(Or A-Ha Moment # 65)
So during the practice run for a recent beginner motorcycle class, I fell. Hard. Scraped up my elbow (road rash is the proper term, I believe) and ruined my favorite DKNY jeans that fit “just right.” I knew this was going to happen. But I was hoping it wouldn’t.
If you do anything in this life besides take up space and breathe, accidents are going to happen. The first thing we learned in the class is one of the (several) reasons accidents occur is because we take risks. The higher the risks or the more risks, the more likelihood that an accident will happen; not “guaranteed to happen,” but might, probably, could possible, etc., happen. I can dig it.
Leaving the house in the morning, that’s a risk. Going to college, applying for a job, starting a business, falling in love, getting married, having children—all involve risks small and great.
Twenty minutes after my fall, I was thinking about President Obama. The audacity of his hope; how dare he think he could run for President of the United States and win. Wasn’t he, “scared?” He is African-American… And now he is going for a second run, too?
I do not know why President Obama wants to be in charge of this country. He’s running one of the most powerful nations in the world, taking on an infinite number of problems—many of which he knows he may not be able to solve, and there are a great deal of people who dislike him simply because his skin tone is dark. It is the latter that really baffles me. As an average African-American man, he would have the usual issues—specifically, racial profiling; but as the first President of color, those issues are multiplied and morphed beyond the imagination. As a reservist of color who serves this country, I am sometimes called nigger or discriminated against by people whose freedoms I have to defend. So I fully understand about, “doing what one has to do,” despite the circumstances. Still, our President puts up with an unbelievable amount of bullshit while facing a lot of risks.
Now, I am not comparing my motives to learn and master the motorcycle to the President’s reasons, whatever they are, for wanting to be America’s leader. Nevertheless, President “O” does the job as if he is taking care of his own family and our very lives depend on the decisions he makes. He does not all seem concerned with the risks to himself. My hat is off to him for courageously and selflessly wanting to make the world a better place.
My thoughts turned back to the motorcycle. Even before the class, I knew this shit was dangerous. But on the first day, it became more real. Sitting on the motorcycle, starting it up, putting it in gear, easing off the clutch and ultimately letting go; balancing, adjusting speed according to traffic—there is a lot of shit happening on two wheels! Still, the bike does what “I” tell it to do it goes where “I” tell it to go, etc. Basically, it is a serious game of, “Simon Says,” on wheels, as it were.
Forty minutes after my fall, I was excited again. Inside I’m screaming, “All right, Lady, let’s get it. Fall again if you have to, dammit!” Was I actually inviting another impromptu meeting with the pavement? Indeed, I was. No worries, that feeling passed after a while—later that night when I was sore and nursing my lumpy knee. Still, I was no longer as fearful as I was before I started the class. Humble, yes—not that I was ever arrogant or cocky in believing I would never fall. Respectful of the bike, (double) hell to the yes!
And am I ready to fall again? Indeed, I am.
Dedicated to my late Dad, Rudolph Clark, who rode a motorcycle as long as I can remember, and fell one day—but he got back up and rode again. Thanks, Dad!
