Motorcycles scared hell out of me. I wouldn’t touch the Triumph bike that my friend Adam bought last summer. I carried around the reconisably preposterous assumption that a motorcycle will, if given a chance, fall upon or mug me. Adam insisted that he felt anxious about motorcycles too previous to completing the Motorcycle Safety Foundation Course -- the operative word here being ‘previous.’ The course, he told me, assuaged a good deal -- not all -- of his unease about these powerful compact machines. He gushed about the confidence the course gives a rider; he fell reticent when I asked about the issue of other road drivers. He rallied back at the 4 day course price : $25. I’m ashamed to admit that $25 sits perfectly within my cost horizon of self-improvement. I pay less than that for a good dinner, so why not invest it towards abolition of a phobia? When the 2010 course registration opened in February, Adam sent me the web link. I signed up within hours, taking the first May weekend course. And so the man terrified of motorcycles (which I admitted to the course instructors) received top marks on the Motorcycle Safety Foundation Program written and road exams, the gold standard for new rider training. Pat on the back, OK?
I didn’t think much about which motorcycle to buy. The Kawasaki Ninja fits my personality and needs seemingly perfectly. It helped a lot that I know a Ninja owner who gave good reviews. Tiffany had a lot of good things to say about her Ninja 250 (which she bought practically new from a woman in Kansas City). The N250 receives near universal praise as the gold-standard ‘beginner’s bike.’ I wondered in the long-term whether the Ninja 500 made greater sense. Would I ‘outgrow’ the N250 as many motorcycle reviews cautioned? I did research into this question and largely chased my own tail -- thanks, Internet! So, I asked breathing humans.
I brought up the bike search to a student. He was enthusiastic. A relative of his buys and sells bikes, and he will enter the buying market when finished with school. I mentioned the Ninja and he kept up the enthusiasm until I said that I’d get a 250; he actually recoiled, as if a spider walked over my shoulder, and lectured me (a disconcerting reversal) which I paraphrase for brevity and grammar: “a 250 makes no sense, professor. If you buy it new, the dealer will rip you off for a thousand dollars over the MSRP; a used bike you never know how the owner abused or neglected it and you’ll still over-pay.” OK, I countered, but a car buyer faces the same problems. These scams are inherent to any purchase. “True,” he replies, “but the N250 is the bottom of the bike heap. You’ll sell that bike next year for a more powerful bike like a N500 anyway and never get for the N250 what you paid.” I found this argument hard to parry. He saw his advantage and pushed forward, “look on Craigslist, professor; everybody sells their 250." I felt pretty stupid, but I respected this wisdom. Passing a safety course readied me for the motorcycle world in the way that learning to swim prepares one for life in the Navy. Seductive and wholly inadequate. That night I looked at the Craigslist entries and felt additionally stupid. The student spoke the truth: the N250 is overwhelmingly represented in sales to the N500. Still, I couldn’t join his conclusion that the N250 equals a bad investment. What I saw in the student/Craigslist experience was a classic correlation/causation relationship. Further research clearly needed conducted because I had to admit lots of riders know things that I do not.
I talked to three colleagues about the N250 v N500 debate. Each of them set me at ease that no meaningful difference in maintenance/mechanics/logistics exists to justify spending more on the N500. That settled, I moved on to the desire to ride into either Chicago or Detroit (both approximately 150 miles away). The responses, if I didn’t know better, could have been scripted: they each said “get the N500." What? They each cited the vague notion of ‘power’ when pressed on the reason. Each assured me moments ago that no meaningful difference existed between the bikes except for, of course, the N500’s larger engine. Now, a 150 mile drive necessitates the additional $2000 towards the N500? I felt lost, so, back to the Internet! A handful of motorcycle review websites make similar claims about highway use. None of the websites though make specific mechanical/logistic reasons for advising away N250 riders from the highway. It especially bothered the researcher/critic in me, that those knowledgeable in the cycling field cannot give a better example than ‘highway = power = 500.’ I don't drive into either city but once per month as it is; still, I find it hard to square that idea of a 150 mile drive bringing ruin down on a modern-day N250. But, back to what I might not know... putting down three to four thousand dollars on a bike not wisely driven into the cities would make me a mighty disappointed man.
Wednesday night I found a Craigslist post for a Ninja 250 in Holland.
Thursday afternoon I found the website Ninja 250 Rider’s Club. I signed up as a new user to their forum area and posted a summary of my dilemma. I expected very little. What I received instead was a response tsunami -- some anecdotal, some hard-core mechanical. The forum users took patience with a newbie and wrote thoughtful responses; whereas I worried like hell about getting the 4chan treatment. The most valuable response directed me to the Ninja 250 Wiki. Reading through it for hours, I went to sleep Thursday feeling certain that the N250 qualified as the best fit.
Friday morning I secured a loan through my credit union. The purchase of the motorcycle took most of Friday, of which I can complain not one bit.
Two related notes of embarrassment: during the test ride with the seller and Adam watching nearby, I couldn’t remember how to start a motorcycle. I accepted a swift reminder, curved away through the seller’s neighbourhood where an eighth mile away the bike stalled. The lessons from the MSF class took hold: don’t panic, cycle through the checklist of fuel, clutch, gears, engine cut-off, Choke. I remembered/found the Choke after 5 minutes of standing stupidly on the road’s shoulder but only after making a distress call to the seller.
Friday afternoon the bike legally belonged to me. It's a beauty: 2008, 1800 miles, no physical damage, red, stock.
When I walked out of the Secretary of State's office, I chatted with Derrick over the phone and the reality of owning a motorcycle -- my first -- hit like a punch. A punch of awesome.
The seller drove the bike to my house and I returned him home. Back at my place, with the bike and I alone for the first time, I secured the license tag with anxious relish. The neighbours and I chatted about the bike (Mark thinks I’ll pop wheelies and attend Bike Week events, Kim thinks I’ll be conservative to keep insurance premiums down. She’s the most accurate of the two). I took the bike around my neighbourhood streets to practice the very basics: shifting, stopping, turning, etc. I stalled it twice though didn’t need five minutes and a sheepish phone call to resolve the problem. After half an hour of confidence building manouevres, I moved onto moderate streets at 35m/h. I recall Adam’s comment earlier that day “you’ll feel you’re driving 80m/h, only to look down and see the speedometer at 40m/h” because he was right. Driving along State Street (speed limit 35m/h) I felt certain the bike hurtled along at 50m/h and shocked to see the needle fluttering at 30m/h. Wow. Motorcycles make a reasonable person feel like an old car driver: normal speeds seem excessive. I eventually progressed to a 50m/h three-lane street -- with stop lights! -- which served a great excuse to accomplish two things, both on Holland’s north side: dinner and a visit to Adam and Tiffany. (Credit where due: Adam accompanied me all through the purchase process, like a good friend!). Tiffany hadn’t yet returned from work, so he and I chatted while he attempted to repair a problem with her 2005 N250. The sun fell lower and lower. I realised that, whether I wanted it or not, I was going to get my first night drive. Of course, I arrived home safely and happy: 47 miles in a few hours on the first day of motorcycle ownership.
Taking stock that night before bed, I learned three things: 1) people -- pedestrians and inside cars -- stare at bike riders. 2) the four wheel automobile drivers, are appallingly inconsiderate. 3) motorcycle riders acknowledge each other using hand or head gestures.
Saturday afternoon, I rode to Grand Haven to visit a colleague who invited me to do so if I bought the bike. The trip challenged me on a few fronts: unfamiliar roads, wind gusts, lots of traffic. I confess to losing ever so slight control of the bike on a left curve. The wind pushed from the right and I failed to adequately slow down. My bike went a few inches over the shoulder’s white line. I felt embarrassed. That would qualify as a penalty within the MSF exam. I cleared my mind of anxiety as the class instructs riders to practice and continued on my ride (though making the mental note to practice these curves in future).
Saturday night, I rode into Saugatuck and Douglas along the back roads (32nd to 64th St) and loved it. Lovely straight country roads and summer sunshine. No errors in handling that time. You know who made errors? GODDAMN tourists who can’t figure out what the hell they’re doing DESPITE their GPS units providing soothing instructions. Turn signals, assholes; can you use them?
So ends the first twenty-four hours of being a bike owner. Adam reminds me that I’m not yet a Jedi. No, I need the proper gear: two jackets, one mesh and one leather. Then, perhaps I’ll be properly ordained. He’s one to talk, though; that guy hasn’t yet taken his bike onto the highway. Can’t blame him. That shit is scary.
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