Becoming a Biker, Part 2: Learning to handle the new Harley

This thing might kill me. That thought is on my mind as I learn how to ride my shiny new purchase, an 883 Harley-Davidson Sportster.

Experienced riders advised me to never lose this respect for my bike. Riding is risky, no matter how good you are.

Nearly everyone recommended the three-day motorcycle rider safety training program put on by the state division of motor vehicles for $85. Anxious to increase my odds of survival, I signed up. Plus, if you pass the class, you get your license. That means avoiding the stand-alone test at the DMV.

But the earliest state safety class available was June 3. Who could wait that long?

For $50, the state will give anyone a motorcycle learner’s permit. That lets you ride in the state from dawn to dusk. No experience or knowledge required. Get on and go.

Not that I was in any hurry to do that. Just sitting on the bike and starting it up was thrilling enough. And that’s all I did for a few weeks. Then it was moving the bike a big 15 inches. What a thrill, shifting into in first gear, slowly releasing the clutch, inching forward, and rolling backward.

Next, to the end of the driveway and back. Then to end of the short dead-end street and back. Back and forth, back and forth. As boring — and perhaps silly — as this sounds, it wasn’t. Learning how to throttle, clutch, shift, turn and brake takes a lot of practice.

Finally, the big day. My outing with cars. An experienced Harley-riding friend assured me I was ready to ride a mile to the parking lot at Jenness State Beach in Rye. The big open pavement. She followed behind in an SUV.

For several weeks, she coached me on how to do figure-8s, turns, stops, and shifting at various speeds. Going straight was easy. Accelerating exhilarating. Turning frightening. But still fun.

After becoming comfortable with all this, I took to the open road. Well, almost. A slow 30-mph trip along Route 1A through Rye and Hampton. It was ideal because it’s slow, has a lot of curves to practice on and few intersections. Invariably, a line of impatient motorists would collect behind me.

I find few things natural about riding a bike. It’s not like a car. It involves your entire body. Your hands and feet control different functions, braking, shifting, accelerating. And your body controls things like the bike’s balance.
The open road

On April 17, the mercury hit a record 90 degrees. No one with a motorcycle left it at home. I suited up in full leather armor and full face helmet, and attached the windshield. My first highway ride, a 48-mile commute from Portsmouth to Manchester on routes 95 and 101.

What a drag! Noisy, vibrating and way too dangerous. Cars whizzed by way too fast and close. I found myself envying people in their cars.

Holding the throttle open for the 45-minute ride was painful. Not much different than gripping a vibrating jackhammer. By the time I arrived at work, my right hand ached and my arm was numb up to my elbow. No leisurely ride to work sipping your coffee and listening to the radio. Plus, I missed my morning stop at Dunkin’ Donuts to get a coffee for the office. Bummer.

By the afternoon, the National Weather Service had issued thunderstorm warnings. The rain never came, but the wind did. Ungodly blasts of wind pounded me. My bike blew all over the highway. I gripped the handle bars and hung on for dear life.

I tried to calm myself with words like, “Of course, motorcycles are designed to drive at highway speeds in high winds.” But this one sure didn’t act like it. Who in their right mind rides a bike on the highway?

So what’s next? It seemed like I had done it all: back roads, highway, parking lots. I even began feel pretty cocky about having logged 760 miles on my bike. I half suspected the state’s three-day safety course would be a bore, although experienced bikers assured there was plenty left to learn.

The course was taught by a stout man named Chico, who rode an awesome Harley. He looked the biker part with a shaved head, giant mustache, black leather jacket, black boots and black jeans. In his other life, he is a successful bass player who travels around the world playing with well-known artists such as blues singer Koko Taylor.

Chico, and an assistant instructor named Doug, imparted all sorts of valuable and potentially life-saving information to the eight women and three men in attendance. Some had never sat on a motorcycle or even driven a standard transmission car. Others, like myself, owned bikes and had put a number of miles on them with learner’s permits.

The state supplied the motorcycles: lightweight 150cc and 250cc Hondas and Suzukis. Some were brand new. Others were battle-scarred. Mine was an abused Honda CB125. Most of the red paint was scraped away from the dented gas tank. One rear view mirror was missing. The gear shifter was bent, and a parking light had a missing lens. But it ran great and was perfect for learning.
Real-world knowledge

Chico taught us about the official and unofficial rules of the road. Every day we learned more about how to ride safely. Stuff like where in the lane to ride, how to be seen in traffic, how to minimize the risks such as a car turning in front of you, and lots more. We went over numerous potentially dangerous situations (from oil on the road to a dog giving chase) and how to ride through them. It was all good stuff.

To my amazement, even the people who had never ridden before did great. They stayed upright and balanced. They even rode pretty well for their first day of ever sitting on a bike. In hindsight, I can see it would have been a lot easier and if I had taken this course before I ever got on my bike. Even bikers who have years of experience say this. Many take this course because it has a lot to teach even veteran riders. The state offers advanced riding classes, too, which I intend to investigate.

Everyone in the class had a blast. Occasionally we dumped the bikes, but by the end of the three days, we were all weaving through tightly-spaced orange cones, swerving around an imaginary school bus, accelerating through sharp turns and skidding to a short stop.

The third day of our class was the big evaluation day. Each of us had to successfully maneuver the bike through four exercises: weaving and sharp turns, quick braking, hard accelerating through a tight turn and swerving — all stuff we had been practicing for two days.

We were all ridiculously nervous and jittery. Many of us rode like we never had before, which is to say terribly. We hit cones, overshot turns and such. But we all did well enough to pass by a decent margin.

By the day’s end, Chico handed us all little graduation cards. All 11 of us became bikers right then and there. The real thing. And more.

As Chico said, we didn’t just get our license. We had joined the universal brotherhood of bikers. Very cool.

Here in Northern Kalifornia if you ride a sportster(like I do)you will not be embraced by the big-twin riders and from what I've seen of them I'm not missing much. I'm happier out riding with true motorcycle enthusiasts who aren't concerned with what a person rides so much as the fact that they ride at all.

Those persons scoffing at sportsters always miss several points in doing so. First off they are the oldest H-D model in the companies lineup, been there for 45 years. There are between 4 to 6 models made, I'm not sure how many this year. The mellow 883 is actually a very good beginners bike, it has ample power and won't scare you during the learning experience. Add a set of slip on mufflers and it will give all the requisite sounds that a Harley should. The 1200 sportster is a night and day difference from the 883 and when you do an exhaust and jet kit on one of these, you won't believe the difference. I have a sportster sport XLX1200s. This model has the ballsiest motor H-D puts in the sportster and has even surprised my rice burner buddies how quick it is. If it isn't the quickest stock H-D sold it's damn close. To put things into perspective for those who sneer, my 1200s has the same displacement and put's out more power than the pan head cop bikes used in the movie Easy Rider.

No sportsters aren't for everyone. They aren't great for two up riding, not because of power, but because they're to compact. Two small people will have no problems however. An 883 on the highway doing 70 is a nightmare. Doing 60 is fine but much over that and the vibes get intense. Forget about using the rear view mirrors. My 1200 however will run all day at 70 to 75 without a problem. Yes the vibes are still there, but less bothersome I think than my buzzy rice burner 4 cylinder. Not everyone needs a motorcycle that's 8 feet long and weighs almost 700 pounds(thats a minimum weight for a big twin)unless you're 6 foot 5 and weigh 250 lbs. For me at 5 foot 9 and 185 lbs the little sporty is perfect.

Are we having fun yet?

My first bike was a 1969 Kawasaki Mk III 500 cc two stroke triple, with a full fairing. Supposedly the world's fastest production motorcycle. What did I know about bikes? It was well-taken care of, had low mileage, good tires and the price was right. What was to not like?

Bought on Saturday, I rode from San Diego to LeMoore Naval Air Station the next day, a distance (as I recall), of 500 miles. Hellofatrip for a beginner! Especially in retrospect.

Most uncomfortable bike: "ringy-dingy," drum brakes, didn't turn, uncomfortable seating position, ran out of gas every 100 miles. But God! Was it fast!

I was the world's most polite motorcycle driver that day. I rode like every automobile driver was my mortal enemy. Had to stop and stretch every 50 miles, and of course, fuel (and oil) up every 100 miles.

I knew the bike was quick, but didn't exercise that particular aspect of it's character that first day. Too busy dodging cars and being polite!

The most frightening part (I was too dumb to be frightened on the FReeway!) of my trip occurred about two miles from the NAS LeMoore gate -- it was night (oh, yes! The trip took me about 10 hours -- I was sore for a week after I got there!), and I was booming down the homestretch at about 65 MPH on a two lane road, tired, dusty, dirty, hungry, etc., etc., and saw something in the road up ahead -- there was a freaking horse smack in the middle of the road. Good thing the bike had a halogen bulb and I was on high beam, othewise this budding jet jockey would have been history that night!

Suffice it to say that I learned two things about the bike in a matter of seconds: how to panic stop a bike without falling off, and that the Kawa brakes were not worth a shit!

I did not hit the horse. Several days later, fortified with the prospect of my first solo flight in the A-4, I decided to see what the world's fastest bike was made of. There is a ten mile straight-as-an-arrow road from the BOQ to the Flight Line at LeMoore, and I stopped the bike (at dawn -- I am no fool, dammned if I was going to go fast on a two lane road at night, at least for a while, anyway!), snicked it into first gear, let the clutch out and hammered on it.

Not much happened until the bike "came on the pipe" at about 5,000 RPM, then a lot began to happen: the front wheel came off the ground at 7,000 and carried til I shifted to second at 9,300 RPM (redline), it hit the ground briefly in second, I think (-- Hell, I was just holding on waiting to see what was going to happen next), and then came off again. Shift to third, same thing. Shift to fourth, same thing.

The bike, despite the downforce the full fairing had to be exerting, would carry the front wheel in each gear from roughly 7,000 to 8,500 RPM. And, it was rock steady (remember, we are going in a straight line).

I had to finish this dance, so I shifted to fifth, and the front wheel came off the ground again! At that point I lost my nerve (I never saw red line in fifth) and began to slow down. Never looked at the speedometer, and never did that trick again. Once was enough.

Happy ending. I finally learned how to ride the bike and not get so beat up. The trip from LeMoore to San Diego after my A-4 transition training was over was much more fun and hugely satisfying. I kept the bike for about 1 1/2 years and throughly enjoyed riding it -- sold it only because I was going on cruise and planned to buy a new one when my sea duty tour ended. But that is another story.

Final observation: I had a buddy who was an ardent dirt-biker, and a very good rider. He delighted in riding my KAWA around on the rear wheel. He would bring the front end off the ground immediately and could hold it off through three gears, or to roughly 75 MPH. I never tried that stunt -- my cojones just were not big enough!

My next bike may be a Harley, but before I buy it, I am going to throughly check out the Honda Valkyrie. Heard one once with six straight exhaust pipes, no mufflers, and just loved the sound -- mechanical music to my ears. Can imagine what it would sound like with small reverse cone megaphones on it. Plus the owner said it was a comfortable bike to ride.

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