Where's the Petcock: A Lesson in Riding

There was always a good reason to pay Marty a visit. I loved sitting in his shop, watching him create beautiful body art. He'd recently began sketching an idea I had for some ink and I decided to head up to Auburn to pay him a visit.

At this time, I was learning how to ride. In California, the restrictions of riding with only a permit include riding only between dawn and dusk, staying off the freeways, and no passengers allowed. I'd only had my permit for a short while. My bike was my only mode of transportation. I had a big ride coming up to the Redwood Run with my friends from the Devil's Horsemen so I was determined to master it as quickly as possible.

Well, I've never been very compliant. However, I learned a very valuable lesson this evening...

I took my usual route up through the foothills from Folsom into Auburn, California. This road was absolutely perfect. Not only was the scenery just breathtaking, but the road had enough curves and gently sloped hills to get a good practice ride in. It seemed like I was always building up my riding skills along the way.

The ride up to Rebel Ink was gorgeous and watching Marty work his artistry was always amazing. What a gift!

Leaving his shop I realized it was just about dusk. This was not good because I was not supposed to be riding after dark. I figured I could just jump on the freeway, rather than taking my same route back home. That would get me home faster, right? This was my first mistake.

Well, the next mistake I made was thinking I had enough gas in my tank to make it all the way home. I did not even think to take the gas cap off to check the fuel level. Not very smart, huh? I just hopped on the freeway and hurried on my way home.

Riding close to 80 mph in the fast lane, the bike started making a funny noise. Sort of a sputtering sound. What the heck? Then the bike started to slow down...

I moved over to the middle lane and tried to accelerate but the bike was slowing even more. I had no idea what was going on. My speed was slowing to a dangerous point and it was now completely dark. When it dawned on me that I was running out of gas, I reached for the petcock (gas reserve switch). My problem was I couldn't find it!

Finally realizing I needed to get the hell off the freeway, I made my away across the slow lane. The moment I did this, I cut right in front of a big rig! He layed on his horn and scared the life out of me. My heart just about jumped out of my chest as he flew past my rear tire!

An angel was flying with me and I was certainly reminded to never ride faster than your angel can fly!

It took me a few minutes of sitting alongside the freeway to gather my bearings. Once I reached a state of calm, I flipped the petcock. Fortunately, there was a gas station at the next exit and I made it safely all the way home. All the way, I was feeling pretty stupid.

Once I parked the bike in my garage, I sat there on my bike in the complete darkness, reaching for the petcock over and over again. I'm pretty sure I practiced for a good half hour. I sure never forgot where the petcock was again!

Happy Butt Is Born

Most of my riding years were spent on the back of a motorcycle. Frankly, I didn't have a problem with that. There was nothing that I enjoyed more than taking off on a ride through the mountains, kicking back against the back rest of my ex-husband's bike (if you could call that six-inch pad a back rest). When the warm sunshine and the breeze smothered me, I could literally doze off. I know that sounds crazy, but that is how comfortable I was riding with Ed. The vibration and sound of the machine was soothing as well. It is truly a beautiful feeling. As long as I was able to go for a ride, I was a happy camper.

Toward the end of our marriage, Ed stopped taking me for rides. I would literally beg him to fix whatever was wrong with the bike so he could take me to the coast. There are a couple things wrong with this scenario. First, why is the bike not running? In my opinion, the bike should always be ready to go. It is sort of like getting dressed in the morning. If a button comes off your shirt, you sew it back on. So, if the clutch cable breaks on the bike, you fix it and get back in the wind.

Next question.. Why on earth was I having to beg to go for a ride at all? Why didn't I just learn to ride solo? Actually, he laughed at the idea and told me I would not be learning on his bike. Ed told me he would start me off on a mini-bike, which never happened. I felt beaten down and did not pursue it. It used to make me ill when I would think of this beautiful Harley Davidson Softail Custom just sitting in our garage, neglected. Furthermore, I was neglected. Riding was and still is a huge passion of mine.

Lastly, every time I asked if we could ride to the coast, I would get the same response, "It's too cold on the coast." He just didn't get it, and he did not care to understand. How Ed did not understand my need to ride is beyond me. He's been riding since he was a small boy. His whole family had dirt bikes and used to take them all out when they went camping. Furthermore, he was named after his great uncle, Ed "Iron Man" Kretz, Sr., who was a motorcycle racing legend, and a Motorcycle Hall of Fame Inductee.

Ed took the bike with him when we divorced. I should have fought for it! Oh well...

It did not take me long to hunt down a biker to go riding with. This was the real deal. "Word" was a Prospect for a local chapter of the Viet Nam Vets M/C. We met in an online chat room, and before I knew it, he was wining and dining me (so to speak), introducing me to the club brothers, referring to me as his 'good girl', and inviting me on rides. Riding in a pack of bikes just does something to me. Being among the clubs felt like returning home. It was so comfortable and so real. The hardest thing for me was adhering to the role of a submissive little lady. That's because I would rather hang out with the boys. I was that way even as a young girl. I never did like the 'bros before hoes' mentality, and that usually did create a bit of a problem for me.



One Saturday morning, I was expecting Word to pick me up. He'd invited me to go on a Valentine's Day Sweetheart Run. When we spoke that morning, he told me to be ready to go at 10:00. Now mind you, he was a Prospect. For those of you who do not understand exactly what that means, Prospects have not yet earned the privilege to wear the club colors. Prospects are at the mercy of all the club brothers who are "Patch Holders"

I am only bringing this up because as I waited and waited for Word to come riding up to my front door, I realized he was not going to show up at all. I was pissed.

"What the hell am I doing waiting for a ride anyway? I'm tired of waiting all the time for these assholes! That's it, I'm getting my own damn bike!"

Let's see - That was in mid-February. I had my new Sportster by March 1st! The bummer was my girlfriend, Leslie, had to ride it home from the dealership for me. You know what I absolutely loved about sitting there in the Harley dealership as I signed papers? The most appropriate song played in the store - "No Time" by the Guess Who - I just smiled.

No time left for you
On my way to better things
No time left for you
I found myself some wings
No time left for you
Distant roads are calling me
No time left for you.

No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There’s no time left for you
No time left for you.

A couple brothers helped me out over the next couple of weeks, coaching me how to ride my new bike. After an episode in the Light Rail parking lot, I had no choice but to lower the bike. Suddenly, I was learning how to change shocks and install a lowering kit. To make it fit even better, we switched out the stock bars and pipes with drag bars and pipes. Oh yeah, I got rid of the stock two-passenger seat and put on a solo seat.

All the while, I would take her out after work every single day. After gaining confidence from my mid-intersection stalls (and very close calls), I began riding into the foothills for my daily rider training. I was feelin it! Freedom! Freedom from EVER having to ask another guy to take me for a ride. Now, I could just Go! My bike became my sole source of transportation, so I was no fair-weather-rider. If it was pouring rain, I was riding.

When I showed up at the VNVMC's Memorial Day run at the local VFW, I was given the roadname, "Happy Butt", because my butt was always so happy when I was riding. Riding on the back will never be the same....but like I said, as long as I'm riding, I am a happy camper!

Summit of Despair

A run through Hell on deadly curves ~ Afraid of what could be ~
Miles of twisted roads run on inside of me ~
Riding out Hell's Dark Canyon ~ Roads have been so rough ~
Climbing the highest mountain ~ One ride that's made me tough ~
Darkness appears as clouds ~ Loneliness and despair ~
Blinded by hopelessness and fear which lead me there ~
Drowning storms reaching and tearing at my soul ~
Unable to see the light above ~ At times so bitter cold ~
Waiting for the landslide around the curve ahead ~
Hopeful for the Meadow of Peace appearing there instead ~
Deepest valleys with gouging pain ~ Strength only for today ~
Costly tolls for bridges burned ~ Each day a price to pay
Bound with no escape riding circles around this place ~
Studying the pools of water ~ The reflection is not my face ~
The lair of scars runs deep within forming tales I'll one day tell ~
Memories of painful battles along the roads through Hell ~
Thankful to the Angels of Mercy while broke down on the road ~
Don't feel so lost ~ I know now I do not ride alone ~
Twists and turns won't seem so deadly ~ Just a better ride ~
Fear, despair, and anger now released from inside ~
More winds to ride before I rest ~ My Angel guides me now ~
Ridin on, Free from fear ~ I'll make it, I won't go down ~
Ridin higher ~ Lookin ahead to the summit around the bend ~
Losing sight ~ Not believing ~ Won't ride through there again ~
Smoother roads are calling beyond the Summit of Despair ~
Thundering winds calmed to a whisper ~
Faith will get me there ~

copyright Cherie LaLanne 2005