I’ve been riding motorcycles for about 15 years now. My first bike was a little Kawasaki 500 that I managed to pull off a 1200 mile round trip to the Outer Banks just as my first marriage was falling apart. I’d get out on that thing, rain or shine, blazing hot or frigid cold. It was total freedom fueled by gasoline. I had my share of close calls on it though.
One time, I’d been coming back from getting the oil changed only to wind up riding into a torrential thunderstorm compounded by hail. My first experience in the wet I discovered that painted lines are not our friend on two wheels. Another time I had to avoid getting pinched between two cars after the first panic stopped and I went off roading but stayed vertical.
Then there was the time on my second bike, racing along the back roads of PA, following some friends back to a party… I took a particularly sharp curve at speed, the pegs were scraping, and rapidly approaching was a pothole. Brown pants moment I think? I quickly corrected and avoided disaster. Another time I got rear ended by some kid on a cellphone while stopped at a crosswalk.
All in all I can’t remember much fear on either of those bikes, I was also a lot younger and hadn’t had a serious wreck yet. Then 2 years ago I decided to spice things up a bit and get an Indian FTR. More of a sport bike than a cruiser, it had a high revving 1200CC V-Twin, could wheelie on demand, and was a lot more fun on twisty roads than my Kawasaki’s ever were.
Then came April 2022. I totaled that brand new motorcycle with less than 500 miles on it, on a slow curve and came to a stop before a 150+ foot drop off. Two weeks later I went back to the same dealership with a check from my insurance and bought the exact same bike. Over the next year I put about 3500 miles on it, but I never got entirely comfortable.
It was the left turns. My first wreck happened on one. The front of the bike slid a bit, I locked up and went straight off the road. Now any time I approached another left hand turn, anxiety exploded in me. If I even came near the white line, I’d start to freeze up. So many times I’d have to talk and pray myself through each turn until I got home.
Deciding that the FTR wasn’t for me, I traded it in for a cruiser, a Sport Chief. It’s the biggest and most powerful bike I’ve ever ridden. My first rides were glorious, the fear was gone. I even made a point to re-trace the route I’d taken the day I wrecked to prove I’d conquered that fear. I thought I was back. In 6 months I put 3,500 miles on it. Right now it has just under 5,000.
The truth is, I never recovered from that accident. Sure my immediate injuries healed, but mentally I’m just not the same on this bike. I had hoped and prayed that simply going back to my comfort zone would be enough to restore the love of this hobby I’d had for a very long time. Today I took advantage of the perfect weather outside and hit the mountains again.
I’d like to say it was the Toyota FR-S that had began to tailgate me until I found a place to let it pass. I’d like to say it was the sport bike that proceeded to tailgate me on very twisty roads. I’d like to say it was that distraction that nearly sent me off the road twice. I’d be lying. Riding in the mountains is no longer enjoyable to me. Frankly, it terrifies me.
If I’m alone or behind a car, I’m fine. The second someone is behind me, I begin to overthink and panic. Either I get too close to the edge of the road, or I get too close to the center rumble strip at speed which could also introduce control issues. I’m staring at the road instead of looking through the curve. I’m a hairs width in my mind from making my wife a widow.
Sure, once I got out of the mountains, I felt fine… but the truth is I really haven’t ridden my bike much over the past few months. I’ll take it to work and back, or a quick loop on a few less curvy roads, but otherwise it’s just gathering dust in the garage. Roads that were exciting and new to me before I wrecked are now a cascade of fears and anxiety.
The same roads in my old Type-R? Zero problem. I’ve even driven my Jeep Gladiator like a madman up there, no issues. On my bike? More than once I’ve turned around because I simply lost whatever it was I had that would allow me to enjoy riding a motorcycle. I’d turn around and get on roads that require less effort and focus to ride on.
I even came to a point today where I thought, maybe I should just go back to my roots, get something less powerful, smaller, maybe then I’d be comfortable again. Maybe I’m simply trying to negotiate with God, trying to feed the flesh something He doesn’t want it to consume anymore. The thing that really gets me is the fear, and that’s how I know it is the flesh.
My main concern? Giving this hobby up out of fear. What would I be giving up next out of fear? What is to stop this from snowballing until I’m some phobic guy who refuses to leave the house? I’m focusing on my flesh when I need to be focusing on Him. Riding my motorcycle no longer relaxes me, and every time I get on it I feel like I’m holding on to what was.
I’m not the 30 year old daredevil doing 100mph down I-95 in Delaware, or running full trot through the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel at wide open throttle without a care in the world. I’m a husband. I’m a father. I need to let go of this, and right now I feel like I’ve got a 600lb motorcycle on my shoulders.
I’ll be putting the bike up for sale soon, and turning the page on this chapter.
