April 28, 2013
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| Leesburg Bike Fest_2013 |
Stopped by my mechanics shop on Thursday:
Me: “Hey Jerry, are you guys riding up to Leesburg?”
Jerry: “No, we aren’t. You going?”
I’ve struggled with the concept of ‘going’ to Leesburg Bike Fest since taking delivery of my Bessie2. Last year I never made it; I was scraped off the pavement and airlifted to ORMC with severe head trauma.
Me: “I don’t know....I haven’t decided yet.”
Jerry: “You need to get on that bitch (Bessie2!) and ride it up to Leesburg! Stare that demon down and overcome the fear. Ain’t nothin gonna hurt ya.”
And there it was....my fear. Since taking delivery of Bessie2 the second week in March, I’ve stuck pretty close to home. Very cautious rides, back roads, avoiding a number of places I normally would go....because I was still afraid, still reserved, still taking baby steps.
“You look at where you're going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you've been and a pattern seems to emerge.”
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Jerry - my mechanic - is about as ‘Old Skool’ biker as a person gets. He’s no more than five feet tall, he resembles Billy Gibbons of ZZTop with a scraggly white/gray beard hanging midway down his chest and stringy locks of hair that gets lost in the collar of his ‘X-Tech’ work shirt. His voice is gravely, he has been wrenching bikes for so long that grease is permanently embedded in his hands; his speech is succinct-he doesn’t feel a need to elaborate - his comments raunchy but sincere. I love this guy; he is a Grease Monkey God and now Sprocket Wrench Prophet.
“Get on that bitch and ride - stare the demon down.” And that’s exactly what I needed to hear from someone like Jerry. He knows me, he knows how I love to ride, and he knows the accident set me back.....back too far.
I left my usual Friday night dinner with the Council of Ladies and headed up to Leesburg; I decided it wasn’t going to be Saturday - it would be Friday - less traffic (see....I’m still making amends, taking it easy.....PUSSY!). I took the ‘back way,’ 33 to 19 and then 441 on into Leesburg. It was a gorgeous evening to ride!! I had that little knot of apprehension laying low in my gut, but the gauntlet had been laid. The Sprocket Wrench Prophet had spoken....’get on that bitch and ride - stare the demon down.’
There were a lot of bikes on the road, the air was fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms, and Lake County is the usual feast for the eyes. I cruised around 441 with the heavier traffic, passed up the obvious party goin on at Dockside and Gator Harley Davidson....I was on a mission. I planned to ‘ride that bitch’ down Main Street and then head home.
Leesburg Bike Fest has grown tremendously; not near the size of Daytona, but the Leesburg Main Street attracts 300,000 people for the three day weekend. I could sense the rumble and excitement of Main Street a mile away; I glided into the stream of bikes exiting off 441 to make our way down the crowded street. This bike event is still ‘small’ enough that bikes not only line the street, but a row is allowed to park in the center as well.
I had NO trepidation easing Bessie2 into the throng; its always a thrill to ride down the Main Street of any bike event. I will admit a narcissistic rush with all the attention...and Bessie2 and me command a good deal of attention. It’s the biker equivalent of ‘walking the red carpet,’ cameras snapping, people hooting and whistling, admiring stares. What women - especially one my age - wouldn’t bask in that??!
And then it was over. We were at the other end of Main Street and I was on ‘dreaded SR 27, ‘ Bloody 27 as its often referred to. I planned to take it home - if fear is the demon then 27 is the head of the serpent; and I hadn’t been on it very far, certainly not at the intersection where it happened, since the accident. By now its dark - I’m starting to second guess my sanity - but I squeezed the throttle and headed home. Traffic was fairly light and the night air was relaxing. As I got to the intersection of 27 & 19; I literally started hyperventilating.....and wasn’t able to control it. I gripped the handlebars so tight I’m guessin my knuckles were white; I kept hearing Jerry’s voice in my head, ‘stare the demon down,’ and my friend Billy who once promised me, ‘I won’t let nothin hurt you,’ and I concentrated on the kinesthetic effort of operating the machine - squeeze clutch, shift, release clutch, squeeze throttle, check mirrors, and repeat. I think I held my breath half way home, exhaling only when I pulled in the driveway - it was nearly 10p-I had been up since 4am.
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| "Own That Bitch" |
I sat in the drive, listening to the soft tick of the engine cooling down, the silence of the night engulfs me, only the familiar night sounds of my neighborhood, and I say ‘Thank You God’ for safe passage. And I feel a relief, I feel a weight lifted, and I know I’ve crossed that line. That line that was holding me back. There is a difference between ‘purchasing’ a motorcycle like Bessie2 and ‘owning’ a motorcycle like Bessie2.
I went to bed euphoric, and I slept, really slept like only a content mind can. I awoke on Saturday knowing I had looked fear in the face and ‘stared the demon down.’ I rode back to Leesburg, back down Main Street, and racked up over 500 miles this weekend....because I own that bitch now, we became one.
“The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn't any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it's right. If it disturbs you it's wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed.”
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