motorcyclemeditation.com

Riding back from the East End, pondering how useful it is to have a bit of experience.

These thoughts prompted by memories of my first motorcycle. Brand new, buffed up with a soft cloth after each journey. A big day duly arriving, riding to work for the first time. A business park with wide windows, all inside watching, at least feeling that way.

Riding carefully. All going well. Pushing the motorcycle backwards into a parking space. Trying not to be conscious of everybody looking. Locking the motorcycle. Bright yellow disk lock, its coiled plastic cord getting in the way, what’s that for, don’t need that, just disconnect it, stuff it in my pocket.

Settling into work. Every couple of minutes, glancing through the window at the motorcycle. Its parking space selected especially for this purpose. Also for attracting the admiring glances of others. Gleaming in the sun, an object of beauty. Serene in repose but suggestive of agility and power.

Multiple conversations, oh wow is that your motorcycle, you passed your test, gee looks powerful. Yes, nice isn’t it, can’t chat really, need to get this done. So, not just an exciting motorcycle, not just a hint of dashing carefree fun, also a rider with becoming modesty.

Friday afternoon, early leaving for me. The office still full. Motorcycle kit donned. In the window, the reflection of purposeful readying. Engine started, helmet strapped, gloves velcroed.

Motorcycle already at an angle for the corner. Might put on a display for the admiring multitude, pull away like someone with a big weekend plans.

Reaching about three miles an hour. The disk lock doing what disk locks do. The standstill absolute. No way on the planet but for the motorcycle to go down. Left leg trying to hold it up, no chance. Kangaroo hopping away, tripping, ending up butt down on the concrete.

Motorcycle on its side, engine screaming. Colleagues running across the lawn to help. Others following.

Still squirm at the memory. Bloody disk lock.