RSS Parading my stuff
Filed in Blog, RidesIt started with a burnout, and a round of applause.
I counted fifty bikes, mostly Harleys, shortly after my arrival at the Biker Or Not Nor-Cal group’s gather in Stockton. More arrived after I did, and then I lost count. In every direction, chrome and leather stretched out. I saw only one other person wearing a synthetic jacket, but it didn’t matter. I was lost in a world of roaring engines and glittering metal and excitement lay thick in the air like smoke.
A brief ride meeting outlined the requirements and etiquette, most of them being “Don’t run into the guy in front of you.” Everyone beelined for their mount and the first to fire up his engine produced a spectacular burnout with the stench of burning rubber. I have mostly been a solo, his-n-hers or small group rider; I now knew that I was taking my first steps into a different part of Bikertown.
Engines fired, building up towards the final crescendo of all engines on. My bike’s own quiet roar was swallowed by the throb of modified tail pipes, a soft countering to the pulsating rhythm. Two rows of bikes filtered carefully into one, an exercise in team work, eye contact and friendly hand signals. A thrill ran through my solar plexus, replacing doubts and worries. We lined up and, herded through by expert support riders, the fun began.
We shot out onto the freeway. The fast pace was intensified by the need to observe group riding skills, but the stretch was short and soon we were on rolling country highways. When I ride solo or with a small group, I have time to smell the smells and enjoy the scenery; here, I was so focused on the group, so surrounded by riders that there was time for nothing other than my riding skills.
It was with tense shoulders and a deep frown of concentration rather than a bug-catching grin that I started to ask myself whether I should be here at all. Then I caught sight of another rider alongside, sharing a huge grin with me, a complete stranger, and realized that nobody much cared about how I rode so long as I was not being unsafe and causing them trouble. They just cared about being on a ride with the stomach-vibrating sound of engines and the stares from the public at large–grins, frowns, gawks. The kid inside me wanted to shout to them, “Look at me! Look at me!” but they were already looking plenty. ;)
After the mass stop at a local gas station, I relaxed into my ride. We’d been told to ride within our own skill set, and I both passed and was passed. I kept to my own lane, but ran into frustration with a rider who liked to weave back and forth across the lane rather than join the staggered lines. Unable to pass, the group behind me seemed to straggle, breaking up the neat formation. Unsure of etiquette, I hung back until, after a long while, I could pass. I was keenly aware that I was part of a bottleneck, and was embarrassed.
The riding was much more intense than I could ever have imagined. On the one hand the glory of being among so many other riders was just incredible. On the other hand, I like a more relaxed style, the ability to dive across the road to visit a historical marker. There was none of that here. I noticed several other bikes peel off and disappear, leaving the ride entirely. When we reached a set of near switchbacks that wound up alongside a lake, it was harder because I could not truly take the turns at my pace. The pace, here, was too slow, and I had a couple of wobbly, heart-stopping moments until the line got moving again.
Nobody overtly pressured me. My own mind, however, did. It started to ache from all the concentration. I still found time to have fun, but for a first-timer I knew that more practice would be required for me to truly enjoy this kind of riding. I promised myself an out at the lunch stop, where we’d already been told than anyone who wanted to break off would be welcome to do so.
Tiredly, I exchanged grins with other riders as jackets and helmets were shucked off to lie in the sun. We were at Jamestown Harley-Davidson and, while I took a token look around, I wandered into town and bumped immediately into historical markers. I did a little soul-searching in the fantastic Gold Rush town, and then found the interference riders to explain that while I was very grateful for the ride, and happy with it, I was starting to feel overwhelmed and needed to make my own way home. They seemed to think that was a smart move, and accepted my thanks gracefully as they wished me safe travels.
Later, riding to a rendezvous with my husband, I watched ospreys circling over New Melones Dam, with the roar of engines still echoing through my mind.
To see all photographs from this ride, see here.
This post is my submission for The Motorcycle Carnival
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