Several years ago, my boyfriend of two weeks smoothed the classifieds on the coffee table and began circling ads for motorcycles. He had a perfectly good Kawasaki propped up on a stand in his unfurnished kitchen. I couldn't help but wonder why he needed another.

"Because," he told me, "if you want to spend any kind of time with me this summer, you're going to have to learn how to ride." He was cute (he had to be - he had a motorcycle in his kitchen), so I decided to give the motorcycle thing a try.

Turns out he was an avid dirt biker. Muskeg smearing his helmet and goggles. Tree roots rising up out of the ground to grab onto his knobby tires. He jumped off tabletops, spun out on shale hills, sped along trails that would make a gopher claustrophobic. He was that kind of biker. Still, I figured I could commit for a week.

As thrilled as I was that this man wanted to purchase a bike for me, I couldn't take him up on his offer right away. As soon as the snow disappeared - and a couple months further into our relationship - I convinced Don that renting was the way to go. We loaded his KX250 into the bed of his truck, slid my little KE beside it, and drove to a sprawling patch of Crown land an hour from the city. Nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains, there were acres and acres of thick forests enveloping a maze of trails that led to creeks and beaver dams and superior moose-stomping grounds. On a dirt bike - or off - I couldn't think of a better place to be on a spring day.

As soon as we parked, I geared up. By now, Don knew what I looked like in the morning, but I was still embarrassed as I pulled on the old pair of coveralls I'd borrowed from a friend and the gardening gloves I'd scrounged out of a forgotten box in the back of my bedroom closet. I topped myself off with a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend 's helmet and I was ready for a crash course in Dirt Biking 101.

But not before I threw up the sausage and egg McMuffin we'd picked up at a drive-thru on the way out of town.

I trembled while Don explained shifting. I hummed manic-ly through his thoughtful and carefully prepared presentation on the front and rear brake levers. He showed me where the fuel switch was, taught me how to open the choke, and demonstrated kick-starting while I hopped from one foot to the other. By the time he made it to Lesson Six: The Clutch - Everything A Girl Needs To Know', my teeth were chattering so violently I couldn't control

• 1
• 2
• 3
• next page >>

---

Add your voice

Know something about Reflections: Motorcycling?
We want to hear your view. Write now!