Sorry for such a long start to this, lots of back story!

Sometimes I have the patience of a saint; other times I’m like a kid the night before Christmas. For the last 3 months, I was definitely feeling like the latter. Twenty-four hours ago I was bouncing off the walls, a surprising feat since I’d gotten almost no sleep the many nights before. My bike was finally coming home. My very first bike.

Flashback to the years prior, I was always fawning over import cars. I’ve got dual stacks of tuner magazines sitting about 3 feet high each. It was more of an obsession than anything, although a closet one at that. Being the stereotypically poor college student, I could barely afford to splurge on the magazines in the first place, much less the content inside. I also shied away from the scene, for my modes of transportation were Transit Tom and my father’s jeep. There weren’t many girls my age interested, while the guys were… well, you know how they are.

All that shifted one day on the way home from school. The long bus ride home likes to put me to sleep after a tiresome day, but a deep rumbling sound outside the window caught my attention. Figured it was another tuner freak with a fart can exhaust, but to my surprise, a motorcyclist sped by. He wasn’t doing anything crazy or spectacular, he just going with the flow of traffic. But to me, it was absolutely fluid and amazing.

When I was younger, my grandfather used to cart me around town on his little 90cc bike. I absolutely adored it and proudly told my parents I’d get my own motorbike someday. But as the years went by, that feeling was squelched by the end results of squids, or Hell’s Angels affiliations. Motorcycles were for those who had a death wish or criminal record. Even though my grandfather was a pastor. How quickly we forget…

Fourteen years later, in that moment, I felt that childish rush take hold again. And hold it did. As soon as I got home, I went into infamous college student research mode. It’s deadly, I’m telling you. Wee hours of the night, coffee in hand, I poured through every website, forum, and PDF available. I take this time to thank Google, the greatest search engine ever. I told my father of my intentions and findings, and all he could say was “Oh no, not this again…” My eldest half-brother was obsessed with bikes and used to litter my father’s garage and driveway with them and their parts. Although knowing of my tomboyish nature, he said he didn’t expect the motorcycle bug to surface in his youngest. And daughter at that.

“Why a motorcycle?” My father finally asked. After spending countless days cramming basic information into my skull, it all began to desert me. And all I could come up with was, “Why not?”

Apparently that was a suitable enough answer. For the time being, anyways. More determined than ever, I researched, read, and relayed this information to trusty old dad. Here in Manitoba, you have to do a written test, which then permits you to take the mandatory motorcycle safety course. After successful completion of the course, you are rewarded your beginner’s motorcycle license. Unfortunately for me, after I had written the test, I discovered that they had no more MSF classes available until next spring. Six months, to be exact. So I took this time to try to discover which bike would be best for me.

The most important thing (to me) was the size of the bike. I’m 5’5”, so being neither short nor tall, I needed to find a bike that would fit. I’ve had and heard many people explain to me that the weight of a bike does not matter, but I am the weakest weakling that has ever walked the earth. Majorly lacking in the upper body strength department, I needed something small and not cumbersome. And not a scooter, thank you very much.

The import tuner in me not completely forgotten, I was immediately drawn to the sport bikes. They were small, yes, but those tales of squids gone wild kept resurfacing. Until I reminded myself that it’s not the bike that acts like an idiot, it’s the rider making those idiotic decisions to ride like an idiot. Still a little apprehensive, I decided to take the internet’s counsel and look into what is probably the best rated beginner sport bike: the Ninja 250.

I’ve read every page of the FAQ (faq.ninja250.org, for those interested) and heeded every piece of advice they offered, save for one. I couldn’t find a used bike in my area. By now Christmas had come and gone and the last stretch of winter was coming to a close. Riders new and old were stirring, I among them. A new season at last!

I took my dad “bike hopping”, as I called it. It may be the year 2008, but there are still some salesmen that don’t take women seriously. Also, seeing as my dad was a mechanical supervisor, he could supplement the questions that I’d forgotten to ask or didn’t think about. My first stop was Honda for their CBR125. I liked it a lot, but my mind was still set on the Ninja. If I ever move up, I’m definitely considering the CBR600. Dad said I should get the Goldwing and take the dog for rides on it, haha.

While running errands on the Easter weekend, I found myself on the other side of the city. Realizing I was only 10 minutes away from the Kawasaki dealership, I headed over there and saw the ninja for the first time. A bright red 2008 250R, and sitting beside it, a blue 2007 ZZR-250. I think from 2000-2007, Canada got the ZZR version of the 250, slightly different than the ones from the United States. I sat on both and loved them! Small enough for a weakling like me to control, yet big enough to hold its own. They were both brand new, and both the same price. The salesman was a great guy, unlike some at other dealerships I’ve been to. He told me they had four 250s left: two red ’08 250Rs, the blue ZZR-250, and a black ZZR-250 still in its crate.

“You have it in black?”
“Yep, hasn’t been touched.”

I practically had to wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth as I imagined it. Black with silver embellishments, wow.

As I drove home that day, I realized I’d forgotten to get tickets to the car and motorcycle show that was happening the next weekend. The Kawasaki dealer said they’d also have a display and some bikes there. Realizing that after the show, the bikes would be snapped up immediately, I went back as soon as I could to make a deposit on the unseen, untouched ebony ZZR.

I started acquiring gear after that, a black and silver HJC helmet, black and silver gloves, black and silver Joe Rocket textile jacket. All matching my bike. It wasn’t intentional, actually. I wanted the white version of the jacket I chose, only for greater visibility out on the streets. The MSF course signup was made available and the first class filled up quick, but I managed to get the last spot available!

Papers and payments made, I noticed that most of the bikes were either gone or sold. All four 250s were accounted for. I knew that if I hadn't put that deposit down earlier, mine would've been gone too. The only issue left was getting the bike home. The dealership is a 45 minute drive from where we live, on an extremely busy highway filled with semi-trucks. There was no way I was going to ride it home, even if I scheduled the pickup to be after I got my license. There’s a big difference between parking lots and 80km/h highways. We couldn’t tow it, so we scheduled to have it delivered the weekend before my training course, so I could get a feel for the controls.

I still hadn’t seen my bike, and between then and three days ago, I was wondering if I’d made the right decision. Maybe I would get bored of the 250 soon? Should I have gotten the 2008? Should I have went for the 500? I began to doubt my choice, which is a little saddening.

Thursday afternoon at the dealership, I was led to a back warehouse. Dust covers sat on most of the bikes and we walked to the very end of the building. The salesman slowly lifted the white sheet off of my bike and I almost gasped. It was absolutely BEAUTIFUL. All those second guesses were flung out the window as the goofiest grin spread across my face. I was in love.

research pays off in the end. hope all goes well with your new toy!

_________________


2006 Kawasaki Vulcan 500 LTD
CMC 049

Wow Amuli! You sure have a way with words!
And a woman on a bike is awesome! I'm happy you found your bike and in such a good condition. Congratulations and welcome to the world of biking! Now's the time for you to join the HA, learn to wheelie, and learn to run from the cops!
Enjoy yourself, and visit here often!
Wrider

_________________
Have owned - 2001 Suzuki Volusia
Current bike - 2005 Kawasaki Z750S
MMI Graduation date January 9th, 2009. Factory Certifications in Suzuki and Yamaha

Thanks a lot, though I'm going to keep both my feet and bike on the ground and hopefully out of trouble!

-----

Well, I took a break to do some yard work and other chores, so time to pick up where I left off:

Friday night was cruel, as hard as I tried to get to sleep, I could not. My bike was arriving within hours and I couldn’t stand the wait. The one time I did manage to fall asleep, I woke up at three am. I gave up afterwards, succumbing to my DVD collection to help pass the hours. I never knew time could drag so slowly.

Thinking seven would be a reasonable time to start waking up the household, I started getting myself ready. Make up, earrings, and all. It was pretty funny: I was dressing up for a bike. I doubt it would’ve cared had I been in naught but a bathrobe and bunny slippers, but I felt it was the least I could do to be somewhat presentable. To the delivery person and the bike.

Thinking the night before was bad, I was dead wrong. That morning was painful. I sat beside the phone, aimlessly flipping through my manuals and playing with the keys. Waiting for the call. Luckily, it came when I wasn’t brushing my teeth!

I was told they’d be here in half an hour. The entire half hour I spent gazing out my window, straining for the slightest glimpse of my new toy. Half an hour came and went. “Where is he? Did something happen? What if something happened to my bike?” After a few sleepless nights, you’d be thinking a little crazy, too. Just then, an unfamiliar vehicle drove up my street, towing a slightly familiar item. My bike, although gratefully bounded by endless straps and hooks, had finally arrived.

The bike unloaded, the delivery person paid, I then rushed for my camera phone to get those obligatory oh-so-important first shots. The brochure, my phone, any camera doesn’t do this bike the justice it so greatly deserves. If there is any bike that absolutely NEEDS to be seen in person, this one is it.


The second I saw it, I knew I had made the right decision.



Such a pretty little thing!



Puppy taking a nap in front of my bike? Why there?



I love how the ZZR stickers on the sides aren't silver, they're reflective. I also love that it doesn't have 250 written all over it. It looks a lot bigger than it really is!



It looks so small from behind!


Following the impromptu photoshoot was the starting of the engine. I pulled out the key that I’d placed in my pocket eons ago, gently nudging it into the ignition while adjusting the choke. I took a deep breath, turned the key, and pressed the starter in hopes that my bike would do the same.

Nothing.

I cringed. “What’s wrong? What did I do? It’s not broken already, is it?” The glaring red button on the right handlebar was staring me in the face. I guiltily looked up at my expectant parents. Their eyebrows arched upwards, wondering if the bike was truly the good idea their daughter somehow convinced them it was.

“Oops. Engine kill switch.”

Fixing that, the bike roared to life. The neighbours stared, the dogs barked, and that ear to ear grin returned.

I made the decision to acquire my bike before the training classes so that I could get a feel for the controls, which I assumed I would have the most difficulty with. I have never ridden a motorcycle before, and have only driven a manual transmission car once. And badly at that. My worst fear is to fall behind the class and be asked to withdraw. The course is a non-refundable $350 with a long waiting list. Not only is that an amount I’d rather not toss carelessly into the wind, but who knows when I’d be able to take the class again.

With that in mind, it was time to practice! The bike now turned off, I straddled it and pushed it into our grassy backyard. I figured that if I was going to drop it, it would probably happen sooner than later and that the grass would be much more forgiving than the concrete driveway. I’ll admit it, I did almost find the “point of no return”, but with much effort I managed to keep the bike upright and intact.

While straining along, I realized that I won’t ever need a bike bigger than the 250 I have now. My current self couldn’t manage anything heavier, that’s for sure. This insight made me even more ecstatic! After I had finally made it to the grass, I attempted to put it up on its center stand. Step down, pull bike back. Looked easy enough, I’ve watched videos of it being done, and the wonderful salesperson did it himself to show me how it was done.

“Step down, pull back… why isn’t it moving? Come on bike, move!”

Ten minutes later of struggling and nearly dropping both myself and my new toy, I admitted defeat. So it’s too heavy for me to put it on the center stand by myself. A slight disappointment, but now I’m REALLY glad I didn’t go for a larger bike. With a careful shove from Dad, the bike was up and I was on it. Going through the basics, Dad coached as I tried to keep track of whichever gear I had switched up or down to. Putting the bike back down was the easy part, but now it was time to put the bike into first gear for real.

While waiting for this day, I looked for videos or information about typical beginner mistakes and this one here stuck out in my mind: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fa3pt6ngjJ0

I could just imagine myself and the bike flying across the yard. So I did the complete opposite. I put the bike into first, slowly released the clutch and refused to give it any gas.

Stutter, stutter, stall.

Surprised that it didn’t go as planned, all I could do was shake my head and laugh. But three attempts later, I was rolling for the first time.

Motorcycle Course, Day 1 of 3

Wednesday was the big day. I figured that we weren’t going to ride then and it would only be classroom work, but I brought my gear anyways. It was about 10 degrees Celsius out (50F), so it wasn’t the best nor worst time to be outside. I ended up taking the bus, because the location of the course was just down the street from my college.

We were a fairly large group, a full class of 32 students of all ages. It was very balanced, though I found there were a lot less people my age. I’ll take a guess that the average age was 35-40, but everyone was so friendly that it didn’t matter. Everyone had different experiences. The younger guys were mostly dirtbikers, the older women mostly rode with their husbands and wanted a bike of their own, then there were the ones who were experiencing their “second childhood”. I haven’t quite let go of my first childhood, haha.

The evening was full of instructional videos and PowerPoint presentations. Just coming off of 8 hours of practically the same thing at school, my mind wandered at times as the dull parts rolled on. Luckily, I had already seen about half of the videos on YouTube or other safety websites. Near the end, we finally went to the back of the building where the bikes were kept. We were shown the controls and parts of the bikes on Kawasaki Eliminators and Buell 200s. Having a sport bike of my own, I was naturally inclined to gravitate towards the Buells, but I decided to go with the eliminator. It was lighter, smaller, and apparently more forgiving. I told myself that the last thing that I wanted to do (besides fail) was to drop a bike. Though if I were to, I’d rather drop theirs than my own.

Coming home, I couldn’t wait for the weekend to roll around.

Well congrats on finishing the first day!
Just so you know, those Buells there are actually 500s... But yeah, good luck with the Eliminators! They're light little bikes! *All those with experience picking up dropped ones, sheepishly raise your hands*
Wrider

_________________
Have owned - 2001 Suzuki Volusia
Current bike - 2005 Kawasaki Z750S
MMI Graduation date January 9th, 2009. Factory Certifications in Suzuki and Yamaha

The Buells are a bit less forgiving than the Eliminators, especially when it comes to jerky clutch work many new riders have. The Kawasakis are nice bikes, but the forward controls take a bit of getting used to if you don't have experience with them.

_________________
Practicing the dark and forgotten art of using turn signals since '98.

Motorcycle Course, Day 2 of 3

From the very beginning of the week, I begged, prayed and pleaded with the weather gods for a bright, sunny, and warm weekend. The weekend I got my bike was absolutely beautiful, the first time the temps hit 19C/66F.
Maybe I should have offered a sacrifice, because the weather gods took no notice of my cries and decided to shower us with ice and snow on Thursday and Friday. Temps dropped to -10C/14F, and being practically coldblooded, I wished for them to cancel and reschedule the class. The weekend was supposed to be slightly better. Only slightly.

I could barely sleep Friday night. I kept my eye on the weather channel and listened to the wind howl outside. Saturday’s Weather Forecast: High of 3C/37F in the late afternoon, grey and overcast, high winds from the north at 35km. Light snow expected. In other words, this was a day where you didn’t even look out the window. You stayed home and only went outside if absolutely necessary.

This was the day where I learned how to ride a motorcycle.

Dressing appropriately, I somehow managed to throw on 2 pairs of socks, long underwear, heavy pair of jeans, 2 tank tops, 2 long sleeved shirts, and a heavy wool turtleneck sweater. I felt the need to put on more, but it probably would’ve gotten rather difficult to move at that point. I was mostly worried about my hands, because they get so cold so fast and I could only wear a thin pair of gloves underneath my motorcycle gloves. I did the best I could, though.

Arriving bright and early at 8am, our group of 32 was divided in half. Lot A and Lot B. Of course, I had gotten Lot B, the one furthest from the building. And windiest because of that. I chose my bike and went through the pre-ride checkup. We walked the bikes out single file, and as soon as I stepped outside, I was nearly blown over by the wind. I had only walked about 30 feet and I’d already almost dumped the bike! Luckily I regained my footing and headed out into the maelstrom.

When we made it to the lot, our instructors informed us that we were allowed only three drops. After that, we would be asked to leave. I told myself firmly that I was not going to drop the bike. They then went over the course and bike details, but by the time they had finished and got us to start our bikes, my hands were frozen and numb. This was bad.

If they had given out an award for “Student who stalled the most”, it would’ve gone to me. Now, everyone says that they stall a lot too, but they don’t believe me when I said I stalled at least 150 times that day. More often than not, I would stall trying to find the friction point to get the bike to move. Every single time. And at least 4 times in a row, holding up the students behind me. Why? Because I couldn’t feel anything because of the cold. The clutch control required for all the slow speed activities we did, I could barely manage. My worst fears were being realized: I was falling behind the class.

We took a break after every hour and a half or so. I would dash to the bathroom and run warm water over my hands to thaw them out. It was excruciatingly painful, but it was the only way to get my fingers moving again. I kept asking myself if this is what I really wanted. By that point, I didn’t know anymore and I was on the verge of quitting. My only consolation was that I hadn’t dropped the bike, but that meant nothing now. All I felt was that it was a big mistake; I just wanted to go home and crawl under a warm blanket. All I could concentrate on was how cold I was, missing key information from our instructors at times. In the end, all those layers couldn’t keep out the bitter biting cold and my shivering started to affect my handling. I felt even worse as an instructor pointed out that I should’ve dressed better for the weather. I told him that I was wearing as many layers as I could. I may have been born and raised in Northern Canada where the winter temps could hit -50C/-58F, but there were vast forests to block out the wind. Here in the city, you don’t have that, and I’ve hated these winters more because of it.

When the day was finally over, I felt so relieved. All my muscles had started to cramp up painfully because of how tense I was in the cold. The drive home was a world of hurt as I daydreamed of hot soup, a hot shower, warm blankets, a cup of tea in front of the TV while yanking up the thermostat to the highest setting. Sunday was supposed to be warmer by only a few degrees. I wasn’t looking forward to it at all.