The Sportster: Fear

I have a nasty feeling, but it’s only when I get around the Sportster. It’s a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that consumes me. It starts at my core and radiates out through my muscles and into my bones. It sucks me in and keeps me there until I walk away from my bike. It doesn’t happen around other bikes. I’m okay when I window shop at the dealers, or even when I’m on a different bike, it’s only the Sportster.

It’s the same feeling you get when you know something bad is going to happen. It’s the feeling when you find out your ex-boyfriend has a new girl. The feeling when you hear you have cancer. The feeling when someone says they don’t love you anymore. It’s a nasty feeling that you only know about if you’ve felt it before.

The Sportster didn’t always have this feeling around it. It didn’t have it until I realized just how dangerous it would be if I were to lose control over it. The fear was amplified when the dumbasses laid it down on me. But it wasn’t exploding until this past weekend.

I have a learners permit, and I’ve had it for several weeks now. I’ve learned how to operate the bike, but I’ve never handled it on my own, in a non-confined space, i.e. traffic. The genius D decided that we needed to change that, that this weekend would be prime time for me to take it out into traffic. But not just traffic, fucking rush hour, Omaha traffic.

I made it a little over 2 miles before I had a panic attack. I had to pull over, in a Walmart parking lot and let Tennessee, whom I wouldn’t trust with a demolition derby car, take over my bike. I climbed onto D’s Road King, without realizing I was doing it and rode down to the Harley dealership. We were back home before I stopped crying. It was awful, you would have thought I had just got my heart broke, again!

When we got home I sunk down onto the overstuffed couch in the living room. I was still shaking from the nerves pulsating through my body.

“Maybe it was to soon.” D said as he handed me a beer, an attempt to soothe my nerves.

“Fucking a right! What the hell were you thinking?” I said ignoring the beer being shoved in my face. Bella jumped onto the couch and laid her head onto my lap. I rubbed her ears.

“You are going to have to do it at some point.” He said as he sat down across from me.

“I told you I won’t ride alone in Omaha, and you fucking take me right to Omaha. God damn it!”

“Beck, you’ve got to get over your fear.” He said in a quiet voice.

“I’ll get over it but you can’t force me to do it!” I hollered, Bella jumped up and growled at D. “Just let me get comfortable.” I stood up and walked upstairs to my bedroom, Bella trotting behind me. I shut the door behind us, no not shut, slammed it behind us.

I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes, Bella laid down next to me, her silver head on the other pillow. I wasn’t crying any longer, the fear had subsided. I attempted to think about some of the better motorcycle rides I’ve been on. They only brought pain, I realized how disappointed Bowman would have been in me for bawling like a big baby.

Eventually I fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up. I stumbled downstairs, remembering the Sportster had been left in the driveway. I walked into the garage and turned the lights on. D had rolled it in and put it back in its place. I stared at it, that nasty feeling filling me. “You are going to hurt me aren’t you?” I whispered to it. I couldn’t hear it at first, but as I stared at it all I could hear was a very subtle yes. I growled and walked back into the house.

I won’t let fear keep me from riding. I enjoy being on motorcycles, I enjoy the feeling. But I’m going to have to find some way to keep the fear out of me, how I’m not sure yet…