MEMOIR

Kick Like Ya Mean It

A woman’s motorcycle odyssey in search of an identity

Self-Portrait with Murky Water. Image by the author, created during an identity crisis.

“I won’t sell it to you.” He said. “There are many other bikes here that are far more suitable for you. Choose something else.”

I argued. Let me try.

He shook his head. “If you get it wrong, that thing can kick back and break your leg.”

But I wanted it. I had the money to pay for it. This is the bike I chose.

Fed up with this tiresome ado, he relented, but only to teach me some humility. He demonstrated the kickstart sequence, and then stood back, arms folded, expectant with derision.

They are all watching me. Prove them wrong.

I mounted. I stood high on the footpegs. I pulled the decompression lever in with my left hand. I pushed the kickstarter down with my right foot, just a bit. I let go of the decompression lever, and I jumped with all my weight on the kickstarter.

Silence. Over and over, only ever, a breathless wheeze.

Eventually they all walked away, attended to other customers, and ignored the silly young woman making a fool of herself on a bike she cannot start.

But I was steadfast.