My first memory of motorcycles is a ride I took on the bike owned by the father of one of my friends. I came home with a second degree burn on my left calf from the exhaust pipe, but the ride was so much fun, I didn't notice it until my mom asked me how it happened. I had to tell, and was consequently forbidden to get on a motorcycle ever again. But I never forgot how much fun it was.
After I left home for Nursing school, my two brothers were riding Harleys and my dad had a Honda Gold Wing. I really wanted to buy a bike, and they advised me to start with something small. We all went to look at a Honda 250 which my brother test rode for me, but the seller didn't have the certificate of ownership for it, so the sale was soured for me. I didn't want to risk taking possession of a bike with a possibly cloudy title.
So, I contended myself with occasionally riding on the back with anyone who would take me. But it didn't happen very often. I do remember taking one really long ride on a bike down to San Diego once with a guy I didn't know very well. He was really nice. We stayed overnight at his married sister's house and rode home the next day. He was in the military and I was working full time as an R.N. at the time, so we never really connected again.
I concentrated on my career and family until about two or three years ago, when I began to realize that my only son would be leaving for college soon, and his father would be moving back to the city to be closer to his office. I began to think about a dream I used to have of riding all around the country on a motorcycle, seeing the sights and getting a real flavor of the places I visit. I thought about it quite a bit before I ever mentioned to my family what I wanted to do. When I did tell them, they said I was nuts. So, every time we saw someone on a motorcycle (Harley) or saw one parked near where we might be eating dinner out, I would say, "Oh! There's my bike!"
They would just laugh.
Then I began to say I would be buying a motorcycle when my son graduated from high school. They said wait until after he graduates from college. I reluctantly agreed to wait. So I would then have to postpone my dream for another four or five years. But I still talked about it from time to time. Once, when I brought up the subject of getting a motorcycle they said, "Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Well, I knew then that I would never get their blessing, let alone their permission to get a bike, so I began to think that I would get myself a bike for my fiftieth birthday.
I wanted a Harley with a sidecar. I talked to different friends about the virtues of a sidecar vs. a trailer. I wanted the sidecar because I envisioned being able to take a lot of stuff with me on the road (I'm a bag lady at heart) and I wanted to be able to travel with my dogs (I have three corgis and just recently got a westy). So one day, while driving along the Ventura freeway, I saw a Harley-Davidson dealership on the side of the road. I decided to stop and talk to the sales staff to see what their opinion was regarding the sidecar/trailer issue.
The salesman there at the time told me that Harley-Davidson didn't make a trailer, but that they did make sidecars, and he just happened to have one on the floor, which they had received not too long ago. I went over to take a look, and fell in love with it. I would either have to buy this bike, or order one and wait six months. This was in January, and my fiftieth birthday wouldn't be until July. I thought about it for a nanosecond, and asked what kind of deal could I get. He laughed and said, "Welcome to the world of Harley-Davidson. We don't deal. You pay sticker price." So I said, "OK."
I had signed up for a motorcycle rider education course which would be that weekend, and planned to take delivery of the bike on the Sunday after completion of the course. I had never driven a bike before in my life, but was confident that I could learn quickly. I passed the course and received a certificate which entitled me to get my license amended if I could pass the written DMV test. I didn't know I had to take another test, so I had to postpone taking possession of my bike for a couple more days. I passed the test, but discovered while reviewing the material from the DMV that I was not required to have a class M license to drive a sidecar. Nevertheless, I needed it to ride my little scooter which I had purchased several months before, but had not ridden for various reasons.
I was told that the sidecar would feel entirely different from riding on two wheels, which it was. No one at the motorcycle rider Ed course had ridden a sidecar, so they couldn't help. I figured it couldn't be too difficult. And it wasn't. At first.
It was a lot of fun riding around town on my hack rig. I took my dogs with me, and did shopping, and drew more attention than I wanted. Finally, I took a longer ride with my brother and his Gold Wing club to Death Valley, where I learned that I couldn't keep up with a group, and my right arm and elbow were beginning to bother me. Either the sidecar wasn't adjusted correctly, or that's just the way they are, but it always pulled to the right, and I had to push hard with my right arm to steer straight at higher speeds. I was thrashed after about two hours on my bike, and began to think that I couldn't keep it up much longer. The pain was going to put me out of commission if I didn't do something soon.
I had a little unplanned off-road experience in Death Valley one night on that trip, which convinced me that I needed to take the sidecar off. My brother and I had gone on a long ride with a few people during the day, and split off from them so that I could take him to dinner for his birthday. I wanted to take him to Furnace Creek for a steak dinner. They make the best steak I've ever had. So, we ate and really enjoyed the dinner, but my brother was more than a little nervous about riding back after dark to Beatty, Nevada, where we were staying. I told him that I had really bright lights and would take the lead. But I didn't like the way the brights were illuminating the road, so I shut them off. I had forgotten about the auxiliary lights.
We were tooling along on this windy dark country lane, going the speed limit, when suddenly the road and the hillside and the soft shoulder all blended together and I couldn't tell which way I was supposed to go. I suddenly realized that the road curved right, but I was going too fast to negotiate the turn safely, so I just steered straight ahead, knowing that I would go off the pavement. There was a low dirt berm with some boulders just past the soft shoulder, and up I went, sailing into the air, coming down with a thump that sent my bike back up in the air. It almost tipped over to the right, but the sidecar was there to stop it from going all the way over. The bike settled back down, but I was already in motion to the right, and let go of the grips and slid off the right side over the sidecar, landing on all fours. But not without peeing my pants!. Not because I was scared, but because we had drunk a lot of ice water with dinner, and I had a full bladder that I was trying to hold until we got to our motel. But oh no. The force of the bounce opened the flood gates. My poor baby brother. He was scared to death. He parked his bike and came running over to me yelling, "Are you all right!?" I said, "Yeah, except I peed my pants. So don't get too close. I stink!"
We tried to push the hack back onto
the road, but there was sand and I couldn't prevent my rear tire from
spinning and digging in deeper. We finally came to the conclusion that
we needed another body to help push it out. We knew that there would be
other people from our group going by, and so just waited. Unfortunately,
no one would stop, so when the park ranger showed up, he helped push us
out and then cited me for failure to maintain control of my motorcycle!
$250! Bummer.
I told my brother that if he told anyone what happened, it would be necessary
for me to kill him, so he agreed to keep quiet and just give minimal answers
if anyone asked. I was sooooo embarrassed. There were a few scratches
on the bottom of the sidecar; the sidecar wind screen was flopping and
there were a couple of dings in the front fender, which someone would
see if they looked hard enough. Nobody noticed, but there were a couple
of people who wanted to know what we were doing stopped along the side
of the road. "Pit stop."
So, as soon as I got home, I had the sidecar removed. Riding home from
the dealership was really scary. I had forgotten how it felt to be on
two wheels. It was really different and I thought surely I would fall
over. But I didn't. I made it home, and kept on going. I now have over
7,000 miles on my bike and have been around southern California a bit
and over to Laughlin and up to Hollister. I'm planning to tour more of
the Western States this summer and can't wait to get on the road. Riding
has become an addiction.
What does my family think? Well, they think I'm nuts, but they also think
it's pretty cool. They still worry, but I have to say that I have met
some of the nicest people since I have been riding. I've dropped my bike
four times since taking off the sidecar, and there's always someone there
to come to my rescue. Now I can do it myself, after attending the Women
and Motorcycling conference. Although I haven't dropped my bike for a
while, and don't really want to put it to the test.
I'll be going to Sturgis and the Four Corners Rally this summer and then
I'll be renting a Harley in England for two weeks this fall. I plan to
see Devon and Cornwall, and possibly something of Ireland. So many roads,
so little time. I am committed to caring for my new niece or nephew two
days a week starting in January 2001 for two years, so my travel will
be curtailed somewhat during that time. But look out world after that.
Oh. By the way. My name is Ann
Winters. I was born in 1950 in Hollywood California. I am a retired
Registered Nurse, mother and wife. My other hobbies (if you can call them
that) are riding and driving horses, photography and reading. And touring.
