Last Good Ride of the Season

Did you ever wake up on a Saturday and think for a split second that you had to go to work? When it happened this time it was Monday and I was off for Veterans Day. On top of that, the forecast called for a sixty-five degree day. I knew what I had to do.
A friend of mine from work lives in Glenview, Illinois. He is always giving me the business about riding a motorcycle at my age (60). I decided to take a ride over to his house and show him my machine. I put on my HJC Helmet, Joe Rocket Jacket, gloves and started out for Glenview. The ride was beautiful, easy and relatively traffic free. When I arrived, it looked like no one was home. I rode around the block and stopped (when it was safe), removed my helmet, took out my cell phone and gave him a call. He just got home from shopping. I told him where I was and he promised to be out to greet me when I arrived. When he came out, he couldn't believe his eyes. He really liked my C50. He asked about the price and how he could get a license in Illinois. He had a motorcycle many years ago. After a half-hour visit, I was on the road again. I managed to ride that day for a total of three hours. It proved to be the last good riding day of the season!

Car Shows

When summer arrived, I decided to take my Suzuki to a car show. I knew it wasn't a show bike, but it was the spirit of adventure. A friend of mine started a car show on Monday night. Why Monday? He thought "it's the only night in the northwest suburbs of Chicago that doesn't have a car show." These shows, of course, feature automobiles of all years. Corvettes, Mustangs, Chevelles, GTOs,
32 Fords-just about any car you can think of. Mike who runs the show owns a store in a local shopping mall. He convinced the tenants and the Village to allow him to host the show on Monday. It took alot of work. The Village didn't want trouble so they made him jump through hoops to get their consent. After he received permission, he roped off an area for around 400 cars. He also created an area for motorcycles. I mentioned to him that I bought a motorcycle and he urged me to bring it to the show. He said "your Bike, it's not American Iron, but you can bring it to the show."
Monday arrived (the shows start in June and run to the end of September) so I, clad in a full face HJC helmet, Joe Rocket armored jacket, jeans and steel toed boots, mounted the C50. The motor roared to life effortlessly. Up with the kickstand, tap the bike into first, twist the throttle while slowly releasing the clutch and I was on my way. I had to travel about three miles through moderate traffic. When I arrived at the show, I pulled up to where Mike and his son were standing. They had tee shirts on that said Security on the back. They direct the cars into the lot during show hours.
When I brought the bike to a stop, I flipped up the visor and Larry, Mike's son didn't recognize me. I took the helmet off and he was both surprised and happy to see me. He called his Dad over and they spent ten minutes looking at the bike. Mike had a Chrysler with a Hemi in it and Larry owns an 80's Camaro Z28 that he restored-so they're not motorcycle guys. They couldn't get over how nice the Bike was. They don't like metric products, but they said my son was welcome at their show also.

Bicycle Mishap

The day after we took delivery of our machines (C50 and Hyabusa) turned out to be a nice sunny day. Being a bicyclist I decided to get a little exercise. It wasn't long after I was riding that I had an accident, hit the curb and landed on my shoulder. I seemed to be o.k., I ached, but other than that I was fine. I continued my ride for the rest of the hour. When I got home, I took a look at my shoulder area and it was very red and started to feel sore. We went to the hospital. After an x-ray, they thought it was dislocated. The emergency room personnel had another doctor read the x-ray. The conclusion was that I had a broken collarbone. I would be out of commission for at least six weeks would have to have physical therapy. I was heartbroken. I had a new Suzuki C50 in the garage and all I could do was look at it. How disappointing!

Fortunately I was able to go to work during my healing time. Everyday when I got home I would go out to the garage and sit in a folding chair and look at my motorcycle-how pathetic! I passed time by reading motorcycle magazines, how-to-books, and by watching motorcycle shows on TV. During this time my wife and I took a three day trip to Starved Rock and stayed in the lodge. Weather was nice and we were able to sit on the veranda overlooking the Rock River. From this vantage point, we were able to see the roads that ran throughout the park. Watching motorcyclists enjoying excursions through the park was agonizing. Beautiful, bright sunny days-it looked like they were having a great time.
After biweekly trips to the orthopedic surgeon for x-rays and consultation, I was ready for physical therapy. The therapists were helpful. Each session lasted thirty to forty minutes. I was given various exercises to strengthen the muscles that had gone unused for over six weeks. Additional exercises for home were prescribed. After a months time, I was beginning to feel fine and was ready to ride the motorcycle again.

For many weeks I practiced riding throughout the area where I live. As I gained more experience my practice area increased in size. I had goals, I had places I wanted to go. As the weather got better, I carried out my plans.

One place to go was the Illinois Railway Museum, a thirty mile ride one way-basically on a two lane road. On a hot July day, I left home at 10:30 A.M. and headed west on Illinois Route 72. Riding through picturesque towns like East and West Dundee and Sleepy Hollow cannot be described. On the way I crossed the majestic Fox River, passed new housing developments, rode past countless farms. In a modern car with filtration systems you seldom experience the smells of nature. In the spring with blossoms on the trees, you are there first hand, when fall arrives and people burn leaves, you are there. It's just great, what a beautiful world we live in.

The Big Day

After a sleepless night dreaming of motorcycles-Saturday finally arrived. Wouldn't you know it-forecast rain! We anticipated delivery of our bikes in the afternoon and went about our usual Saturday routine. As noon arrived, the skies opened up and suddenly the already high of 38 degrees seemed twice as cold. All the while, we're thinking, "gee we haven't had much experience riding, now we'll have to ride in the rain". Just like picking up a new car, you never want it to rain, especially the first day. After many calls to Bob, around three o'clock, we set off for the Suzuki Dealer. We had my younger son take us over to the store.
The skies lightened, rain stopped for the moment, the parking lot in front of the store was loaded with customers. Everyone caught the motorcycle bug.
After waiting for a few minutes, Bob came out, greeted us and took us in to finalize the license plate procedure. Immediately after, we purchased helmets, and Bob brought our bikes out from the back. We felt like the kid that got a BB gun on Christmas morning-what excitement! Both bikes were beautiful in our eyes.
Bob explained the features of each and told my son to "take baby steps with the Hyabusa". At the time it was said to be the most powerful machine our of a showroom in America!
When Bob rolled my Suzuki Boulevard C50 out, it was one of the most beautiful black motorcycles I have ever seen. Bob explained several features of the C50 and mentioned a few do's and don'ts. After hearing his explanation, we were finally ready to ride for the first time.
Dan was the first to go, he mounted the Hyabusa, started it, warmed it up a little, put it in first gear and away he went. I soon followed after I did the following: Put on my helmet, adjusted the mirrors, put the bike in neutral, squeezed the clutch, moved the key to the start position and pressed the starter switch. All 805cc of the C50 roared to life. I put the bike in gear, slowly released the clutch while gently twisting the throttle, and away I went. I took a few laps around the lot, gave Dan the sign and we started on our way home. We crossed the major highway, filled-up on gas and took side streets back. This allowed us to become more familiar with our new machines before we encountered major traffic. As long as I live, I will never forget how cold it was. This was one of the greatest days of my life.

During the cold winter, my son and I visited a very large motorcycle showroom in Chicago. This particular facility featured metric bikes (Japanese and European Made). Since my son was zeroing in on a Suzuki Hyabusa and I on a Boulevard it was the ideal place to be in.
The building contained over 400 motorcycles. We spent at least two hours sitting on, gawking at, pricing, viewing the service area, and gathering brochures on available motorcycles.
We later discussed our trip. Because this facility was a distance from our home, we started to look for a store closer to our home. We had several nearby and visited each keeping in mind our original choices.
We finally decided on a local Suzuki dealer and on the 31st of March, emboldened by a sales add, we both visited the dealer.
Here we met Bob. Now he was an interesting character. Bob was covered with tatoos, had two earings, smoked, and had a collection of antique hand to hand weapons on his office wall. After introductions, we viewed the choices avialable. Bob was knowledgeable, gave us a good initial price and explained the warranties on each bike and introduced us to the service department manager.
After some negotiating, we became the proud owners of the above mentioned machines. We would take delivery of our first motorcylces the next day (Saturday).

A Great Adventure!

At fifty-eight years of age, I decided to attend a motorcycle safety foundation course in hopes of getting a motorcycle license. I was always interested in anything with wheels. When one of my three sons said "gee-dad, lets get in on the last class of '05 and get our licenses so we're ready for the 2006 riding season!".

We found a course in Chicago. So at the end of October we signed up and drove down from the suburbs to attend our first session on a cold Saturday morning. When we arrived we found the building in an up and coming neighborhood. It was painted an interesting shade of red. We were told to arrive at 8:00 o'clock and patiently waited for the instructors to arrive. After what seemed like an eternity a helmeted young man on a sport bike arrived. He proceeded to unlock the building and we and several others anxious students entered.

Inside were jackets, helmets, gloves and accessories available for purchase. In one corner, an older Honda motorcycle with a banana seat was propped up on it's stand presumably for demonstration purposes.

Tables were set up in a horse shoe fashion. TV and VCR were present as well as stacks of textbooks. We were all anxious to start. The young man introduced himself, explained that he had several years of motorcycle experience and we in turn introduced ourselves and stated why we were interested pursuing this endeavor.

Class was scheduled to last two hours and at 10:00 A.M. we were told that we would head out to the range for "hands on" experience with motorcycles.

Class was interesting, we watched videos on safety and what to expect when operating a machine. We reviewed the textbook page by page, questions followed. We had several breaks and before long we were on our way out to the range for training.

Following the directions from the instructors, we headed south to a parking lot of a major sports facility. When we arrived, two instructors took us to a large storage container. They unlocked it, and proceeded to take out ten motorcycles. Inside helmets lined the shelves.We found our size, put it on and gathered for our first lesson. We were questioned as to what type of motorcycle we would be riding in the future and were then matched to the closest practice machine.

I ended up with a Honda Rebel (305cc), at the time, it seemed huge. "What am I doing here, I must be nuts, I'll never learn to ride that!" With a little self talk, I mounted the bike. Our first lesson included switch location and neutral position. We next started the bike. Because these bikes had carburetors we learned about fuel shutoff switches. After we started the bikes, we learned to walk them. The morning proceeded a step at a time and just before lunch we got to ride in a circle around the parking lot. It was cold, between 40 and 50 degrees, our hands were frozen and we welcomed the opportunity to go for lunch and warm up.

After lunch at a great deli, we began to complete some of the exercises that the instructors were required to present. We had to ride around in a circle and learn to jump 2x4s (simulating debris in the road). We had to drive toward an imaginary wall (instructor) who told us to turn to our left or right on their command. We had to maneuver around and through cones. We also had to accelerate and come to an abrupt halt on instructor command. Lessons both days lasted until 4:00 P.M. During the second day a student, Jim, fell. He came to class with his fiancee and wanted to get a license. She already had a Harley. He tore the knee out of his pants and cut his knee. To his credit, he bandaged his knee and resumed practice.

Near the end of the second day, we were told that on the following Friday we could take our road test at the practice site. The Secretary of State would send it's examiner and we would be charged fifty dollars for the use of the school's motorcycles and equipment. We promptly signed up.

Friday came around faster than you can imagine--temperature a brisk 38 degrees. We arrived, put on our helmets and were given 30 minutes to practice. Half way through the practice, our instructor told us that the worst and crabbiest examiner from the Secretary of State's Office would be testing us. "Don't blame us if you fail, she told us". She was 100% correct, this guy was a crab.

The whole test was to take place within a box the size of a basketball court. The only exception was the acceleration part of the test. Each individual would start outside the box and accelerate at a given signal and come to a stop within a set of lines. The wheel of your machine must not cross the end line of the box.

We were given a practice box to operate in on the other side of the parking lot. I practiced for the full 30 minutes. My hands were frozen. I was given the signal to cross over to the testing area. I rubbed my hands together, regained feeling and prepared for my road test. I was the last to be tested. I didn't know that two previous individuals went over the bars during their test. They were promptly booted from the remaining test by the state examiner.

Before I began the test, I looked at my instructor, she whispered-"focus"-I nodded in response and began the first exercise. I rode through the cones, accelerated toward the imaginary wall, accelerated through the box and came to a stop inside the box. All of which seemed to take place as time stood still.

When the final test was finished, I brought the bike to a stop and my instructor gave me a thumbs up. I had passed! This was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life.

After the test, I had to go to work. I wanted to tell my co-workers, but due to the fact that I was late, I tempered my excitement. I called my wife at her job to tell her the news. She said "What happened", I replied "I nailed it".

This all took place at the end of October 2005. During the months that followed, I visited countless numbers of motorcycle showrooms. I saw a Suzuki Boulevard C50 in a shop window. I thought "that looks like the right size for me."

Winter seemed longer than usual, I passed the time reading every motorcycle book and magazine that I could get my hands on. I rented motorcycle videos and I watched countless numbers of DVD's. I went to a large annual motorcycle show at a major exhibition hall. I sat on all of the machines from the major manufacturers. I took home what seemed to be twenty pounds of brochures. I poured over them for weeks. The snow and ice began to melt, it was getting nearer to my time of deliverance.