Lorton Road is easy, just a couple of miles of gentle turns. Not having given much thought to what route I should take, I turn south when I get to the stop sign at Route 1. Going north isn't an option, as that would mean having to cross four lanes of busy traffic. I don't know that I can do that.
Last night, I spent a few minutes trying to ride on the grass out in my parent's field in front of the house. But it was mostly dark by the time we got home from the dealership, and I kept stalling on the hill. Fear of dropping the pristine, new motor-cycle soon prompted me to abort those efforts. It seems that riding-on grass, at least-isn't quite as simple as I imagined it would be. It was an inauspicious beginning, to be sure.
This morning, though, the sun is shining brightly, and I awakened with that catching remembrance that something very special awaited me. One of those red-letter days you know you'll never forget.
Now, as I tentatively ease out the clutch and feed in throttle, the orange RD350 bucks, hesitating at the less-than-expert control inputs it's receiving, but then settles as it picks up momentum.
Route 1 is straight, and the biggest thing I have to deal with is the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that comes with being on the road with so much traffic. I'm amazed at how exposed I feel. But within a few minutes, as those maiden miles roll under my wheels, the sense of total exposure begins to diminish. I slowly begin to relax and notice other things-the raspy sound of the two-stroke engine, the rush of the landscape and the coolness of the wind filtering through my denim jacket. A grin breaks across my face. Finally, I'm riding a motorcycle!
Cresting one of the small hills south of Woodbridge, I see the distinct form of another motorcycle heading toward me. I'm sufficiently wrapped up in my own piloting duties that I don't pay him much attention. But suddenly, as we close on one another, he raises his left hand in a casual, offhand wave. The gesture comes as something of a surprise-I don't know him from Adam, after all. But his acknowledgement strikes an instant, welcoming chord in me. I'm all too aware that I'm a rank newbie at all this, but that doesn't seem to matter-just being out here seems to be enough. It suddenly occurs to me that perfect strangers see me in a particular, different way simply because I'm on a motorcycle.
"Wow, that is so cool," I think to myself, as I wave in response.
One of the first things that becomes apparent to a new rider is that motorcyclists are different-that this activity they've chosen is not exactly mainstream. That may come as a bit of a surprise to many; to the undiscerning eye, the roads seem full of motorcycles, after all. But it is ineluctably true. Society presents us with a constant stream of reminders.
Much of the motorcycle culture is warm and welcoming and inclusive. Like we've joined some sort of club. However long we stay in this sport, there will always be a community of like-minded souls ready to provide support, encouragement and camaraderie.
But society as a whole still views us with a whole range of stereotypes. To them, we seem a little strange. They can't imagine why anyone would voluntarily embrace a risk-laden sport like motorcycling, all in the name of recreation. And they find the streak of independence that prompts such a choice to be vaguely disquieting.
In days past, that unease was expressed a bit more overtly than it is today. I still remember the high-school acquaintance of mine whose mother refused to let me park my bike in front of her house. She was OK with me visiting; she just didn't want that bike parked out there. I guess she was afraid the neighbors would think that her family was consorting with hoodlums.
Today, it's a bit more muted. Now we're more likely to simply get the occasional long, subtly disapproving look and pursed lips from the waitstaff when we walk into a restaurant with our helmets.
Or the quizzical look at work when we're discussing plans for the weekend with our coworkers. Instead of a round of golf or an afternoon in front of the TV watching football, we happily announce that we're riding. What else would we do?