Racing

I've never thought of myself as a racer. I'm not very competitive; if I'm playing a game and the other team is losing, I'll help them out.

So when when good intentions and circumstances and stuff landed me in the 24 hour race at Starvation Ridge, I didn't know what to expect from myself. I'd finally gained some traction with getting faster on a dirt bike; rather than taking 4 times as long as Nathan for everything, I'd done a poker run in only double his time. I'd gotten a little experience on a Motorcross track under my belt. And when I volunteered, I made sure to offer the info that I'm a dependable rider, I love to ride, but I'm slow. 

Come race time... I wasn't nervous, per se, until Nathan came back injured on his first lap. First there was getting him off to the hospital, then there was waiting for the next rider to get back... Our second rider came back with a broken bike. 

Nerves were on the ride at this point. Nathan had been sabotaged and advised me to let people pass... Our next rider had the most bent handlebars I'd ever seen and lost his shifter. Still waiting for number three to come back, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.

It's time. I get onto the track, and it's ok. Not easy, not hard, just manageable. For about 20 feet. After a couple turns on dryish ground, there's deep rutted mud next to a pond... The middle was a mess..  My brain screamed right or left, slowing me down, and I went right... Slower and slower and stopped. My bike, even with me off of it, is standing upright in the mud. Hm. I try to bulldog it forward. Nothing. I try sitting all the way back. Nothing. All the way forward? Nothing. It came down to lifting one tire at a time out of the sticky mud, while I

sunk and slid. No one said this would be easy.

I'm less than a half a mile in, and I'm wiped. Onward I press to a side hill by yet another pond. Brain overload... What are the rules for side hills? Don't stop? Too late... Time for another energy drainer as my back tire tries to pull me into the pond, and I lean off the trail to let other riders pass. Kicking the bike precariously perched on a hill, lifting, pulling, and after much time, finally getting it over the next mound used beyond my energy reserves. 

Thoroughly exhausted at this point, I ride forward, to see the one mile marker. I think I've been on this course an hour and gone a mile. What should I do? What is there to do except keep going?

So I did. After a few more miles of just poking along my energy came back. I was stopping to let other riders pass me, not wanting to spoil their fun (remember the not competitive part?) and especially not wanting the same fate that befell Nathan to come upon me. My fear radar is what gets me into trouble. Eventually, I picked up speed. It was a good thing too; the obstacles needed speed.  And eventually I got tired of just letting riders around me. I'm a racer, I have as much right to be on this course as anyone; I'll leave space, but j don't have to stop and make space for every other racer. 

I got to the old farm house; score! I've got a mini bike and my handle bars fit through the doors! A hill, a crest, and a downhill with rocks at the bottom... I've been warned of this hill... I gulp, and go for it... A little target fixation and a tap on the front brakes, and wham! A face plant into the rocks is my first fall. Pull the bike up and go. So many hills, so much mud... I hit the mud a little too slow... And my bike fishtails me into my second fall. Ok. Faster! I go faster and my bike tosses me over the handlebars. Ok. Got it. Medium speed. 

I remember the first check point, but I don't know where it goes in this story. It was about 9 miles in... Almost half way... I think I can do this. There's eventually a second check point... 

There's a stretch of flat gravel... Flicking up gears... 3rd, 4th, 5th... What's that structure over the path... Oh, it's a turn! Slam on the brakes, downshift a couple gears, pitch the bike into a lean, roll on the gas... It worked! See, I have been listening when Nathan is talking... I just lack the balls to do these crazy moves on purpose!

The miles are growing... 18... The course is only 20 miles... I'm going to actually finish! Before the race, we were told that the easier (though longer) paths, were to the right of any intersection. I see Nathan on a bank, waving me right, so I don't miss the turn and have to go through the flooded underwater mud whoops! I'm almost there! Woo hoo!

Back at the pit, the next rider takes off. I'm so relieved; I'm not hurt, my bikes in one piece. I say apologetically that I don't think I could do this ride at night; I feel a bit like I'm letting the team down. I get my time; three hours and twenty minutes. Well, that's almost triple Nathan's time with an injured shoulder, but that's ok.

I wanted to go back out in the morning, but the storm the night before had drowned the course; one of our night riders bikes broke down, and the other was stuck for hours. I didn't wake camp at sunrise to see if someone else wanted to ride or to give it a go myself, and our team did not finish.

I think this is where I'm learning what racing means to me. It goes beyond the fun of challenging yourself on a trail. It goes beyond only pushing yourself to do better than your last ride. It means pushing yourself to do things you don't think you can because you are on a team. It means learning to care about the numbers; not just your time or number of laps, but how you compare to others. Are you contributing or holding the team back? And if it's not a team event, how do your skills measure up to others? It also means reexamanimg decisions; I won't do the race again without a little more structure and a plan of what to do; a planned team meeting to decide how to end the race with enough time to execute that plan.  Because I learned something about myself. I'll forever wonder if I could have done one more lap, helped our team finish. This wonder will be assuaged by someday finishing the 24 hour on a team, but it will never go away. 

I was not ready to race in the 24 hour, but the only way to find that out was racing in the 24 hour. If I do it again, I go in eyes wide open, knowing it will test me, and preparing myself to meet that challenge. 

on 'taking myself' places

I've noticed an interesting phenomenon in myself.  When we were on our honeymoon, and I arrived at Yosemite, I felt an amazing sense of accomplishment.  I had "taken myself" to Yosemite.  You spend your life having people take you places.  This is a good thing; let me take you to the movies, to my favorite resturaunt, on a hike.  But, as my husband will surely attest, I am a very independent person.  And taking myself to Yosemite for the first time was meaningful.  The honeymoon continued, and this phrase forgotten, life went on.

A few months later, we moved about 300 miles away.  The day we moved all of our belongings, it became obvious that me riding my motorcycle down rather than trailering it was a practical option due to space.  Always excited to ride, I definitely put up no argument to this idea.  As I rode south behind two trailers full of our possessions, I had a lot of time for reflection.  This idea of "taking myself to our new home" was front and center.

Riding a motorcycle is the ultimate in independence.  You can have people teach you, it's always nice to have people to ride with, but ultimately, you are the one watching the road or the trail, you are watching the cars as they move themselves obliviously around the tarmac, you are watching for people's eyes, subtle shifts in tire position, erratic behavior, oncoming vehicles, animals, pedestrians, and debris.  Additionally, for a verbal processor like me, there is the conversation going on between different parts of myself.  There is the watchful part, ever careful of the drivers around me.  There is the excited gleeful part, that seems to almost always be present on a motorcycle.  There is the mindful part, checking in with my physical being - am I hungry? thirsty? tired? sore? anything that may dull my senses?  And there is this other part.  I can only describe it as feeling completely connected to my sensory experience.  The sights, sounds, smells, feelings, and sometimes tastes are so vibrant when riding. And it's just me.  No one is having the experience I am having in that moment, and it's nearly impossible to share moment to moment experience as I am encapsulated in the bubble of my helmet.

At times, especially off road, I become faced with my inner monsters; the fear monster, the anxiety monster, the embarrassment monster, and the I don't know how to do that monster.  Again and again, I face these monsters, again drawing upon my independent spirit to take myself back to the truck; often, there is little other option.  And recently, starting to ride a dual sport, not only do I get to face these trail monsters, but I get to take myself to the trail, and back home.

I find myself needing to feed my independence.  I don't want to be an island; I love people and connection.  I adore my partner who celebrates my independence and takes it in stride.  I have found two big things that feed this independence: being a therapist and riding my motorcycle.  I have learned that there is an interconnectedness that intermingles with independence.  On my bike, I am still part of a larger riding community, evidenced by the waves of fellow motorcyclists.  I am part of the societal contract that gives us rules for the road.  I am always part of a family, whether or not they are with me at the time.  As a therapist, I am always only a small part of someone's life.  They too, brought themselves to my office in some fashion.  I am always part of a team, and part of the larger helping community.  Yet in both of these instances, it is my compass that guides my decisions, helps me to decide when to reach out for help, and guides me toward fulfilling my dreams.  I take myself to unexplored territory, confident, independent, and always connected.

changes, attachments, and goodbyes

I keep writing and deleting this post.  Perhaps because I haven't learned the lesson from what is currently going on in my life, I am unable to coherently communicate my thoughts.
 
It is a season of change.  My daughter, (I was going to call her my baby girl, but she is such a stunning  young lady, I can't call her that) is going off to college.  My role in her life, that has been steadily and gradually changing, will suddenly will change completely, in ways yet to be seen.

As this change is happening, we have made a decision to move closer to my hubby's daughter, and settle down in Oregon for a while.  Yet I remain skeptical of the idea of settling down and growing attached.  We have been nomads for three years, spending every other weekend in homes 250 miles apart.  The idea of living in one place, making friends with neighbors, and starting high school support over again is exciting and somewhat surreal.

Three years ago, I made a decision to buy a town house, feeling as though that was a permanent settling and I could get attached, here I am, leaving again.  Even in the midst of that purchase, my life was starting to change.  A new and permanent relationship was forming, and has profoundly changed me in ways I could never have imagined at the time. 

Through this relationship we have kept and made friends in two places.  How do you say goodbye while you are still profoundly connected?  We're not actually going far enough not to see people again, we are just going far enough to change the faces in our day to day, week to week contact.  I have always made friends that while we might fall out of touch for a while, put the close ones back in a room together, and we are bonded as if we talked yesterday.  This will be a telling time; who are those friends?  Who will fade away, cared about from a distance, and who will remain connected?  This will depend on an area where I have worked to do some personal growth.  The area of the healthy goodbye.  I have, in the past, let people drift away as life has changed.  In reality, a healthier goodbye would reclarify the relationship, would honor what has been, and would be realistic about moving forward.  It would force me to look at my own wants and needs in a realistic manner, and share them with those important to me.  My best practice at this has come from my therapeutic relationships, where I have forced myself to communicate clearly and intentionally about the reality of those relationships.  My worst has been with friends, where I don't want to acknowledge that things are changing, and let myself believe I will find a way to help them continue.

As I write this, I am reminded of something I have said before.  I attach to people, not things.  And I think I protect myself from fully feeling the changes in these attachments by not participating in healthy goodbyes.  Which brings me to the next part of the changes and goodbyes.  I have made a decision to buy a dual sport motorcycle.  This, in itself, has me over the moon excited.  Not only will I ride on dirt, not only will I ride on street, but I can ride on both WITH THE SAME BIKE!  Imagine the adventure opportunity this opens up!  Yet, one girl cannot own three (plus the geriatric one that hasn't yet been fixed) motorcycles.  One girls husband bears too much responsibility for motorcycle trouble shooting and maintenance because this girls learning curve is steep.  And this girl is a practical one, who doesn't want to leave a bike sitting in her garage when someone could be canyon carving or commuting on this delightful little machine.  So this girl must say goodbye to her first street bike.

It is much like parting with a first love.  I remember the first day I sat on this motorcycle, given to me by my dear husband.  I am tearing up thinking about it.  I rode it around the apartment complex at 8 miles an hour, terrified of hurting it. This is not a machine; this is a relationship.  The motorcycle cannot stay separate from you, it must become a part of you.  I remember the second day, going from my morning "top speed" of 17 miles per hour to riding down Maple Valley Highway at 55.  What a feeling!  I remember naming her Angel, due to her white and sparkling beauty.  I remember coming home with my daily confessional of the mistakes I made riding every day. The only ones who really knew were my baby ninja and me.  I remember passing my motorcycle test with my baby ninja.  I remember riding every day, no matter the weather, to get myself ready for whatever may come on my honeymoon.  I remember my first experience with hypothermia, my brain slowed, my motor skills slowed, and I didn't really even realize I was in danger.  The baby ninja was so forgiving of all of these mistakes. 

Then there was our honeymoon ride.  Traveling 3500 miles on the baby ninja, riding on what Nathan called the best roads I will ever experience on my life.  I remember taking her to the Lost Coast, where she proved her nearly off road capabilities and I went from being afraid of transitioning from gravel to pavement, to cornering on a road that was falling apart, uneven, sometimes gravel, and unpredictable.  I remember the baby ninja zipping through the Mohave Desert, 105 degrees, 30 mile an hour cross wind, hot hot hot.  The baby ninja is so willing, so ready, so excited to have fun all the time. 

I tested my new motorcycle last night.  OMG was it fun.  I felt like I was being naughty, and might get caught; I was riding a dirt bike on the street... But it's legal!  And, I was a little awkward; I rode a long time to find a space I felt safe to turn around.  I slowed down too much on curves, and felt a little top heavy.  The gearing was all different, and the turn signal is small and a little sticky.  All things I will adjust to over time. Or fix. Then I got back on the baby ninja to go home, and OMG, was it fun!  I have bonded with that bike, I know it.  We work together to figure things out.  I don't have to think, my body and the baby ninja are connected.  It's a flow experience. I know I have not pushed the baby ninja to the fullest of her abilities, because I haven't reached the fullest of mine.

Yet, I have peace with my decision to part with the baby ninja and start a relationship with my new bike.  I'm already planning the mods, the care, the possible changes of color.  I'm daydreaming of adventures the ninja couldn't go on.  I'm ready for the ninja to continue being loved and adored by someone who wants to love and adore that beautiful beloved little bike, while I start over with a new friend. 

Farewell baby ninja.  Have many more adventures, teach more people to ride, be wonderful and reliable. I will be grateful for the lessons you have taught me. And hello new yet to be named and nicknamed bike... Oh the fun we are going to have!

The Hill Climb...

A cool thing happened yesterday. Besides being on a dirt bike all day, that is. We found a really fun (read muddy, steep, rocky, v-notch) hill climb in the woods. The guys went up, one by one; some with more success than others, some with better form than others. The first time I tried, I fell half way up, laughed, had help turning my bike around, and coasted back down. Which gave me an appreciation for how steep the thing really was! With all the guys at the top, betting against me I heard later, I tried it again... First gear, wheels spinning, pushing my bike over the top with my boots, victory was mine! Much cheering ensued, pointing at my slick mud packed back tire, and a high five with my fiancée; I felt on top of the world. 

It's no small feat to look at a mountain and think "I can get up that." I reflect on times in my life that I just put it in gear and got through it... Baby in college, kiddo with cancer, grad school, divorce... Life changes give you the option of getting through or falling apart. Even with the guys betting against me yesterday, there's not a one that wouldn't help get me out of the woods injured or ride my bike up something I couldn't handle. Knowing this gave me the courage to try. Life is the same way; because I've always had people in my corner ready to lend a hand if I fall and cheer when I succeed, I look at opportunity and say yes. Want to try something new? Yes. Want to meet someone new? Yes. How about a life style change? Yes. Oh that didn't work out? It's ok, you'll figure it out. We're here when you need us. (Which yesterday, I totally did later, but that's another story.) I may not tackle things with style and fineness, but you know if you ask, I'll say yes, and I'll give it 100% of my effort, I'll laugh when I fall, I won't blame anyone else when things go wrong, and I'll be grateful every moment for the love and support of those around me.

This may or may not give an idea of this feat. 

Darron got video! 

http://youtu.be/gVmwWN3naow

Meme for the day...

The Tulip Ride....

Talk about a great fundraising idea.  Let's get on our motorcycles, grab some bagels, get a couple of adorable movie stars who ride, and raise some money for The Humane Society and The Red Cross!  Ok!  Let's go!  Sunday, April 27th, was my first group street ride.  It followed a sleepless night, where I almost bailed on the ride, but I am ever so glad I went.  First, it was nice not to be the beginningest beginner on the ride.  (The poor dear with the messenger bag... I don't know the story, but he or she seemed to struggle to keep up!)  But that wasn't the point.  This was a ride to bring the community together and have a good time.  And it was truly amazing to crest a hill on I5 and see bikes as far as the eye could see.  It was cool to ride the back roads as a group; to look behind me and see the same tinted orange windscreen the entire ride, without knowing who that windscreen belonged to.  It was fun at the tulips to have someone come on up and say "thank's for letting us in on the freeway!"   When you are with other riders, there is no shortage of things to talk about.  We compare rides, bikes, dreams, and adventures, as well as mishaps, close calls and past accidents.  We liberally give out unsolicited advice with the best of intentions.

And then we face the weather.  Rain or shine, around here, riders are riding.  On our way home, we saw sun, light rain, heavy rain, and hail.  And then sun again. I suppose somewhere in this ride there were tulips.  Nathan and I got a cute picture in front of some. But it reinforced the idea that the destination is never the point.  Sure, it was nice to have a hot dog and pop.  But the real reason for going is the ride; the tourist attractions simply happen to give us a reason to stop for a bite to eat.

Which I find to be a wonderful (though needing often repetition) life lesson.  When we get too focused on the shoulds, the musts, the fantasy, or the plan, we miss the beauty of life rolling by.  We forget to enjoy the stunning views, the intense smells, and the earth vibrating under us.  We look at our phones and miss the deer, we are so busy working on our calendar, we don't have time to go for a walk, we worry so much about the future, we forget to enjoy the moment.  That day, I remembered that life is a journey, not a destination.

City Hall...

Tuesday night, we were at Cycle Gear, and a guy said "check out our meetup.  We're going to City Hall Thursday for Taco Thursday."  Thursday came, we decided we had some free time, so off we went! Enjoying the back roads from Kent to Enumclaw, we wound our way, with only a couple of U-turns, and arrived at City Hall.  Where we found 3 sport bikes, a triumph, and about 837 Harley Davidson's.  Ok... Now, when we did the tulip ride, there were hundreds of bikes of all makes and models.  It was amazing to be out with so much variety, and feel so connected.  At City Hall Saloon, while everyone was super nice and the taco's were great, there was not as much diversity.  It was a bit strange to be surrounded by motorcycles, and feel a bit out of place.  The entertaining part was that it did feel just like a movie... Live band, lots of beer, beer bottles clanking in the garbage, and leather and tattoos everywhere.  It was fun to be outside with the band, watching the bikes come and go past on the side roads.

I don't know that I have a great lesson from this story, but if you want good tacos, great music, and lots of chrome, go to Taco Thursday's at City Hall Saloon in Enumclaw.

First overnight motorcycle trip...

Yesterday (ok, this post is slightly delayed), we spontaneously decided to walk the dog, hop on our motorcycles, and see where the road led.  I knew highway 2 was supposed to be beautiful, so I found a way up there using all the windy back country roads.  We got up to highway 2, headed east, and enjoyed the beauty.  After a while, I pulled over, pulled out a map, and said "where should we spend the night?  Leavenworth!  Back on the road for the highway 2 fun.  If you haven't been to Leavenworth, it's an adorable tourist town that Nathan could tell you the history and geology of, but from what I know, there are lots of pubs, during October fest, there are polka bands on every corner (which is actually like four, because the town is so small), there is amazing food, wine, and BEER!  Here's a picture that I snapped really quick; doesn't begin to capture the magic.

It was a little over three hours, taking the long way there.  The mountain pass was CHILLY!  By the time I got there, I had nearly forgotten how to use the clutch and brakes.  And my hands didn't really want to move anyway.  But it all worked out.

This morning, I found out about day two tiredness.  I was lethargic, slow moving, slow thinking.... Basically a sloth.  A sloth with a brunch date.  In Seattle.  So I counted on a shower, tea, and the rev of the engine to wake me up.  It did.  We went back the "short" way (only 2.5 hours).  

Today created an inward journey.  I suppose until the last two weeks, I've had an underlying apprehension about our honeymoon trip.  12 days is a long time to spend on a motorcycle, especially for a new rider.  In the last two weeks, I feel like I've graduated from a new rider to a rider with some things to learn.  This trip was awesome; it really let me practice what the 12 day trip will be like; from t-shirt weather to heated gear as warm as it will go weather, from long, boring freeway stretches to mountain pass curves; from commuters to Sunday drivers.  And I got to feel, and overcome the second day lethargy.  The soreness, the brain tiredness, and, on the plus side, the increased skill.  

The inward journey was about the curves.  Riding a motorcycle for me has been a series of instructions that don't fit very well together.  I've gotta ease off the clutch and roll on the throttle, counter-lean in the slow turns, counter-steer in the fast ones.  Chin toward wrist, weight on which peg, you want me to turn a blinker on and off?  When?  With which hand? But as it has come together, the brain has created a special path for the bike.  Curves bring my eyes to a new place, relax my body into a lean angle, and automatically adjust my speed.

As I have gotten comfortable, I can see how all I am doing is balancing the forces in motion.  So much like life, if you are proactive and know how to balance, it will feel smooth and natural.  But when things strike you suddenly, you have to make quick yet careful corrections.  But not matter what, the forces in motion want to stay in motion, and forces at rest want to stay at rest, and in life, it's knowing which adjustment to make in order to maintain balance.

I am a motorcyclist...

I had a strange realization the other day; due to extraneous circumstances, I drove my car to work.  As I left the building for the day, without my helmet and gear, I did not feel like my "self."  Nathan has talked before about riding as becoming part of identity.  I haven't disagreed, but I haven't felt like a motorcyclist in the past.  I've felt like a dirt biker, but to me that's like someone who works a day job and plays in a band or climbs rocks on the weekend.  Somehow, riding two wheels every single days has started to transform my identity. 

Which got me thinking about Erickson's Stages of Identity Development, and how it relates to rider identity development.

Trust vs. Mistrust
When I am on a motorcycle, I have to trust myself.  There's no one to blame for my mistakes.  I take full responsibility for the risk I am undertaking.  As a child, this identity crisis is parent dependent.  As a motorcyclist, it is self-concept dependent.

Autonomy vs. Shame and Doubt
As a new rider, it was hard to set out by myself.  I'd come home and "confess" all my mistakes of the day.  There were times I doubted I could become a competent, safe rider.  But I pushed myself.  It was a bit like cutting the umbilical cord.  I had to make my own mistakes, recover from them and learn from them to learn to ride.  I had to learn to act, and not let my self-doubt inhibit my learning.

Initiative vs. Guilt
The first time I dropped my bike, I felt like I was going to be in trouble.  With who, I don't know, but Nathan was the nearest human.  The fallout from this mistake was that we had to make repairs, and I couldn't ride until my bike was fixed.  While this was a bummer, it was a great lesson to me that I can take risks, and deal with the consequences.  It continued to build my trust and autonomy.

Industry vs. Inferiority
When I feel inferior, I hesitate about riding.  This keeps me from doing the very thing I need to do to improve.  Industry is all about doing.  I have learned that outside of occasional VERY bad weather, nothing need keep me off my bike.

Identity vs. Role Confusion
Ah, the motorcycling teen years.  "I waved to another rider, but I feel like a fraud.  I don't feel like a real motorcyclist."  Here I was, riding every day, but I saw my weaknesses and my mistakes, and thought that kept me from being a real rider.  Something shifted inside of me.  I pushed myself to do what scared me, gained some skills, learned to risk.  And suddenly I found myself.  A motorcyclist.

Generativity vs. Stagnation
This is my current lesson, though in my view, the others are never mastered, simply practiced.  I don't want any of my skills to plateau.  It can happen to anyone.  We get comfortable, we think we've "got it".  But the trick to staying safe is always pushing to improve.  If we practice panic swerves hundreds of times, that debris that falls of the truck will instinctually be avoided.  If we practice our panic stops, we have our best chance of not hitting a deer that jumps out. 

Ego Integrity vs. Despair
This is a stage beyond me.  A stage where one looks back and reflects on "was it ok to be me?" Or in this analogy "Did I like the motorcyclist I became?"  It is my hope that with continued focus on my development, that I can face this stage with courage, confidence, and peace.

Dynojet...

So, the Ninja 250 has an issue.  I think the folks at Kawasaki were super excited to see just how great of gas mileage they could get from the little bike, so they jetted it extraordinarily lean.  While it's great to get 50-70 mpg, it's not so great to warm up your bike for a minimum of 10 minutes, ride with the choke on for 15, and then still not be sure that when you roll on the gas if your bike is going to go or sputter.  Nathan did some research (I suppose this entry could also fall under Nathan is always right) and found that there are a couple of options for this issue.  You could add washers and change out the jets individually.  This is an inexpensive, but experimental fix.  The primers online talk about testing it, and then adjusting it.  Now, if you've ever tried to work on a Ninja 250's carburetor, you'll know that it's in the heart of the bike, buried beneath all the fairings, with a miniscule amount of space between it and the airbox under the gas tank, etc etc... It requires a lot to change, test, change test.  Another suggested option is to take the bike to a professional with a Dyno and an electronic gas analyzer.  The third option is to read.  A lot.  And buy a jet kit, and follow their recommendations.  Nathan reviewed these options, offered his services, and I bought a Dynojet Jet Kit.  Nathan and I eagerly watched the mail, awaiting this magical box.  And then it did.  And the tinkering began. The bike came apart, and the carburetor's came off.  Jet's were installed, needles were raised, and then the putting back together process began.  Vacuum hoses were reversed, the engine was hydro locked, and the carburetors came off again!   Amazingly, everything went back together, and Nathan took it for a test ride.  He said it felt fine, you know, like a normal bike.  So, the real test was what did I think. 


So I rode.  And was amazed... When I rolled on the gas, the bike went.  Smoothly, evenly!  I didn't have to worry at stop signs that I was going to make it just into the lane of traffic before the bike bogged and maybe even died.  (Yup, that has happened.)  And it just plain felt more fun!  Plus two horsepower may not sound like much, but evening out the horsepower in the lower RPM's so it's not "nothing nothing nothing, hit 7000 and here's all your power" just makes riding epic! 


So, Nathan did a great job, and he likes to be reminded every few days that he is the best husband-to-be in the world.  He thinks it's because he put a lot of time and energy into the bike.  And it is.  But it's really because Nathan is always right. :)

Oh what a beautiful day...

What do you do when you find yourself with two hours free in the afternoon?  Hop on the bike, of course!  As someone who mostly rides her street bike to and from work (the weekend preference, when the weather isn't interfering, is dirtbiking!) the freedom of a ride in the afternoon with the music playing, no backpack or tank bag, and no path is freeing.  There are other riders out to wave to, parks to visit, and cool vans with smarty pants and Indian stickers.  There are gently curving roads near work, that encourage practicing turns at speed.  There are kids getting out of school, waving excitedly as a motorcycle goes by. 


When I'm not sure how to lose myself in myself, and leave work at work, my answer is 'hop on a bike.'  The bike is a place where no one else enters... It's solitary, yet social.  Riding is all about independence, balance, self-sufficiency.  Yet, see someone else on two wheels, and there is an instant camaraderie... Riders instantly connect and share.  "Nice day for a ride." 


Yes.  Yes it is.

Is the grass greener...

When you are in the business of change, the philosophical question of whether the grass is greener is very pertinent. This has been a theme this week, personally and professionally.  Is the grass greener?  If so, how much greener?  Will I like greener grass?  Are you sure greener grass is better?  What do you mean it is up to me whether greener grass is better?  Can I try a little of the greener grass, and then go back?  Is there possibly any pink or purple grass to try too?  Maybe I should stick with my own grass. Maybe I should have stayed in my own pasture.  

How people cope with this myriad of questions is fascinating, and my role as a therapist is to set aside my own search for greener grass and everything that has come with it, and simply help them explore their own journey.  Does this sound easy?  As it turns out, sometimes you can feel a physical pull on your heart.  Sometimes your brain screams words.  Sometimes your eyes well up with your client's tears, because their grass has caused them so much pain.  Sometimes they way you picture your client's pasture looks like it could have neighbored your own at one point or another, and you just want to show them the way to a new pasture with a babbling brook and friendly faces.  And sometimes you think 'boy, wish I could go back to that grassy knoll.'  

We have two very different paradigms for change. Therapists say "change is hard" and scientists say "the only constant is change."  Both are true, of course, but why?  I've been pondering this, and I think at times the relationship is causal. As humans, on some level, we figure out eventually that life is going to keep changing.  Nothing we can do will stop it.  So we cling to what is familiar.  And when what is familiar becomes unhealthy, we sometimes cling harder, adapting in multiple unhealthy ways because change is the big scary monster in the closet.  There are individuals who have built an entire life around this, and experience anxiety just thinking about doing something different.  Other people believe they have figured out that the only constant is change, and they embrace a life of no stability, yet unconsciously they cling to this ideal to a point that it is a constant.  

Last night, Nathan and I were talking about his birthday last year. This was around the time I got my second dirt bike; I graduated from a CRF80F to a TTR 125.  In dirt bike terms, that means I went from a bike sized for an eight or ten year old to a bike sized for someone about my height.  Turns out that for his birthday, Nathan also got a gopro camera.  So, we went to a (then) new riding area, Tahuya State Forest.  We rode a gravel road and took a trail that has a wide dead end. On my little 80, I could always touch the ground, so I would simply walk the bike through the forest.  It didn't mean I could always turn, but I developed the habit of turning by walking in a circle with my bike under me.  Which required stopping almost to a dead stop because riding while walking had gotten me in to big trouble in the past.  But this fine day, I was on a new bigger bike, and walking through the turn was no longer a (dangerously bad habit forming) option.  So, we have this 'fabulous' video with Nathan's new camera of me stopping halfway through the turn, and tipping over, over and over and over and over and over.  Because I couldn't change my habit.  I clung to it because it made me feel safer to slow down or stop my bike than to go fast enough through the turn to complete it.  

Over the spring, I gained skills. There is a trail out there called Mission Creek Trail.  The first time we tried it, I made it about 5 of the 15 miles.  I was exhausted.  I continued to ride too slow, letting every rock push me around, tried to walk through every corner.  By the time we turned around, the trail had gotten so complicated for me and I had gotten so tired, that Nathan was riding my bike for me for 50 feet, he'd walk back and ride his bike back to me, and I'd have stopped again, trying to figure out the next obstacle.  Eventually, we made it to riding I could do again, and we would call this new state of being "dirt bike drunk" because I really had little physical, mental, or emotional control over my riding.  It was chaotic and if Nathan hadn't have been so worried about me hurting myself, it might have been funny.  There's a section we nicknamed Endor because of the trees and roots and undergrowth... And we laugh at Endor because I tried to "just go faster" through it and became a ping pong ball on wheels for a short time before face planting in a puddle between two large trees.

Fast forward to the end of last summer.   I've been really working on improving my skills.  I know I've gotten better, but change can be slow, so I don't know how much better.  Somewhere in the middle of this story, I get a new bike, a kx100 that I am head over heels in love with.  We had tried Mission Creek enough times to know that it was hard enough for me that Nathan didn't have as much fun as when we did easier trails.  But, it was worth trying again.  And boy, what a difference.  Mission Creek Trail, when you ride it above the balance point and don't try to walk through the corners, is a blast.  When we got through a particularly fun section, Nathan said "do you know where we are?"  I of course did not, and he said "Endor!"  Say what?  I seriously felt like the trail maintenance fairies had come out and made the entire trail easier.  I even did the black diamond section (in two tries.  But I did it!)  

Struggling through change, we don't see the progress we are making.  Change can be slow and it can be hard.  Yet when we do go back and revisit our old pastures, we see them with new eyes.  It can feel like the world is a better, safer, happier, more interesting place.  In the midst of the struggle, we can experience self doubt.  We can feel like our surroundings are working against us.  Yet if we continue the struggle, find joy in the struggle, and let ourselves rest and look back, we can see that we have climbed new mountains, forded new rivers, and found our own pasture.  And it matters less whether the grass is greener, because as it turns out, it is our internal experience that lets us see the color of the grass, it has very little to do with the grass itself.

rain, rain, go away...

Minimal reporting this week; I made time to read my motorcycle book.  Yesterday there was a break in the rain, so I rode, which was wonderful.  I am currently starting out the window, wondering about riding tonight for Valentine's Day, tomorrow to the motorcycle show, and... Could I ride Sunday to Yakima?  Unlikely; it's supposed to be snowy on the pass.  But perhaps the weather report will change between now that then.  It is Washington's bi-polar winter. 


This time between rides helps me appreciate the times when I can ride.  When the sun peeks out or the rain lets up.  I might eventually ride in the rain, but I'll have to do some gear adjusting.  Tried it once, turns out my coat is not waterproof.  The time between rides gives us time to tinker on the bikes, and to ponder things like our Ride Report we want to create for our honeymoon on ADV Rider. 


The time between rides also gives me time to be in my car, and discover that while I love my car, I look jealously at the people who braved the weather on two wheels that day.  I feel disconnected from my surroundings.  I ache for the next time I will gear up and feel the rush of being on my bike, to feel connected to the road, to feel vulnerable, to feel alive.


It's as if I waited my entire life to discover myself.  I don't regret the years I waited to ride, how could I have known where that curiosity would lead?  But it has quickly become a part of me.  A mild obsession, a deep love.   I find myself exploring riding like exploring a person.  I want to know every nuance.  I want to understand every part of it. I want to surround myself and immerse myself and have a deep love affair with this passion. 


I feel so lucky to share this passion with my love, my Valentine, my partner.  It doesn't need to be explained, it is understood.  And it is talked about, because that is what I do, that is what we do. 


The sun is coming out.... my mind is on the open road.... Happy Valentine's Day my friends!

dirt bikes in the snow....

This weekend, we got to be part of Portland's snowpocalypse, complete with emergency warnings to not drive on the roads at all.  Not to be slowed down, we took our trusty Luciola and Nathan did donuts and drifts and all sorts of other fun rear wheel snow fun.  He even let me play for a while!  Today, we had some time to kill after the motorcycle show... Mall?  Or dirt bike?  Easy decision.... Dirt Bike!!  We got the trusty TTR out of the garage.  The electric start fired up on the first try!  It was a sign... a sign to floor it!  Or not... But we all took turns sitting back, sliding wild, and enjoying the ride! The snow was melty and the road had a nice layer of ice to play on.  I think the lessons of the day are that there is never a bad time to dirt bike, there is no end to the encouragement and laughter present in our family, and I cannot wait until my dirt bike is back to its mechanical mastery so I can go play on some real trails!

Nathan is always right....

This is a long overdue blog post, because ever since this discovery, I have ridden my bike almost every day.  But let's back up.  So, a Ninja 250 is about the only sport bike I could sit on in a motorcycle store and reach the ground.  And with the kick stand down, it was about exactly the right height.  So I get my bike, and I can just barely touch with both of my toes. Which in Kris's world, means I should challenge myself and just figure it out.  Nathan advised lowering my bike; his philosophy was that being able to touch would build my confidence. I kept saying no; I needed to learn it the way it was.  Because I'm stubborn like that.  So, after a couple months of this, Nathan ordered a lowering kit for my bike.  Just to try.  And then after a month, we actually lowered it.  And then I had to admit... Nathan is always right.  I do feel more confident lower to the ground.  Almost instantly my stops and my starts got better.  Zooming along the freeway, I never would need to put my feet down, but being at a height that is about my walking height made me feel so much more confident.  Dealing with banked roads while stopping and starting was so much more manageable; I didn't feel like I was about to drop my bike every time. 


Since then, I have been able to push myself in other ways.  I try to push my speed in the curves to a normal motorcycle speed.  I am riding to work every day that I can (I took Wednesday off to bring in leftover cake, and due to rain.  Rain is my next post.)  I'm learning that my bike doesn't like to warm up, it just likes to ride with the choke on, and to be continually adjusted for the first ten minutes.  I'm sure there are dozens of other things, but the other great thing is that commuting isn't learning something amazingly new every day; it's become a continual process of refining my SEE skills and playing with the idea of swerving... what if the truck on my right drifts into my lane... press the left handle bar... what's left of me if I do that? How would I need to correct if I had to go onto the gravely shoulder?  How many gears do I need to drop down if I really want to accelerate around something? 


Many more challenges and learning experiences to come... and many more admissions, I am sure, that Nathan is always right.

Book Review....

After a rainy week, with more talk about motorcycles than riding, I figured I may as well write a book review.  (Well, this didn't get published that week, because the weather improved!) Today's book is How to Ride Off Road Motorcycles.


How to Ride Off Road Motorcycles is an AWESOME manual with step by step instructions on how to teach it and/or do it right.  There are isolated lessons for each skill, fun stories that remind me that the experts were beginners once, and photographs that show how to do it correctly.  The skills start with identifying parts of the dirt bike, how to use the clutch and throttle, and how to brake.  But, they don't stop there.  This book covers advanced techniques including wheelies, large obstacles, whoops, jumps, and so much more.  There is even a chapter on applying this knowledge to street bike riding!


I recommend this book to all beginners who want to build good habits, and even recommend a quick read by veterans can help improve skills.

New confidence...

I learned something magical at the motorcycle safety class.  Now, mind you, it doesn't mean I was jumping up and down at the time that I had to unlearn a bad habit.  But, I did decide to put in the effort, and am seeing the results. 


There's consistent debate about how much to cover your front brakes, your clutch, and your rear  brakes when riding a motorcycle.  Because I tend to like rules and safety (what kind of motorcycle rider am I anyway) I went with the habit of covering everything, all the time.  Well, that's like living life in a constant state of anxiety; everything seems dangerous and scary, and the only out is going slow or stopping.  At class, they worked on panic stops, using all five fingers.  And reminded me every time I slipped back into an old habit. It has been a struggle, but I am close to breaking the habit of covering everything all the time, and suddenly, there is an internal transformation!  I ride like I know what I am doing, most of the time.  I ride like I am ready to take on the world.  I feel like I am ready to take on the world.  I'm no longer nervous about what could happen, I'm paying attention to what is happening.  And, my hand is on the throttle, completely, rather than half way ready to stop, giving me even more control and more confidence.


It was noticed by my fiancée last night.  Sure, I'm not perfect; I enter some corners too slow still and get wobbly.  I second guess my decisions.  I forget to check when I am the leader if my person is following me.  But, overall, there is a difference.  I feel confident and happy and capable.  And, when I go into a corner, I experienced looking down the road, past the corner, at least some of the time.  And, on at least two occasions, I had time to think about lane position and apexing and where on the road to be to see furthest down the road and through the corner.  (we found a windy road and hit a few corners last night, so two out of ten is progress, not perfection. :) )  But his first feedback was that I am doing well.  Which, of course, made my night.


Still plenty to tackle, but I'm ready with a whole new attitude. 

Relax....

First... I did it!  I passed the test for my motorcycle endorsement.  I have proven that under extreme pressure I can make a U-turn in 20 feet and weave between cones.  And I can avoid a pretend mattress that has fallen on the road between a cliff leading to hot lava and another cliff leading to a 1000 foot drop into the icy ocean.  (Do we riders have wonderful imaginations or what? :) )

The entire day was amazing.  I got to share it with my darling fiancee, who is a long experienced rider.  That in itself made it special.  Our instructor, Martin, was phenomenal.  He's been teaching this class for forever, and knows when to wig out and when to chill.  He was funny, and from Texas.  Or at least that was his most recent move.  He hasn't owned a car since 2001, but our weather is making him think about getting a truck. Anyway... We had a second helping instructor for the afternoon, a rather militaristic dude named Rolf.  He seemed very into the rules and such.  Both of these guys were patient, kind, and full of helpful feedback.  Things like keep your head up and look through the turn, and press your chin toward your wrist to really get a good position through the curve.  No more covering the front break and clutch all the time, just in stop and go traffic.    

The funny thing was, Rolf and Martin would give me all these great tips, but both had one common thread throughout the day.  Relax.  Rolf would tell me things to fix, and then ask what the most important was, and I could remember all the things he said, except relax.  Relaxing is the furthest thing from my mind when I am on a motorcycle.  I grew up thinking it looked cool and fun, and imagining it would be easy, like driving a car.  But the reality is, your brain needs to be 'on' all the time. And I like to over prepare, so I fall into the unheard of category of "too defensive."  I haven't developed comfort scanning my environment and doing the legal "California Stop" on my motorcycle (I did do one last night!) because I have to put my foot down to stop and really see what all is going on before I can decide if it is safe to go.  I try to stay away from all cars on the highway, which is actually impossible; much more important to stay seen and stay out of their blind spots.  I slow down when I feel unsure what the road will do next, even if logic dictates the predictability of the freeway, because my "what if" brain overrides my logic.  

Riding a motorcycle well seems to be about relaxing and having confidence that you can handle what comes up.  Have fun, practice swerving and quick stops so that when there is a road emergency, your reflexes are at their finest, and you aren't over-analyzing everything and paralyzed into non reaction. While keeping your brain in the "on" position, and never being lulled into a false sense of safety.  Because you are out there, responsible completely for your well being, with no cage to protect you.  It's about knowing what you can control, and capitalizing on the strengths of the motorcycle, rather than focusing on what you lack and how at risk you are. And knowing that the joy and fun bring some risk, and being ok with the level of risk you accept by choosing to ride a motorcycle.  

These are life lessons too; we cannot control the actions of other people, humans are happiest when they are adaptable and open to change.  The more we worry, the less we see what is actually around us.  We shouldn't be lulled into a false sense of safety, but worrying about things that haven't yet gone wrong or are outside of our control is counter productive.  The more I ride a motorcycle, the more I see my values and personality as a strength as a rider.  If I could just enact my natural way of being while riding, how much better I would ride!  

But learning to ride a motorcycle is also a education in self acceptance.  I have a slow, stair step process of having an experience, processing it, and building knowledge for the future.  Confidence comes from experience, but experience comes from confidence. So I slowly take my baby steps toward riding well, and with each of these baby steps, I relax a little more.  I mean really, I've come a long way from the girl that may have had a top speed of 17 mph! 

The impending test...

To be endorsed in the State of Washington to ride a motorcycle, you have to pass a written test to get your permit, and a skills test to get your license.  This test is designed to be a fair evaluation of your skills.  It includes a cone weave, doing a quick stop, turning from a stop, swerving, and a U-turn in 20 feet.  To be transparent, I don't usually have test anxiety, but that lack of anxiety comes from preparing for the test beforehand.  So, my fiancée has been kind enough to help me learn the skills for my test that I am supposed to learn on Saturday in the class I have signed up for.  I'm not out of the woods yet, but at least I'm making progress!

This process has made me reflect on other big tests I've had to take over the course of my life. I barely remember the SAT, or the psychology GRE at the end of my bachelors.  Recently I've had to take two long multiple choice examinations in order to get my professional licenses.  But these tests don't stand out as the types of tests that really evaluate the skills they want to evaluate.  When I try to think of tests that evaluate important life skills, I think of my grad school comprehensive examination.  In this examination, we had to complete and defend a thesis style paper about our theory of human nature and counseling, conceptualize a client from this viewpoint, videotape and then transcribe a session in which we utilize skills and concepts from our theory in the session.  While presenting this, we had to be open to feedback from our professors about our strengths and weaknesses.  Now, when you have put your whole heart and soul into articulating your understanding of people and how they work, and videotaped yourself acting in that way, it can be quite challenging to then accept feedback about how you were right or wrong in your conceptualization.  And yet, that was the point of the experience.  As a counselor, I have to be open to feedback from my clients, my supervisors, lawyers, judges, co-workers, and administrative workers.  Ignoring feedback from any one of these people could compromise my job, and often it informs what direction I need to take with my client.  Because with everything in life, there are limits.  There are limits to insurance, there are limits to confidentiality, there are limits to people's goodwill toward you.  And all of these things affect a counseling relationship whether we want them to or not.

In the same way, as I learn to ride a motorcycle, I need to stay open to feedback.  I have had moments where this is easy, and moments where this is hard.  But, with my lack of experience, I need to stay open to feedback that tells me what I am doing right, which skills I need to work on, and what aspects of my environment I completely overlooked.  It is only in staying open to this feedback that I will be able to become a safe and competent rider.

Tests are designed to evaluate what we know.  Everything in life can present a test in its own way.  My goal is to stay open to feedback each day of my life, allowing myself to really hear what the other person is trying to communicate, and reflecting on how it applies to me or my situation.  When the big tests come, I hope to have the skills and the support in order to meet them with confidence.  And meanwhile, I hope I pass my motorcycle endorsement test this Saturday.

2014...

At the beginning of last year, I had a strange thing happen.  For the last 5 or so years of my life, I have organized myself around achieving a professional goal of becoming a LMHC (Licensed Mental Health Professional) and a CDP (Chemical Dependency Professional.)  There has been lots of living in those five years as well, but of all the things in this world that there were to do, my professional goals remained in full focus.  As of late January, 2013, I had achieved both of those. I became a girl looking for direction.  Or joyful in the lack of it. I knew eventually I would develop a new driving force, but I felt a bit like a boat in the sea without an anchor, or a butterfly free of it's cocoon.

I still wanted to be a good mom to my daughter, helping her achieve her high school goals.  I wanted to be a good partner to my boyfriend, who I adored.  I had just gotten back on my dirtbike, after finally taking some time off to heal from an injury (a post I haven't yet written), and wanted to improve my skill on that.  I was loosely looking at a new job.  

As is always true in life, changes were brewing.  My boyfriend proposed. (I said yes!) I got the new job.  And I set my heart on doing a poker run.  As a new fiancee, I wanted to figure out what that meant, how to be a fiancee, to really take some time to focus on my self and my relationship, to understand what marriage meant to me, especially as it was a second marriage.  No wedding plan flurry, I just wanted to slow life down for a bit.  Professionally, there was a bit of a flurry, getting on insurance panels and talking with my beloved employer about a slow transition to my new job. And my daughter is an active participant in robotics and music, which kept many evenings full.  I also reexamined my role as a soon to be step mom to my fiancees daughter.  She and I had developed a close friendship over the past year.  We visit her every other weekend, and spent many weekends outside skiing and exploring the woods on our off road vehicles.  

The second half of the year has created a gentle rhythm, no longer newly engaged, feeling settled in the new job, our daughters senior years and eighth grade years progressing nicely.  Somewhere in there, I set my heart on a street bike.  I bought a REALLY old Ninja 250, but no amount of tinkering without significant investment was going to get it running well enough for me to learn to ride.  (If you've read the other blog entries, you'll understand that I have enough challenges with riding without an engine idling high and sending me right off the road!)  So, I resigned myself to this being a someday dream, selling that old Ninja, and simply pursuing my dirt bike riding.  The very next day, my fiancee bought me a white 2011 Ninja 250 in beautiful condition.  An early birthday and Christmas present!  (for the next three years!)  

Which shifted my goals for the year.  It was October, and a poker run had yet to fit into our every other weekend schedule in two different cities.  Instead, I set my sights on learning to ride my Ninja, and working toward my Motorcycle endorsement.

Which brings me to the beginning of 2014.  What are my goals for this year?  Well, this weekend I'm testing for my motorcycle endorsement.  In May, we are planning a lovely and simple wedding on the Hood Canal.  Following that, we want to have a two week adventure on our motorcycles down the Pacific Coast Highway.  In June, our daughters will graduate from their respective schools.  In August, my daughter will head off to her first year of college.  Following that, we have houses to sell, jobs to find, and a move to make to be closer to my step-daughter.  I'd like to do some group rides on the street, and I'd still like to complete that Poker Run goal from last year.  Resolutions? No.  But this year, life is presenting plenty of goals to accomplish, and I'm tossing in a few fun ones.