Bull by the horns

Dear Diary,

I grabbed the bull by the horns.

That’s what it felt like when I finally committed online to getting my motorcycle licence.

What I didn’t expect, weeks later, was to swing a leg over the training bike for the first time and feel like I had an actual bull by the horns - and that’s before I turned on the ignition.

It was my moment of truth and, to be completely honest, I thought I’d made a huge mistake.

Forty years is a long time off the bike, and when that sudden, panicked inner voice screams, “what the fuck are you doing?”, it’s hard not to listen.

I’d been in a state of mild apprehension up to this point, managed and cajoled by the anticipation of achieving a licence and the promise of motorcycle adventures already planned in my head.

I guess it’s true that with age comes experience and, if you’re lucky, a little wisdom. At that moment, straddling that bike, pulling it upright off the kickstand and feeling its weight, this didn’t seem wise at all.

It was an abrupt reminder that I was now sixty years old, the physical resilience and the mindless courage of a teenager now distant memories.

Like those unfortunates on social media, who for some reason decide to bungee jump off a bridge into a deep canyon, I had that moment - a split-second before the push - that urgent thought, “Stop! I’ve changed my mind”. Too late, of course, and away they go.

My helmet and gloves helped conceal the panicked look in my eyes and my white-knuckled clench on the handlebar grips, but my body tension must have been obvious.

But, despite my fight-or-flight response heavily favouring the latter, I couldn’t give up. I’d already spent a month studying for the compulsory motorcycle theory and hazard perception test, which was booked for later that week, plus all the hours reading and watching ‘how to ride a motorcycle’ videos. So, away we went.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, perhaps half-way through the training, I started to experience moments of joy. The trepidation was still there, but I was developing some muscle memory, which helped ease the strain on my ability to simultaneously coordinate the actions of four limbs with separate riding functions, not to mention the bike handling, traffic, and the essential business of trying not to crash, stall, or fall off.

All this and the keen awareness that every action was being observed, scrutinised, and appropriately admonished by the instructor. No pressure, indeed.

Good motorcycle instructors - which mine certainly were - have the calm authority and reassuring presence of a control tower pilot coaching a random passenger over the radio on how to land an aeroplane. It takes a particular type of person.

Now that I have my licence - an achievement that I’m still processing - I understand that the next step is the true beginning, that all that has occurred up to now was simply preparation. The real lessons are out there waiting, and those I’ll have to face alone.

But now, I’m feeling rather bullish.