The Big Red Beast

The Big Red Beast(Jennifer Applequist) The Big Red Beast

"I think I'll ride your new motorcycle home,"
I said to my husband. It was a warm summer day and I hadn't ridden motorcycles much, but I longed to feel the wind in my face.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" He asked. Right then and there, I should have recognized that it probably wasn't such a good idea. But I didn't.

I mounted the big red dirt bike, struggling because it was very tall. Once I was straddling the seat, I put up the kickstand and reached my feet to the ground. At this point, I should have recognized sign number one that I was making a big mistake. When I put my feet down, the bike was too heavy for me to hold up and it crashed to the ground, right on top of my leg. Now, a sane person would have realized that if you can't hold the bike up, you probably shouldn't be riding it. Not me.

Next, I started the engine, gave it some gas, and off I went. At this point, I felt pretty good about my motorcycle-driving ability. Who cares if I can't hold the bike up? As long as I'm moving, I don't have to.

The delicious scent of fresh-cut hay filled my nostrils as I sped down the county road. I was headed to my house, which was about two miles from the corrals where we had been working cows that day. When I reached the end of the county road, I turned left onto the path that cuts through one of our fields. Everything was going well, but I suddenly began to worry about the cattle guard I had to cross, and, even worse, the highway.

I knew I needed to try and time the crossing of the cattle guard and highway perfectly so that I wouldn't have to stop for any traffic. (Remember, holding the motionless motorcycle up didn't work out so well for me earlier.) I was all set to cross when, out of nowhere, a semi came around the corner on the highway, forcing me to weigh my options. If I didn't stop, I might make it across in time to beat that semi. Or, if I slowed down enough, maybe it would pass before I reached the crossing. Neither of these options worked out.

I happened to strike out completely on the timing, forcing me to do something I knew was not a good idea. I had to stop, right in the middle of the cattle guard. Now, stopping on flat ground would be bad enough when you are pretty sure you're not going to be able to hold up the beast you're riding, but stopping on a cattle guard was like inviting a broken leg to come over and play.

Sure enough, when I stopped, the monstrous bike fell on top of me, pinning me beneath its massive weight. How I avoided one or both of my legs going down through the bars of the cattle guard is beyond me. I actually managed to escape, unscathed. But that's not the end of this story.

By sheer willpower, I managed to lift the motorcycle up off of me and get it standing upright once again. A little voice inside my head said, "Just stop right here and leave the bike where it is. Quit while you're ahead." Did I listen to that voice? No, I listened to the other one that told me how embarrassing it would be to have to tell my husband what had happened. So, I decided to get back on and cross the dreaded highway.

Remounting the beast, I was determined to get myself, and the bike, home. I turned the throttle, but I guess I gave it a little too much gas because the motorcycle then proceeded to have a mind of its own and just leap right out from under me and onto the highway. I went one direction, and it went the other. Now I was in really bad shape because the bike was in the middle of the highway, and it was only a matter of time before a truck would come barreling around that corner again. So once again, by sheer willpower, I lifted the beast up, remounted it and headed for home.

The highway safely (well almost safely) crossed, I sped down the hill that led to my house, parked the bike, and sat down on the ground, just then comprehending what had just occurred.

Never again have I attempted to ride that motorcycle. Never again have I attempted to ride any motorcycle, other than my son's little tiny one that I know I can hold up on my own when stopped. I still have scars on the palms of my hands to remind me of the day I did something that I knew was a bad idea right from the very start. Next time, I'll read the warning signs!