The Dutch Uncle Speaks
THE DUTCH UNCLE SPEAKS
UP FRONT
Allan Girdler
When I first read the letter reproduced ere I thought I already had the answer, ome time back we got an appeal from a id whose parents didn’t like motorcycles, gave him all the free advice he could use and ever since I’ve used that answer for what I define as family problems.
But this one is different:
“Dear Cycle World,
“It all started when I was coming round this corner. I was in the parking lot ¡ear my apartment, playing around with ny friend’s Honda CB360, trying to get he hang of being on a motorcycle. My /ife was watching.
“I’d gotten to where I could get through he corners without slowing to a crawl and fool that I am) I tried taking one of the orners a bit faster. And found myself on a ollision course with a trash barrel. It eemed easier to lean it more and go round than use the brakes. The bike idn’t seem to want to do what I asked but managed to get past the barrel.
“When I was leaned over, struggling to prce the bike to my will, I heard my wife.
“Screaming. She is really afraid I’m oing to hurt myself on a motorcycle.
“A few months ago Mr. Girdler menoned that motorcyclists accept the risk ~ riding, that they realize they can bring )e risk factor under control.
“But what about your family or friend ho don’t accept the risk? I want to own a iotorcycle very much, but I don’t want ty wife worrying about me every time m two minutes late riding home from ork.
“And I definitely don’t want to hear her iream again.”
Name Withheld
The name has been withheld and a few etails changed because I am about to disard my usual warm and supportive aproada. Taking a line from my pal Dr. Know-It-All, this guy really should have known better:
Dear Withheld,
There’s family and then there’s family. When I first began writing about such problems I had in mind the classic case of kids and parents, the process of growth and change. Kids have to learn, to take chances and tackle things they haven’t done before, while parents have to accept—this doesn’t mean they do. I for instance am a terrible worrier—that kids try things they don’t know how to do. Wondering if the kid knows how to ride that thing and why isn’t he home yet? is part of the job. You grow out of it, so to speak.
Your case is different. We’re dealing here with marriage and marriage, by definition if not always in fact, is for adults. Each party in the contract is entitled to expect a certain competency from the other party. As folk wisdom puts it, she didn’t take you to raise.
Think about your wife. She is a normal woman. There’s no mention in your letter of her father the retired flat tracker or her brother the club motocross racer. She has no first or secondhand knowledge. What does she know about motorcycles? If she watches movies or entertainment television she knows by her own eyes and ears that throwing a leg over a bike transforms the rider into a drooling beast, a slavering degenerate, a cowardly assaulter of the helpless. If she watches educational television she knows that every kid who ever took a ride is now imprisoned in a wheelchair.
She’s heard from her friends. When my wife was pregnant she was distressed and amazed at the limitless supply of horror stories. In every neighborhood there’s at least one woman whose niece “looked just like you. She died after 27 hours in labor.” The same goes double for motorcycles. Say the word and there’s always a supply of people who can hardly wait to tell about their tragedy. Why? I don’t know. Same reason soap operas are so popular, I guess; other people’s suffering cheers us up.
No two people learn to ride in the same way, but all learners share a certain amount of confusion. Most of us can remember situations like yours. Later, when we know enough to watch other bikers, we see awful sights, other people doing what you were doing. It chills our blood. Poor devil, we think, hope he gets home in one piece.
That’s about people in whom we haven’t invested one dime. When we do have an emotional investment, as in kids, for example, it’s much worse. I know how to ride and I worry anyway.
Work backwards from here, considering that all your wife knows about bikes is bad, that she cares about you and that you don’t know what you’re doing.
Your wife has every right to scream.
You’ve done one thing right. You’ve decided that motorcycle riding is fun.
Everything else couldn’t have been more botched. You’ve made the donk’s mistake of assuming that a motorcycle is just like a car except it has fewer wheels. Driving a fast car well can be an art form. Just driving any car is something any halfwit can do. And does, witness the traffic! around you.
Motorcycle riding isn’t driving. Motor] cycles require skill, balance, reflexes ana intelligence. Some people shouldn’t do itj because they aren’t capable of doing it right.
That isn’t your case. But first, get rid of your pal. Would he strap you into his powered hang glider and point you down the runway? Would he hand you the engine key to his Ranger 37, throw in a Boj? Scout compass and wish you a good time in Tahiti? Would he take you to the top of the slope, show you the expert’s trail, strap on your skis and give you a helpful shove? No? He did the equivalent when he turneq you loose on his bike.
You need to learn right and the worsi way to do that is from a friend who probaj bly doesn’t know right. If you are a person who can take instruction, sign up for aj course approved by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation. Try the dealerships, the junior colleges, the military bases. Failing that, or if you just plain don’t like being back in school, this magazine has published an excellent how-to book, avail able through the mail or from your loca newsstand shortly.
Get good equipment. A certified helme; that fits. A leather jacket, stout boots and gloves and real—rather than disco—bluj jeans. Go and learn how to ride.
Meanwhile, keep your wife out of this Let her know what you’re doing, but don’ let her see. Don’t brag and don’t complair
Remember the Wizard of Oz? He couldn’t bestow wisdom or courage, but he did have a supply of diplomas and medals You’ll never prove you won’t get hurt. She may always worry. She does, after all, care about you and we all worry about those we care about.
You can prove that you’ve been trained by certified instructors. You will have passed a tough test and you will have £ license, so when you ride up to the house you will look right and act right. You wil be the man she married and she will b<j proud.
Oh, one more thing before you rid< home. Get her hat size. You may need t< buy another helmet.
