It all started in the early Spring of 2012. I had somehow found my way into a motorcycle dealer, and was instantly drawn to the allure of the WRR. I had never owned a motorcycle, short of having ridden a few dirtbikes when I was a kid, and didn't know much when it came to maintenance and the technicalities of riding one of these beauties on the street. Somehow though, I knew I NEEDED to get a bike, more specifically THAT bike. I had (and have a great job as a CNC aerospace laser machinist,) and the money to spare. On June of 2012, after perusing the internet for hours and hours, seeing the posts from BigDog, and drooling at the bike in the shop once a week, I found myself the proud new owner of a 2011 WR250R from Hinshaw's Motorcycle Dealer in Auburn, WA. Upon taking it home (in a truck mind you, I didn't have my endorsement at that time, but just a "permit" that the state of Washington will give you that allows you to ride between sunset and sunrise, for six months,) in the back of my truck I realized I suddenly wasn't ok with leaving it out overnight in the rainstorm and had a friend in Olympia, WA who would let me keep it in the garage. I picked it up from her the next day, and then made my first ride on the street a 40 mile ride back home. (Stupid, Yes!
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It was at that point, my life had changed. It was like that line from The Matrix.. "This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes. " Well, I had taken red the pill. Within 3 months I had over 6000 miles down, my MSF course completed with a freshly minted "M" on my license, and countless new friends and stories that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. I continued riding year round, in the rain, the cold mornings, light snow, and everything in between. Although like many of us who ride I had "close" calls, but never felt too unnerved or afraid of being injured or killed.
Then, at 8600 Miles, and 20 years old, I decided I wanted to make the commitment and follow in my father's footsteps and try my best at earning a career in the Fire Service. I found one of the few volunteer fire departments that was taking applicants, was accepted, and started volunteering on a regular basis. (Sidenote: The fire service is SUPER competitive, and volunteering is a great way to get experience, get connections, and training for free to make yourself more competitive when paid departments are hiring.)
Shortly after though, I began hearing stories of fatalities on one of the main strips of road in our fire district, as well as (thankfully) missing a fatal accident on one of my days off from the fire department. Along with this, being the "Probie," whenever there were drill nights, I was the victim. I remember sitting on the ground playing the victim of a motorcycle accident. My crew came up, evaluated me, removed my helmet, put on a pelvic wrap (pretending I had a crushed/broken pelvis,) and more medical and splinting devices. The thought dawned on me as I was faking my injuries and being treated that this could be a reality. I COULD be laying here, dying painfully, cold, and alone on the pavement.
From here on out, I opted more and more to take my truck places and rode the bike less and less. Before I knew it, my bike had become a weekly chore. I would start it up once a week, ride it up and down my road a few times, and played with the idea of even selling it. On days that I forced myself to take it to work or the Fire Department, I found myself regretting the decision and having anxiety about the ride home.
Flash forward to a month ago.
One of my coworkers and I decided we would hangout one day after work, and we were thinking of what we would do. Grab a beer? Maybe. Have him help me fix my wood stove? Sure. But then suddenly I remembered he had been wanting to learn to ride a motorcycle, and here sitting in my garage there was the perfect bike to learn on. I ran the idea by him, and he was amped!
Then the day had finally come. We left work, he followed me to my place, and we were in the garage. I had a flashback to that feeling. The red pill, or the blue pill?.... I told him his life would change. Many people want to learn to ride, shoot the shit and talk about getting a bike someday, but that this is his first step to making that real. He took the "red" pill and was riding up and down the street later that day. He learned fast.
It's hard to describe that feeling when you first begin riding. The excitement, the wonder, the adrenaline, the fun. He had an unmistakable happiness that all of us are very familiar with. Now, daily at work we talk bikes, and today in fact we are going to Hinshaw's Motorcycle Dealer and the BMW dealer to look at some bikes for fun, as well as checking out Cycle Gear so he can start getting some of his own gear.
Seeing my buddy so passionate and excited about getting into riding has really struck a chord in me, and I find myself being drawn back into it. The excitement and energy of a newbie, as well as remembering myself being just as wide eyed and bushy tailed has begun to remind me of a time when I could hop on the bike and explore. The memories, the friends, the adventures.
Now, my bike is beginning to get ridden more. I'd be lying if I said I NEVER think about crashing. But I'm getting back on the maintenance that I've learned, reconnecting with old friends and this community, and excited to see what adventures, friends, and stories I'll have after this summer, all thanks to a newbie...