The new man in my life....

Well, the new bike in my life (wink).
He's officially mine.
He's got a poly sheet under him to check for leaks - doubt there will be any but might as well start as ya mean to go on....
All secured and covered for now, bit by bit will get to know his bits (grin).
Still hasn't quite sunk in yet, but ... that's cause he has to sit there till I can officially ride him....
So there will be lots of polishing, lots of investigating every nook and crannie ....
Lots of making sure all the bits are seen to ...
yep, it's a deep joy and an incentive to progress with my riding lessons ....
Only two hurdles left.
Mod 1
and
Mod 2.
Will be taking advanced lessons on HIM!!!!  (assuming all is well.)
But yep, falling for him already. :)
Hopefully he'll love me back.
I will be giving him plenty attention and making sure he's treated like the honoured beast he is and I'm sure I have a decade of fun ahead at least.
Oooo new lovers are just grand.....
such a boost for the girl - a much needed boost.

No young man, you don't understand...

Older ladies can really make me chuckle sometimes ... and something along the title lines said by a woman old enough to know better and feeling too young to care ... has my appreciation and admiration.  They have a certain style to them that is just wonderful.  If you're one count yourself proud, if ya gonna be one, work hard to keep up the tradition.  Here's an idea of why.....

Yesteday during my Monday morning commute, which is insane, by the way, in itself, the traffic was queued up for most of the 25 miles it is to travel, so I had an extra two hours to listen to the morning radio show.  The topic of the day happened to be Growing old disgracefully, which seems to be the new trend according to the radio talk show host.  They did  a feature on an only online magazine for over 50’s.  Sorry can’t remember the name now .  The guest speaker however kept my attention.

At 50 years old she took her CBT (you knew it had to be about bikes.)  At 55 she bought her Harley and has been a member of the Harley Owners Group and has never looked back.  She’s ridden from Land’s End to John O’Groats for charity.  She’s planning on doing Europe next.  She’s done all sorts and can’t remember her age although I’m sure she gave it a few times. 

The presenter seemed amazed.  I wasn’t.  I’m only a couple years younger than her when she did her CBT.  Made perfect sense to me.  She put it rather aptly when she said – it wasn’t about a midlife crisis it was about changing a lifestyle to living.  She found support in the motorcycle club she joined and never looked back.  Why should she be a shrinking violet?  Why should she grow old gracefully – why couldn’t she do and be what she wanted to be.  My mind couldn’t help but wander back to when my mother was reaching her sixties and was really into Erma Bombeck and the poem widely circulated to most in this element I’m sure – When I get old I shall wear purple.

It’s actually called Warning and read by Jenny herself who wrote it in 1961 here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cACbzanitg.

But the fact of the matter is I was amazed about how little people really allow people to get out side of the box they want them to in the discussions on the radio.  It made for good radio I suppose because the woman was encountering complete opposition in the interviewer – so there were both sides present and accounted for – which is another thing that makes me chuckle about Yorkshire.   The presenter was a Yorkshireman.  Those of you who are English will understand my point immediately, and for my older American friends  - let’s just say it was like an older Betty Boop on a bike having a conversation with Archie Bunker.

(I’ll pause for impact.)

I ended up at work with a smile because it finally dawned on me, much as Yorkshire would like folk to believe they’ve kept true to their stereotype, there are folks far and wide on Yorkshire land – that just ain’t  gonna give that stereotype a hand.

I listened while the lady told of how she customised her Harley and how everywhere on the bike was something about somebody she loved, children, grandchildren – full pictures on the fairings, something for each place she’s been, for her the glory has been travelling.  This bike she described must be quite a beast – full of storage and flaring and decorations.  Finally as the interviewer tried to end the talk show time he asked her a final question which by American standard would have been quite rude and inconsiderate but after 13 years I’m getting kind of used to it – and she simply replied with a quote that will never leave me,  “ You just don’t understand, it’s in me blood. “ 

Kudos to her - she never lost touch with her heart. Whomever she is wherever she is I wish her all the best.

Another half a day that changed my life

(it's a long one, get comfortable dear reader)

Last night it was hailing so much the ground was white.  The wind was blowing, making that haunting sound around the stone house blowing cold air in the vents and freezing anyone near one at the time.  I was worried my plans for riding today would be cancelled.  I wasn’t much more hopeful this morning when I opened my eyes  although the hail was gone the skies were dark and foreboding.  Rain was pelting the window with some ferocity like a handful of pebbles.  I smiled there was still hope the wind wasn’t all that strong..  My walking waterproofs would finally get some use for the first time in ages.  The ride in was slow rarely over 20 mph. But once over Queensbury Moor the rain stalled out to that fine stuff that wets you through.  There might be a lot of hope for a ride.   At one point I was worried I would be late thanks to a roundabout queue over three miles long, but in the end,  I arrived 10 minutes early.

 I was outfitted in my walking boots with my waterproofs and borrowed helmet, gloves, jacket.   Today’s machine was a Yamaha EBZ – or I think that was what was might have the letters mixed up.  The chassis was a little short for my long legs and consequently sitting on it I wanted to sit back further than the moulded seat preferred me so my thigh muscles got a workout and my backside has a dent where the ridge was that is a little tender.   In many ways, it handled completely differently than the Van Van from last week, and there were a lot of things I liked about that.  But you didn’t have to give the throttle a lot of action and that messed me up  a bit.   This one, unlike the Van Van, would continue to go when there was no throttle, once I had that understood, I was absolutely fine.    I still managed to stall it a few times though.

Today’s instructor was Cliff – who is an absolutely fantastic instructor. He is a retired police office and he absolutely makes riding a motorcycle look smooth and fluid and it didn’t take him long to size me up and put things to me in a way I understood.  Doing as he wished  however was another matter in some cases.  But he was patient.   For a second time on a bike I think I did ok and we stopped where I was comfortable and confident a great place to be for next time.  There have been others worse than me, the story of a gent that took 5 tries before he got on the road so I’m still ahead of some.  It all depends on the first 45 minutes next time so after my theory here is hoping the third time is the charm.

Today was all about gear changing and with wet conditions it gave me a new appreciation for the visor in a helmet – fogged it up first go.  I remembered my training and cracked it open a bit and watched droplets form impairing vision, so in the end set it so it kept my glasses dry and I could see.  This is obviously going to be a consideration for the helmet I decide to buy.   I was kinda grateful for the rain it meant not many folks were hanging about today.    The gloves were a little too big so that hampered clutch control a bit. Mental note – get properly fitting gloves it’ll help.

 Eventually I got it all going on again.   Then it was gear changes – which I have down as a system but today was all about the boots.  The boots were so wrong for this bike with my legs at a weird angle and the boots being just that little bit too tall in the toe, I had no problem finding neutral when I wanted second – which after a couple times I just kept going and fixed.  Eventually the ride around the track was smooth.   I hesitate to say it but there were a few laps around that I actually felt the total natural come out.

Of course then I had to change direction.   That simple thing – and I had to start all over again.  Thank goodness the instructor was a patient man.  He did get quite a few laughs at me the first lap.  As I learned to listen to the bike and realise what I had to correct it got smoother and smoother.   Then there was the emergency stop – did it once nearly, did it over the line once then nailed it perfectly twice as obviously the system to stop clicked.   Then it was all about practice and getting the granny out of the girl.   By the end of it I was touching the speeds I should be on my rounds around the track.

A bit of a chat and serious expression of gratitude for his patience I was off.  The first place I went?  Down the road to J27 to the bike shop.  A new pair of gloves and a pair of boots at a discount and on sale.  Met the lovely folks at the shop who’d just been talking to R2 and knew they’d already heard about me.   It occurred to me as I was enjoying a nice warm coffee and having a bit of a chat that this whole thing was so much bigger a thing for me than I first thought.

I explained to Ann that next week was theory and helmet.  We’d set the time aside to choose the right one and explained what I was doing.  I explained I’d not told hubby about it and she asked if I had plans on how to tell him.   She suggested buying the bike and turning up with it.  I laughed, that’d make it seem like a midlife crisis.  She did say if I didn’t do it right it’d be an expensive midlife crisis.  She had a point.

I left rather happy and appreciative.   I’m really beginning to like this new world I’m opening up.  I headed home.    I checked on the house – hubby was home.  So I went home.  I walked in the door (at half twelve in the day when I should be at work) in jeans and a cotton shirt.  

And this is where the rest of the real changes started to happen, why it's a half day rather than a mere 120 minutes. 

No hello from hubby – he launched straight into politics.   At some point I stopped him and pointed out I was home in the middle of the day on a normal working day – did he have anything to ask?  He asked if I got fired.  OK I can understand that  as a first question given what is going on at work lately but STILL.  I pointed out I had jeans on.   He asked if I quit work.   I repeated I had jeans on and I obviously took the day off.  He looked at me for the first time and said, “So are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

So began the long talk.  I made it quite clear.   Or so I thought at the time. What did he get out of all that?  He could get a bike if he got me one to practice on.   At that point I realised he still doesn’t get the message.   I couldn’t help but smile –  I’m not fooled by his act anymore.  He has no idea that Kaz isn’t a doormat in any shape matter or form and although he may think the backbone is only temporary he really has no idea of the power shift that just took place, which is most likely because it occurred in me.

Later on tonight as is his way he popped into a motorcycle shop.  While hubby was looking around after telling the owner I told him tonight I was taking my CBT so we need a pair of bikes I told him I waited till I knew it was right for me before I told him knowing he’d immediately want his own bike, so the catch is he has to get me one too.  Hubby proceeded to pick his bike and tell me what would be done about mine.  I was having none of it.  No way I was going to have my bum seen on what he picked for me. The owner asked me what I was thinking, told him had no idea really, knew I needed a bike for 34 inch legs and my weight.  Told him a few of the bikes I liked the look of – hubby muttered something like “Oh my God, my wife likes crotch rockets.”    The owner said the bike for me is the Honda Vadangerous – I mean Vandaro .  We had a laugh about that.   He pegged the situation from the start and I gave him the credit. He then put hubby on a bunch of bikes probably more for our amusement than to help hubby – including a Harley which looked pretty funny.   

It was interesting watching hubby try to tell the owner about bikes.   Even in the time we were there which wasn’t all that long,  the owner looked at me and said “He doesn’t listen does he,” three times!  I really laughed when the owner literally stopped hubby and said, “You’re not getting it... it’s like this... If KAZ completes her CBT, then KAZ .... etc.”  I was nearly giggling as he said “Kaz” at least 20 times as he explained the route to the full motorcycle license – there is no DAS anymore, it’s CBT, Theory, Module 1, Module 2.  Restricted to 125 2 years with learner plates on passing a CBT. If Module 1 and 2 on a 33 bHp limited big bike can ride bigger bikes if not two years on a 125 – then can ride anything so most cost effective way is two years on a 125.   He agreed with me the key is bum on seat and need a bike now.  Of course he’s selling bikes and training.   I got the owners card and the details. 

Hubby’s choice for him?   The Yamaha XJR 1300. 

Well not quite like that photo - the bike is like an old style cruiser that has been in a garage for years unused with only 500 miles on it for about £5K.

No, he didn't hand over a card or make a purchase tonight.

Later I found out the Honda Varadero is also  called the Baby V (how sweet)  and is overpriced by about £800 to £1000, hmm, methinks the owner could see my hubby coming. (Smlle).   Granted I’m sure it looks good and all that but not so sure it is the bike for me just yet.  Looking over reviews on the internet it’s generally accepted as a good learner bike with a big bike feel but consequently a bit unforgiving if you’re hard with the brakes, doesn’t like wind, can be unforgiving on cornering badly, looses against steep hills (hmm, where I live that could be an issue) and hasn’t got a fuel gauge.   On the plus side, it’s a great physical fit. There is something to be said for that but I have to sit on a bunch of other bikes, see what a test ride is like, and be convinced yet. But for now that tells me something about the bike I need and for me I’m still on the lookout, because to me it’s too expensive for a two year 125 and only a stepping stone to the real bike.  Still need to do some thinking.

ADDENDUM: In case you're thinking I was fooled, I'm not. I left it as it was because nothing transacted and no point fighting about nothing, and it provided a unique opportunity to see the workings of his mindset - which is entirely ridiculous.   However, when the time arises where taking a stand against him is necessary I shall most likely without hesitation I'm sure.  In the meantime I'm keeping it real and looking after myself - and I know my bike will be entirely my responsibilty - and in no way after this display will he contribute.

120 minutes that changed my life...

Today was my first day of Compulsory Basic Training.  There is a saying, not sure who officially deserves credit for it, but it goes something like if there is something missing in your life, and it’s most likely you.  Today was another day working on fixing that for me and even I had no idea how much fixing it actually would be.   

Anyway I decided to just do it.  Kaz is as she is; she never does anything by halves.  2012 working out to a banner year for that and not even three weeks in.  (There is a big thank you in that to the mates who have helped Kaz back on her feet the first week.)  

I rang around and got some ideas of where to go, but most of the training agencies in our area have gone bankrupt.  The few that are left are struggling.   I happened upon RideSafe.  I have to admit these guys are great.  They have a keen sense of purpose and pride in their school and their students.   More importantly they have a passion for motorcycling that is not only reverent but obvious.  They are supportive and do a very good job ensuring you are totally comfortable with what you’re doing. 

Now - mates of mine - Don’t tell me I’m going to kill myself on a bike, but be assured if I do, it’d be one of the top three ways to go – the other two – fabulous orgasm and morphine.   Who wouldn’t?   OK I’ve had a Suzuki Van Van between my legs for all of about 120 minutes.   Some would think that is absolutely mad.  The fact is the longing for something like, um, nearly 40 years, has been heard and yep, it’s a part of me – without doubt and it’s just been confirmed by that 120 minutes.  Probably makes absolutely no sense to someone that doesn’t get it, but it’s that simple.   That may not be “the” bike, but it’s properly the start of something beautiful.

But me being me – the story itself – well … it’s a typical Kaz one is all I can say.   Walked in to four worried gentlemen’s faces as I had my ballet shoes on my feet and my walking boots in hand.   Saying, “Found it!”  To which the answer was  “You…must… be…Karen.”  Confirmed, I grabbed a pew and promptly removed ballet shoes revealing my Rockstar  Toes (red nail polish with glitter) yes they all noticed when the instructor stared, although I kept my head down I felt all eyes on me  and proceeded to put on my wool socks and walking boots with my long purple shellac nails.  I knew these few seconds mean the summary judgment of what I was in for was taking place.  While I was putting on my second boot discussions about what everybody was going to be pursuing to ride came about.  The older bloke and I wanted bikes and the younger blokes were doing scooters.  The instructor asked me if I was sure I didn’t want a scooter and told him – absolutely sure – bike.  Explained I’d not bought one yet but knew it’d be a bike and I’ll be doing the DAS so I can have the bike I want.   He smiled nervously, as you would expect any seasoned instructor who met a new student to do – let alone it being OTT me.  He wasn’t sure how to take me yet.  I knew that respect was going to have to be earned.

Throughout the course of the morning I heard stories about previous trainees who had cut across roundabouts, who misunderstood signs couldn’t follow directions, how long it took to pass a CBT, etc. One of the trainees was 18 so I know it wasn’t slated against women but suspected the amount of women that had been through this course weren’t as many as men.   As I participated in the discussions, and correctly answered questions I noticed the stories changed and found out the instructor was on the wife’s bike today.  This kind of helped me relax.   I was quiet and a bit shy even for me in that environment, but as time went on I got more comfortable – I knew what I was in for being the only woman, it’s not the first time I got myself into that kind of situation in this country and I’m sure it’d not be the last.  They all began to relax when they pulled out a bike and started going over the bits – and the answers to the instructor’s questions were coming from me and they were right mostly.    

I was earning the right to be interesting always a bit dangerous I know.   I paid attention and took it all in.  They all knew I’d only ever been a pillion, so the first thing after choosing a set of kit was the instruction that I must remember to put my feet down.   I laughed, I knew I’d put my feet down,  it’s the one thing I always had to resist doing as a pillion, but the solution became  hands behind back under the strap immediately holds a posture where feet remain on pedals.  Sitting forward hanging onto handlebars I knew I’d want to put my feet down, that wasn’t what I was worried about – it was the instructor’s story about the woman who never put her feet down who was a pillion that worried me.

Already I had thoughts of the horror story that would be mine.   I’ve been with farmers, foundry men, electricians, joiners, photographers, journalists, and industrial blue collar men since I was born, and I know what they are like, too well sometimes.  There on the training ground with the bike in front of me the fear gripped.  Not fear of the bike. Not fear of the training.  The fear of the nickname from hell.  I could see it looming on their faces.

I got the bike we used for instruction in how to find our way around a bike and I breathed a sign of relief.   It was short lived as I lost the seasoned trainer, who I am sure went to school with hubby and I know from some other scene but can’t place it, when we were asked to  get on the bike and I put up the kickstand first then got on.  First mistake – kickstand takes the weight – don’t be so in a hurry – you’ll regret it with a heavier bike.  I could see all the other women who frustrated him in training in his eyes and felt sorry for him.  Worse screwed up my second chance with the seasoned instructor when asked to paddle the bikes round in a circle and I struggled. 

I took a deep breath and said to myself “You can do this. “  Then R2 announced he’d work with me.     When he asked what was wrong I explained I knew I was going to do something stupid and end up with an awful nickname haunting me.  Once he stopped laughing he told me I was right, and tried to reassure me that all I had to do was get on with it and I’d be fine. 

It didn’t help.

First thing I forgot was first gear.

R2 laughing came up to me and said, “To save you sitting there, wondering why you’re not going to move, try first Kaz.”  I looked up – my totally and utterly female nerves were making R2 laugh.  I could feel my cheeks getting red.  Hands up in admission “I knew I was forgetting something!” I laughed too. Around the track I went remembering to use my rear brake and clutch to prevent myself crashing into the barriers and tires around the edge – returning to the starting position exceptionally proud of myself I didn’t stall, didn’t hit anything and managed to do it.  Ok so it took me four times longer than everyone else… Granny does come to mind.

R2 was still laughing and he had me hop off.  He hopped on.  “I’m not having you go round saying you’ve been here driving like that. Kaz, this is what you look like.” He did a circle around me jaunting and jittering. I went purple with embarrassment.  “I know you can feel it. Let go.”  He gave it back to me.

I hoped on, and started off determined to be smooth and cool.  A sweet voice in my head said, “Have fun and you’ll be fine.”  I stalled the engine and immediately fired it back up and set off again.  Smooth, getting the feel for the bike and around I went.   When I looked over a couple times R2 had a huge smile.  “Kaz, this is about slow control, do it again, WALKING pace.”  Ok somewhere between Mario Andretti (well not really it was still first gear) and Granny I went.  Success a happy instructor!

Then came the bain of every biker’s life.  Cornering.  Worse for me through figure eights.   I know from my mates that cornering is something no matter how long you ride you long to perfect and are always working on.  I wish I’d not thought of that but I did.   It took me several times attempting the right turn and the left turns although happening were like drag circuits in size.  It took R2 saying my determination was phenomenal to remind me of “Have fun.”    I had to do three figure eights perfectly to move on, and each time I’d get through two and R2 would say something complimentary and I’d loose it and mess up the third because I’d start over thinking again.

 R2 laughed and came over to me – after a little chat he realized I wasn’t the type of girl that had to be convinced to like a bike or not be afraid of it.  We discussed determination.  I explained why I wanted to do my CBT and how I was giving this to myself as a birthday present and why.   I explained hubby didn’t know and I wasn’t telling him unless I got discovered until I decided what bike I wanted.   R2 laughed and said he respected that.   He had me do U turns.  I nailed them first go.  Then I nailed the figure eights.   I had to do four cause one I did too fast and had to repeat it showing I could do slow control.

At this point R2 explained he was impressed and I had the feel of the bike – impressive for a first timer and I wasn’t that far behind the others.  I told him I had surprised myself and was happy to do what we could and come back another day.  We agreed we’d get as far as we could and do all the book stuff and save the road for another day so we weren’t rushing for the light (it gets dark up here about 3.)  The only thing left on the bike was gear changes.  R2 explained them; I made him repeat it and made a face.  He hopped on the bike and went round me showing me what he meant.  I knew my face gleamed when he handed it back to me.

Hopped on, and over thought again, looking at my bloody left foot wasn’t I?   Stalling the bike as a result.   R2 came up – said one thing.  “Look up.”   The little girl disappeared and Kaz took over. Next set – nailed them – perfect execution including the turns.  R2 was obviously impressed  and so was I!  R2 said thinking will be the downfall for me – showing and doing will be the way and he doubts I’ll be long off  my license if I keep on like that.

OK I’m paying him for the lessons and he has to be complimentary – I get that.  Granted I’m sure others pick up and do it all in one day but what I learned today sank in properly and I’ll be better for the full run on my own with R2 next week.   Three solid hours on the bike made up of an hour on the test track and then two hours on the road starting from half eight.   The week after is the theory test.  Then I start my DAS.   Yep. Hooked. Forever. In 120 minutes.  Typical female I'm sure.

What's that trucking phrase from years ago?    (ok gotta grow the hair and step up the running...but....on the way LOL)

Rolling on ....