saturday morning, the second my leg swung over the seat, my tummy was aflutter.  I'd only ridden one other time and while I knew I could stay upright, I also hadn't ridden enough to have any sense of calm.  Occasionally, when I'm all worked up, I'll hop in the ol' Jeep and just take a drive.  Maybe with music, maybe with silence, maybe with the roof open to the birds and the skies, or maybe screaming "Ramble On" with the Zep as loud as I can.  And then I'm better.  After 20 years of driving, it soothes me.  Touching a Yamaha TW200, however gave my kidneys epilepsy.

I tried to reason through it... after all, the second time I was behind the wheel of my very first jeep I nearly ran down a sweet little old church lady.  The third time, I swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid running over a squirrel.  Good judgment, for me, doesn't come naturally.  "Self," I thought, "It's not a matter of being good right off the bat, it's a matter of not giving up.  Also, not jamming a powered vehicle into a co-student at 10 whopping miles per hour."  So, I stuck with it and worked on forcing muscle positions that would make for better habits later.  Grip the tank with my knees and voila - stability.  Keep my wrist lower relative to the throttle and voila - better acceleration control.  Keep my head up and voila - run into less stuff.  I worked through the exercises, hating each one as it began and starting to enjoy it by the end.  When me and my silly bow-legs tried to wobble to my car at the end of Saturday range time, I thought, "Self, you're gonna get the hang of this thing."

And get the hang of it, I did.  I started Sunday morning off poorly - the first exercise didn't make sense to me, and like a bad case of staph infection, once the fluster set in, damned if it didn't fester.  I had to pull off for a second to compose myself.  Embarrassin'.  But after that, I got it.  I mean, really got it.  I could stop short and smooth, swerve quickly and with stability.  I could round a tight turn, negotiate a broad curve, change gears without hesitation, look through my path of travel and, whatdyaknow, get up to 20 mph.  Impressive, I know.  At one point, the sun peeked out and a breeze picked up and as I rounded a curve with all the finesse of Baryshnikov I realized that I was getting a taste of the good stuff.  The reason to ride.

Then came the practical skills assessment: one at a time the 12 of us went through a series of drills.  One pass, one chance to not kill any traffic cones while weaving, turning, stopping, scanning, looking.  With each leg of the exam, I could feel the panic rising and the confidence leaking.  I couldn't find a plug for the confidence and no amount of deep breathing kept the icky in check.  I knew it wasn't going well, but I also knew that I hadn't fallen or hurt anyone... so, win?

The written test went quickly and easily and I was a little tickled to get the 100% score.  Small comforts and all that.  I hadn't passed the practical portion.  I missed it by 2 points and I know exactly where I should have succeeded to make that pass.  On a philosophical level, I shouldn't have passed.  If I panic on the bike, I shouldn't be on the road... and I'd hope others would recognize their limitations in the same manner.  I should have to practice more to avoid becoming a hazard - so this is the right thing to have happen.  Having said that, it stings like a bitch, not passing.  My pride hurts, but more than that, it's a difficult thing to stomach to have given best effort and come up short.

So, I'll reschedule the test for a week or two out and coerce some poor fool into helping me practice and I won't consider it a failure so long as I don't give up.  And in 20 years, going for a ride will be soothing.  At least until the arthritis sets in.