Humility

There is a common saying among motorcyclists: "There are only two kinds of riders - those who have dropped their bikes and those who will drop their bikes."

The simple truth is that with only two wheels and a contact patch about the size of your palm you will invariably put your foot down on a slippery surface or squeeze the front brake while the wheel is turned, lean the bike beyond its tipping point and find yourself having to pick several hundred pounds of machine up off the ground, which while not impossible, ain't easy.

The good news is that generally a dropped bike occurs at slow speeds, where control is far more difficult and skill far more important, so the damage is mostly to pride rather than person.

There are exceptions to the rule. I once saw a beautiful, very expensive Dual Sport bike loaded with extras - panniers, headlight guards, skid plate, nerf bars - parked outside a store. In fact the extras probably cost as much as the bike itself.

Anyway, I walked toward the bike and thought "Wow. This rider must have some stories to tell." But as I got closer and started really examining it, I realized there was not a scratch or dent on the bike - the paint was impeccable, the fixtures highly polished, and the tires barely used. As I looked it over the owner came out and I learned more: it was a three year old model with about 1200 miles on it and the owner proudly declared "It has never been dropped."

No doubt, Sunshine, since you only ride the thing from your momma's house to the store. The dude had probably spent more on soap and polish than on gas and oil. I have never understood why in the world someone would buy a fine bike like that and never ride the thing ... who does s/he think is impressed?

But enough of my rant for the day. You get the point -if you have done any riding other than straight lines you have, or will, drop your bike. And my own experience is that you usually drop it at the most humiliating times.

Like when I had traveled several thousand miles in all kinds of weather on all kinds of roads and not had a single problem. Then I pulled into my daughter's house and being tired (a bad sign) thought I would pull up the steep drvieway onto the narrow sidewalk flanked by my son-in-laws carefully manicured lawn/flower bed to unload the bike. Nothing like saving yourself ten steps ...
You guessed it. I headed up the steep drive, didn't keep the RPM's high enough, tried to turn too sharply to avoid the posies, started to wobble, squeezed the front brake and suddenly found myself rolling down the steep driveway with 700 pounds of motorcycle sliding down behind me. The good news is that the bike stopped and I kept rolling.

There I was, with my bike laying on its side in the driveway with the tires stuck up in the air like a dead possum. Daughter Carly came out, looked at the bike, shook her head, and went back inside. I had begun to hope the "dad is an idiot" stage had passed ....

Anyway, there was nothing I could do about it because of the angle of the drive (did I mention how steep the sucker was?) until my six foot something, 200+ pound son-in-law got home to help me pick it up soo I went inside and waited.

And you know, it is amazing how helpful folks want to be. In the following forty-five minutes no less than five neighbors stopped by, rang the doorbell and asked "Do you know you have a motorcycle laying in the driveway?"

Really? It must be those pesky Schnauzers down the street - always getting into mischief! Arrggh!!!! Of course I know it ... I'm the idiot who dropped it there, thank you for reminding me!!!!

When the bell tolled for the sixth time I picked up a bat and with murder in my eyes opened the door ... only to find a guy standing there grinning. "Saw the bike. Did the same thing myself last week. Need some help?" Rage subsided, we picked up the bike and I was saved from further curious inquiries as to the location of my motorcycle (though I think the children did have a conference to see if they should petition to have my license removed).

A year passed with no further incidents and the season for my annual road trip once again rolled around. First stop this year was other daughter Ashley's house in San Diego. The ride was good (although VERY hot) and the final stage along Highway 78 absolutely beautiful. Got there with no problem, pulled into the steep drive (carefully), unloaded the bike, changed clothes, and then thought I would just run down to the gas station and fill her up. So down the driveway I headed (did I mention how steep it was?), saw a car coming, turned the wheel ever so slightly and squeezed the front brake ... yep, you guessed it. Down I went, followed by more head shaking.

No wonder my wife and kids worry about me when I hit the road. Everytime they see me it is with the bike on the ground.

Thank God I only have two daughters ....