dreams of grandeur, the rookie driver ~ 2016, 5.19

 

After some e-paling, this Vietnam Vet pursueded me to ride pillion on his 2014 Dyna Switchback with 10,000 miles that he put on it. He had an endorsement, insurance and a sissy bar. Though he'd only been riding for 4 years, this was his second bike. He takes the rider courses, is a member of H.O.G. and has the ride patches to prove it. I was reluctant, even when he stated that he rides his bike to work every day, regardless of weather. He had never had a passenger before and he was set up for riding 2Up in hopes of finding a ride partner. He was convinced he was ready to take a pillion along. After a couple of coffee shop meet ups, seeing pics of his bike,  I agreed to join him and go for a ride on the lesser traveled roads in northern Vermont. To give him a chance and to get a long awaited, first ride of the season.

  He arrived promptly that afternoon, and looked still taller than his slim 6'2" in his all Harley apparel. A new H.O.G. patch on his textile jacket with reflective Harley emblem across his shoulders were literally gleaming. He was  leathered-up in all black jacket, chapps, gloves, lid and boots. I noted these elements of his "uniform"  as I'd not ridden with such a brand-loyal enthusiast ever before. Still, he maneuvered casually in my dirt drive way, getting the bike ready to roll out. I wore all the gear as I just didn't know his skill set. But he was not careless with the bike so I felt good to go.

  Getting on was a challenge as the sissy bar was taller and wider than I was used to. Even as I mounted from the pillion peg, it was difficult to swing my off-side leg over the obstacle. My MS has weakened my right leg especially to make reaching over the high back rest tough. I placed my left hand on his left shoulder to get steady but he just folded to his tank assuming that's what I wanted when I leaned my self forward to perform the barely graceful mount. That's when I remembered, I would be his first passenger. I would be teaching him how to accommodate a 2Up ride. I would help him live his dream of riding a Harley with a passenger behind him. Seemed doable and within the spectrum of my patience.  So I showed him how to hold the bike, the bars, and sit steady, for me to mount. After a second try, I settled into the comfortable pillion seat; we were ready to roll out onto the traveled lane.

  We opted to go  right out the dooryard  and then right again at the junction to head north on 108. Recently resurfaced, not much traffic and no stops until rte 105, it was eighteen miles of scenic, uneventful riding. He was living his dream and I was taking pictures, as always. He often checked back to ask how I was doing... "he couldn't feel me moving, am I ok." Answering in an encouraging voice, "...I'm good, you're fine, you shouldn't feel me move..." At the northern junction, just a few miles from the Canadian border,  we rolled onto the burg's main street. And I do mean we rolled. He never really stopped at the sign to go right. Slow and wide, barely in his lane, he throttled the silver bagger onto the main drag.

  In fact, he did not stop completely at any traffic light or sign, anywhere on the journey. He would just creep through them. On one portion of road, we were behind a school bus making multiple stops. He would nearly touch his tire to the bumper each time the giant yellow transport would halt to let a student off. "Dude, if you can't see his mirrors, he can't see you. If he starts backing  up for a K-turn at the town line, you - WE have no where to go." Next stop was a hard front wheel stoppy; the only thing keeping the back wheel on the ground was my 148 lbs of pillion. "Dayum dude, you need to start breaking sooner with a passenger on." spoken in my patient voice. This stopping style would repeat itself at every hard stop. These were not playful boob jams, they were abrupt halts. Even after a couple stop lines, he couldn't improve the technique. Maybe if I had let my lid smack the back of his, he would figure things out. But I opted not to addle him; I want him to improve not panic.

  When we did finally stop and park for a moment, he dismounted to stretch and get our bearings. He thoughtfully claimed to "not want to throw you off the bike..." I emphasized that would not happen. Getting hit would throw me off the bike, not driving normal like. "ride your ride, passenger will adjust." He was astonished, "how do you hold on? the seat strap?" "no" "the sissy bar?" "no" "how do you stay on?" "inertia... my hands are on my camera, or on you if you're stopping , you feel my hand on your back so I don't slam you, right?" He was "afraid of going too fast, that I'd fall off...." "...I'm good up to 80mph if its a good road for it. Momentum  keeps me on, physics hold me there...I lean how you lean."

  Remounted, he struggled to back the bike out, paused the awkward effort then pondered driving across lawn and over the curb. Please don't! He struggled to find neutral and then he couldn't find the gear he wanted to drive off, and he said so. I wanted to say, "one down, everything else is up..." but the pillion doesn't tell the driver how to drive. It was clear, he had avoided the more challenging, low speed  skills, essential in motorcycling, throughout all his years and miles. I recalled my failures in the BRC, fast and straight was easy but the slow, throttle control, parking lot speeds would end with me dropping the bike. The ride was becoming worrisome for me; an unfamiliar feeling building inside my core. I need to feel safe on the bike and off it when depending on my driver's skills.

   To myself I ponder, how is it that someone with 4 years and 10K miles doesn't know how to stop? Later I would find out, he rides to work every day on the same roads, the same turns, no new routes. It's hard to develop deft reflexes when there are no surprises, nothing to sharpen one's spontaneous skills on. Like a skier taking the same downhill trail every time, their abilities get stuck in that rut of same-old, same-old.

 We chose a quieter road home and he reveled in the scenes and my company. He was living a dream, although with unpolished, marginally unsafe skills. Turning right onto the final 15 miles of country road to my farm house,  he took the easy right hand turn so wide and slow he was in the oncoming lane. Dayum, I won't fall off unless an oncoming vehicle hits us! I shook my head saying a quick prayer to get home; its all direct, just sweepers and zero stop signs or intersections. While I accept that we could get hit by space junk, or an errant driver, I do not accept that my biker chauffeur's inexperience could cause us to go down or die.  I spent the remainder of the ride puzzling how to convey to him that he needs practice, way more practice before carrying a passenger.

  Rolling along steadily to my drive way, he opted to blow past the right angle turn into my door yard. He didn't turn at the small sandpit parking lot a short way ahead either. He motored to the end of my bucolic byway,  where he should have stopped for the north-south thru traffic of that state road. But he didn't. He slowed, put his feet down and power walked to the southbound lane, in front of a northbound tractor trailer. Shite! WTF! While the trucker slowed to allow him to pass, I felt a red fury rise in my face. He throttled the half mile to the round-a-bout and made the necessary right turns to get back to my driveway so he could enter with a smooth-ish left hand turn.

   I realized with a shudder, he doesn't know how to make a slow right hand turn up a dirt drive way. He doesn't know how to execute a proper, smooth stop with extra weight behind him. He doesn't know how to take a right hand sweeper without leaving his lane and crossing the center line.

 I'm not an expert, I don't drive, so I feel that only suggestions can be offered; its the silent rule for a pillion. It was obvious to me, that turns were problematic  because he didn't look far enough ahead, his field of vision was too close so he tried to steer his bike rather than lean into the curve of the turn. He was not a master of his machine. And maybe worse, he doesn't know that.

 I want to encourage him to get the polish he needs; to master every skill he will need on the traveled lane; to ride as a passenger with a skilled friend so he can feel the ease of the ride....when its a practiced driver. Motorcycling was a gift to himself for quitting cigarettes and  surviving cancer; he wants to be part of that life, he wants a passenger to share that dream. But I don't want to risk myself in his learning curve.

  This is where I realized, I do not wish to teach someone how to ride with a pillion.  I don't want to suffer from their mistakes. Just because someone is a good guy doesn't mean they are a good driver. Since 2008,  I have been privileged to ride with very skilled operators. They make driving a motorcycle look effortless.  To them I bow down. And to this rookie, I must back away, with a low wave and good wishes for his dreams of grandeur.

peace ~ resa