How many times have we each uttered that banality? It’s true, of course, in the strictest sense. Somewhere in the Lewis family attic there’s probably some dusty Super 8 footage of baby Carl taking his first wobbly steps, 20 years before the Olympic legend claimed his first of nine gold medals, but strict interpretations rarely make the best plot lines.
Here in America we admire hard work and determination, but we adore heroes who burst onto the scene out of nowhere. And we crave instant gratification. We’re not at all like the Japanese, whose ancient martial arts tradition dictates that the student sweep the floor of the dojo for one year before the master lifts a finger to instruct him (and where a candidate for a full motorcycle license must pick the bike up off its side before he or she is allowed to start the engine). No, we like to sign the finance papers and hit the highway to Sturgis.
Why? Because we can. Motorcycle touring isn’t an Olympic sport, and the truth is it’s easier to throttle a 700-pound motorcycle flat out across the Great Plains than it is to back it between your snow blower, the wife’s SUV and the kids’ skateboards.
This summer, while overnighting at a hotel just off the Blue Ridge Parkway, I observed an amusing vignette of modern motorcycle life. Noting two nearly identical H-D Electra Glides parked against a curb—facing downhill—I remarked to Mary Ann, “Do you think those two guys are great big brutes or…just really stupid?”
After breakfast I received my answer—which was “neither.” Two average-sized middle-aged men simultaneously mounted the heavyweight tourers, wearing nearly identical jeans, vests, helmets, club patches, etc. Seconds later a pair of average-sized women appeared in similar vestments and commenced a perfectly choreographed pas de deux, pulling backward on the bikes’ luggage racks, as the men lazily backpedaled. These guys may not have graduated summa cum laude, but they knew enough to marry well.
Of the 4,000 or so new riders I trained back when I was an MSF instructor, I recall only one who ever failed the range exercise, “Walking the Motorcycle.” We nicknamed him “the Human Slinky,” for his bones seemed to mysteriously liquefy each time he grasped the handlebar and took a step forward or backward. H.S. showed no rancor when asked to retire, though I can still see him shaking his head and hear him muttering, “This is way harder than I thought. This is way harder….”
The best I’ve ever seen is my friend Neil Barker, who’s labored as a mechanic for three decades in some seriously overburdened service departments. Neil can straddle the front wheel of a chopper, the rake and trail figures for which it would take a cabala scholar to decipher, grasp the handlebar and slalom it backward through a six-month backlog of broken machines in nothing flat. He’s currently studying to become a yoga instructor.
In between the slinky and the yogi I’ve witnessed
thousands of ordinary motorcyclists who’d get along so much better with their bikes if they’d master a few basic principles—such as gravity. I’ve seen some positively brilliant people—rocket scientists—who somehow failed to grasp the necessity of pointing the front wheel up the hill before backing into a parking space. Did they think U-turns were only for the DMV test?
“I want to take a dirt bike course,” street riders tell me all the time, “so I can get comfortable sliding the bike around.” Well, after a day in the woods, you may feel better about sliding a 230-pound dirt bike on a muddy trail, but if after a day of trail riding you feel comfortable sliding your touring bike on slick pavement, then you deserve either sponsorship or a breathalyzer. Tell you what, though—a day on a dirt bike will teach you something about gravity. Starting with “keep your weight on the uphill side.”
Are you addicted to having both feet flat on the ground? Do you go into the showroom, look for the machine with the lowest seat height available and then ask if the service department can install a lowering kit? Get over it. One foot solidly on the ground is infinitely more secure than teetering between two. Practice with a dirt bike (or any lightweight cycle) will teach you to lean the bike into the hill and dig your sole into the ground, no matter how short your inseam.
I have a drill I use when I’m teaching new riders to start on a hill. Experienced riders rarely have problems taking off on a hill, but parking and maneuvering can be another matter. I’ll bet half of all street riders couldn’t pass the test I give my novices. First they ride up a slope, stop the motorcycle and hit the cutoff switch. Next, I instruct them to release the clutch, keeping the bike in gear. Now most of the bike’s weight is on the back wheel, rendering the front brake ineffective, particularly if the surface is wet and slippery. Use the rear brake, then? Most riders would get pretty rattled trying to back down a hill with only one foot on the ground. What’s left is the clutch lever, so my novices practice modulating pressure on it as they would a brake.
After a few minutes, most newbies get pretty proficient at this technique, so it’s time to learn how to turn the bike around. Soon they realize that by simultaneously:
• leaning the bike into the hill
• sharply cutting the wheel
• planting the uphill foot
• squeezing the clutch lever in
the bike will scribe a half moon, running out of momentum after the rear wheel has coasted uphill of the front. Voil`a! No reverse gear needed.
As an instructor I know my limits,
and I know where a lot of my advice and counsel will go when riders graduate directly from the lightweight trainer to the bike of their dreams. Coincidentally, that repository looks a lot like the custom seats I see on so many bikes these days—big bowl-shaped things, lacking only a brass handle. I know those thrones are marvelous perches for cruising down the interstate for hours on end, but they can also be a source of instability when stopping, paddling and executing low-speed maneuvers. I like a seat that supports me well, but I like them slim up front, between the thighs. In fact, before going to the expense (in dollars and sometimes in handling) of lowering your motorcycle, I would strongly encourage shorter riders to have a qualified foam artisan (not the local car upholsterer) taper the seat’s front section.
Sometimes you just need to get off and push, but save your back, shoulder and arm muscles. A triangle is a rigid figure—the wider its base the more stable—so lean that heavy bike against your hip and form a solid union of legs, ground and motorcycle. You’ll be able to support the weight with your sturdy leg and buttock muscles—more stable for those short of inseam than paddle-walking the bike with your feet mere inches from the wheelbase.
Gravity. Momentum. Practice. Are you gonna practice? Probably not. Because with motorcycles, it’s easier to run than it is to walk. So for those of you who aren’t keen to work up a sweat learning walking skills, I have two suggestions: BMW K1200LT, and Honda GL1800. Both have reverse. Just remember to put your feet down.
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