Me and My Bike – #1 The Occasional Adventures of Betty
By Sue
The Occasional Adventures of Betty
suehineswrites.blogspot.com
I came late to motorcycling, at 45, riding into the fray on a little red GPX250 – and with all the zeal of the religious convert, I am nuts about motorcycling for lots of reasons.
Firstly, it was bloody hard to get my licence in the first place, coz I’m not the most coordinated person. Expelled from my first attempt at the pre-licensing Learn to Ride course (I crashed the riding school’s bike), I went through months of remedial lessons, fell off about a million times, and was black and blue for much of 2005. Friends alternately applauded my stamina and begged me to give up before I killed myself.
Nearly six years, four motorcycles, a dozen clutch, brake and gear levers, and about 150,000 road kilometres later, I’m not looking to give it up any time soon. As the aches and pains of middle-age and past ‘whoopsies’ creep up on me (there have been a few whoopsies, but almost all at car-park speeds), I’m hooked. I’ve just bought a new SV650S because I wore out the last one, ha ha ha.
Secondly, I’ve always been a hide-in-the-background type. You know, that person who people say “Oh, was she at the party? Are you sure?” about? That’s me. I’m short, I’m shy, and I’m afraid of so many things. Having control of a wickedly powerful piece of machinery makes me feel strong. Also, I like my own space, both physically and inside my head, and motorcycling gives me that space. I’m not much of one for big group rides – I prefer getting out on the road alone, or with only one or two others. I can be as sociable or as much of a loner as I want to be – great stuff!
I love motorcycling for another, darker reason, too. Rewind to January, 2006. I’d had my L’s for about three months when I was attacked one night at home by a complete stranger, and all of a sudden my motorcycle became more important than ever. My life and the inside of my head were such a complete mess that the only time I felt in control of anything was when I was on the bike. I had to ride every day, just to keep the bad thoughts at bay. When darkness closed in, I rode to the light. It was a way of taking back a bit of the control that my attacker took away from me, and I honestly believe that it was the motorcycle that kept me sane. My attacker has been in gaol since 2006, and will still be there until at least 2031. I, of course, will still be out on the road, doing what I love and raising the rude-finger as I cruise past the gaol on my way to another alpine adventure or coastal retreat. Take that, scumbag!
Nowadays, the bike isn’t the therapy that it used to be, coz I don’t need it to be, but it’s still the most empowering, liberating, enjoyable part of my life. I use my bike for everything – commuting, shopping, touring – and the more I ride, the more I love it. Besides, the people I’ve met, the friends I’ve made, the places I’ve been – none of these would have been part of my life if I’d stuck to four wheels. Black moods return whenever I have an enforced break from riding – it only takes a week. I try not to think about how on earth I will cope if ever I have to give it up for good.
The part of Australia that I call home is a great place for year-round motorcycling - a temperate climate, lots of open road and some big big distances to cover. I wish my bike had a bigger fuel tank, because I start to get twitchy after about 250kms if there’s no petrol station nearby.
There’s nothing like getting to a country pub after a long day’s riding, hundreds of miles from home, and jumping into a hot shower to wash off the day’s dust, with the promise of a plate of pub grub and a cold cider or a glass of red at the bar afterwards. The best savoury mince I’ve ever eaten was at a pub in Jerilderie after several days of riding and rallying one chilly June.
This bit sounds really corny, but the bottom line is that motorcycling makes me feel so damned good. Sometimes I still can’t quite believe I’m doing it – quiet, conventional, timid little me, astride a thundering, growling machine, flying through the countryside at (sometimes, heh heh) naughty speeds, screaming and laughing with maniacal glee inside my helmet. My motorcycle obeys my every command, dancing through corners, screaming across plains, snarling its kick-arse Yoshimura snarl – I am Xena, Boudicca, Mulan… It fills me with such breathless excitement that I sometimes think my heart will burst. (Sorry – I did warn you it was corny!)
Sometimes, though, I just ooze peace and serenity. I drink in the essence of the bush, close to the sounds and smells of nature – the bugs, the birds, the roadkill and the wildflowers – and I feel more alive than I have ever felt.
See you on the road!
