I’m not sure how I forgot, really. I mean, you don’t usually forget. But somehow over the course of the last 10 years, I forgot.
Motorcycles of the world, I sincerely apologize. I love you.
This weekend I went back to school to get my motorcycle endorsement. Again. I had it about (cough, cough) 10-15 years ago when I had a motorcycle named Gloria. She looked a lot like this – but maybe a little less pretty.
I sold Gloria at one point and moved away and then lost my endorsement through a series of moves to different states and no motorcycle to ride.
I’d been eyeballing Vespas off and on for a bunch of years, but the trip to Europe made the longing for two wheels and an engine even stronger. So after doing responsible, grown-up things with my bonus/tax return, I signed up for class.
Now, Phoenix weather dictates that non-masochistic people take this class outside of the months May-August. Sitting outside for 5 hours at a time with no shade in the blazing desert sun on a hot engine is just plain moronic. I hurried up and signed up for class. But hell, even mid-April was 94 degrees.
Anyhoo, basically this class sets you up with 1) a wee bike to ride, 2) necessary accoutrement – helmet, gloves, 3) skills instruction and testing. This is obviously awesome if you don’t already have a bike. They have a range of styles – Rebels, Ninjas and a handful of other bikes with equally badass names. Lest this need to be said, that’s really f*ing cool.
On the weekend classes (1 Saturday, 1 Sunday), you do some classroom time in the morning and spend your afternoons honing your skills. Upon passing the class, you’ve skipped over getting a learner’s permit, and more importantly, bypassed having to test at the DMV. Because no one wants to spend a second more than absolutely necessary at the DMV. Pass the class and you have your motorcycle endorsement on your license and some skills you wouldn’t have acquired on your own for quite some time. Which is exactly what I did.
Upon my return home Sunday evening, my poor dear neighbor was subjected to Denise Huxtable-like behavior (about at 8:30 in the video) . Needless to say, I was stoked. Now, where’s my Hog?
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