On March 16, 2008 I completed the Motorcycle Safety Foundation’s Basic RiderCourse. I had never ridden a motorcycle before the course, but passed the final test missing only a few points for crossing the boundary of the U-turn box. On March 17, 2008, I endeavored to ride my sparkling new 2008 Ninja 250 home from the dealership.
San Francisco isn’t a large city, the ride from the dealer to my apartment comprising a mere ten miles of surface streets. Though to put that brief ten miles into perspective, I noted that after completing the MSF course the trip odometer on my borrowed Rebel had just barely ticked off twelve miles over two days of “riding” (more like “idling in a playground”). The ten miles between the dealer and home, insignificant now, were at the time intensely intimidating.
On the bike, out front of the dealer, I repeatedly stalled the motor for probably ten minutes, struggling to take off between clusters of traffic. The slight uphill slant of the road was enough to give me fits, though getting started proved to be the only major hurdle. By the time I’d reached the first stop light, I recall marveling at how comfortable the fit of the Ninja was in contrast to the comparatively awkward saddle of the MSF Rebel. The Ninja’s upright position, slightly canted forward over the handlebars felt at home to my body accustomed to mountain bike commuting.
My anxiety seemed to inconspicuously vanish–it didn’t lingeringly fade, it didn’t suddenly disappear, it just felt as if it’d never been. I traced the coast via the Great Highway without incident. And as I approached my apartment’s drive, I rode past. Ten miles wasn’t enough. I stretched the ride to twenty-some-odd miles to the office, and then enjoyed another twelve miles home. By the end of the first day with my Ninja 250, the bike had gobbled up forty miles.
An unforgettable start to what would be a defining year of my life.
I didn’t start riding for the lifestyle, expected it’d be a mere casual pastime. But during the past year with my Ninja, I have…
- …traveled 7,500 miles…
- …gone as far north as Stinson Beach…
- …as far south as Santa Cruz…
- …as far east as Sacramento…
- …and as far west as across the street (it’s just beach and Pacific Ocean after that)…
- …chased a Tesla Roadster through the Santa Cruz mountains…
- …spent more time in San Francisco proper than I had in the previous four years of living here…
- …worn through the stock tires after roughly 7,000 miles…
- …had a faulty odometer replaced under warranty…
- …run out of gas once, about a quarter mile from home…
- …taken the car to work fewer than a dozen times…
- …ridden home through a hail storm…
- …changed oil four times, synthetic at the third oil change…
- …almost dropped the bike three times, twice because I forgot to put down the kick stand…
- …locked the rear tire three times, twice in the rain, once when a car in front of me abruptly stopped for an emergency vehicle…
- …narrowly avoided two accidents to left-turning cages…
- …got clipped by a Volvo in Pacifica and didn’t go down…
- …pulled zero wheelies…
- …never dragged knee…
- …averaged roughly 50 mpg…
- …encouraged three friends to take MSF…
I imagine it’ll all become inconsequential with time, but it feels like it’s been a big, important year, and I’m glad I lived it. Motorcycling is, in my estimation, the best thing in the world.