Choosing to go on the road again comes with a price, motorcycling for hobby or otherwise looks for ongoing funding. The gloves for different seasons, full fingered, or fingerless, full face helmets or partial, boots that are comfortable beyond looking chic, leathers in degrees of coverage, and many more considerations must be thought out.  Decisions are made by determining the type of riding lifestyle you plan to acquire.

Questions to ask yourself,

       How often will I ride?

       What type of rides would I enjoy most?

       Back roads, or in town for errands, day trips, or extended overnight explorations?

       Will I ride alone or with a group?

 So, to choose a course of action then measure my personal determination has been where I find myself at this point.

Since riding within a 20 mile radius has given me a small version to practice and learn many techniques taught in classroom discussions, my confidence has been growing. But the reality is I began to dream what it may be like to visit unfamiliar roads and towns.

An opportunity to follow (or be followed) a friends rig from Cashmere Washington to Lake Kachess seemed like the perfect sequential step to grow my riding experience further. I must admit, 2 days prior my mind ran scenarios, giving myself the option of backing out at the very last minute.

 I may have failed to mention that I do not have the “wild child” tenancies that come with a desire to have continual adrenalin highs from recreation experiences that some others crave. My course of action has been chosen based on facing & overcoming fears, and the hope that this type of recreation may actually have a fun and relaxing side to it eventually.

My trip began somewhat uneventful, the traffic on 97A was light due to the time of day we had chosen. The realization how absolutely vulnerable in the wind and open road provides moments of sheer terror, when advancing around a curve the angles not quite right, wind gusts of unknown mph, or air flow changes from passing vehicles. The hurried, frazzled drivers following closely, or passing oncoming traffic that cut far too close, leaving a rider to hug the shoulder and pray to be seen.

But none of this compares to the challenges of riding the interstate. The speed can be intimidating, but what I found most difficult was the late afternoon sun glare causing limited visibility and surface pavement grooves that move the front tire in ways you had not instructed the bike to move. Maintaining control of bike and body without true inward panic attacks was futile. I have never been so grateful for an exit to arrive, and a slower pace of 35 mph on country curves to be so welcomed.

My anxious spirit carried over on the trip back home, thoughts of parking and calling a trailer to haul the bike back, yet telling that kind of story was not my end goal.  The price to be paid may not be in mere dollars, tears of determination in the silent helmet brought me home, and the slower pace of Hwy 2 and Cashmere seemed so incredibly easy, thoughts of future rides not given up on.