Motorcycles: A Bad Relationship Builder
Creating a memory that would make me smile for as long as I live
I taught my wife, Jenni, how to ride a motorcycle in October 2017.
It was a 1986 Honda XR80 we nicknamed “Gentle Ben”. We bought it for $350 and borrowed a minivan from Jenni’s parents to pick it up.
After unloading it in the parking lot behind our apartment building, I explained the basic motions of operation.
Pull in the clutch. Tap into gear. Lightly twist the throttle. Slowly release the clutch.
Seated on the bike with the engine off, Jenni rehearsed the process several times while I pushed her from behind to simulate how the bike would react to her inputs. She was ready.
Moments later she was zipping up and down the parking lot without any coaching. I beamed with pride. She’s a natural!
Then my imagination ran away.
I fantasized about Jenni loving motorcycles as much as me. I pictured us riding together every weekend, making friends along the trail and building years of memories on two wheels.
I wanted us to be a bike couple, and I was ready to make it a reality.
First ride in the wild
Not long after Jenni learned to ride that little Honda, I picked up an XR250 that was just as old as her bike. We took them up a nearby canyon with an unmaintained dirt road.
As we buzzed up the bumpy road, the suspension on Jenni’s bike bottomed out and bucked her around. Ruts and corners were intimidating, and she expressed uneasiness.
I could only think one thing: We need to upgrade her bike. Then she’ll fall in love.
A better bike
That winter, I found a great deal on a Honda CRF150. It had electric start, squishy suspension, and a quiet engine. The perfect fit for Jenni. I also upgraded my own bike, and we splurged on full sets of new gear.
While waiting for winter to end, I excitedly envisioned the day when Jenni would be ready to ride on singletrack trails, which is where I loved riding the most. I stoked fantasies of long weekend camp trips where the two of us would cruise hundreds of miles all over famous trails.
Spring hit, and I loaded up the bikes as soon as the snow thinned.
We went for a few rides on more dirt roads in the mountains. Each time, Jenni seemed apprehensive. She handled her new bike without issue, but was still rigid and anxious, noticeably relieved when we finished each ride.
Maybe a street bike?
It wasn’t long before Jenni told me she just didn’t love riding dirt bikes. I was disappointed, but not surprised. However, soon after, she casually tried out my street bike and mentioned that she liked the smooth road a lot more than bumpy, off-road terrain.
You can guess what I did at that point. Yeah, I picked out a street bike for her. A beautiful CBR250.
I felt a renewed rush of excitement. Finally! We found the type of riding she would love. We would be a street bike couple!
Jenni rode that bike like a pro. She was rock-steady, always maintaining grace and control through traffic.
She rode her bike to work many times, and we frequently rode together around town while chatting through bluetooth-linked helmets.
Despite her skills, she was still often nervous on the bike, especially at speeds over 40mph.
I once insisted that we go for a ride through Blacksmith Fork Canyon, a mountainous canyon with a winding paved road and low traffic. As we entered the first curve at moderate speed, Jenni expressed concern. She was spooked and uncomfortable.
I was right behind her and assured her she was doing great. She was picking good lines, braking well, and counter steering without a problem.
She reluctantly agreed to press on, and I tried my best to calm and encourage her as we twisted deeper into the canyon. I thought I was doing her a favor by gently pushing her outside her comfort zone to be more comfortable with all riding aspects.
After 15 or 20 minutes, it was clear that instead of becoming more comfortable with the corners, her anxiety was only building. Visibly tense and jittery. Finally, she firmly said she was not having fun and wanted to be done.
We turned around and started back home in silence. A flood of guilt swept over me as I reflected on the situation.
Bad expectations
I never said it out loud, but Jenni knew I wanted us to be one of those cool motorcycle couples. The expectation was toxic. It took the freedom right out of her hands.
In the beginning, she was genuinely curious and interested, but I got too excited and pointed a metaphorical motorcycle firehose right at her face.
As soon as I set an expectation for exactly how I wanted the future to go, I was doomed to disappoint us both.
Cherishing the present
Funny enough, the feeling I was chasing by shoving motorcycles down Jenni’s throat was nothing compared to the feeling of watching her zigzag around the parking lot on that October day when she learned how to ride.
It was magic.
No fancy dirt bikes. No gnarly trails. Just a couple of 23-year-old college kids behind a sketchy apartment building creating a memory that would make me smile for as long as I live.
