.) If there’s any part of you that wants to learn to ride a bike, this part is a no-brainer: Aside from an expert instructor to take you from having never sat on a motorcycle to being able to safely navigate one in two days, the MSF-affiliated programs also serve as the road-test part of your licensing requirements; even better, they have their own bikes for you to use.
Any fears one might have about being plopped on a 500-pound piece of smoking iron and being left to one’s own white-knuckled, high-revving idiocy are quickly KO’d: We’ve all passed an e-test before showing up, so we know our clutch levers from our brake levers and have a functional understanding of most of the bike’s simple mechanics.
Backtracking a bit: We were all instructed to show up to class with our own helmet and wearing a long-sleeved shirt, some kind of jeans, and sturdy ankle-high boots. The deeply tanned Lígia, who stands about 5’ 2” and, I later learn, is from Brazil, is wearing what I can only describe as a kind of extreme micro-bra hand-knit out of a very small amount of black yarn on top, and seemingly painted-on jeans with thigh-high black patent leather boots with four-inch heels below.
As for myself: I was so thrilled to pass this particular gauntlet that I drove to a Dairy Queen in New Jersey to celebrate. With my road-test waiver now in hand, getting my license came down to a simple permit test at the DMV—I now had a new license with an “M” stamped on it. But all I had proven so far was that I could navigate a parking lot at a rather slow speed.
This stupid little 125 has saved our sanity this year. The outgoing recycling could've been thrown in the back of a Jeep...but where's the fun in that?
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