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.