The Bike, the Dream, and the Drawer We Gave Up for It
When I was in sixth grade, my friends and I made a bucket list. At twelve years old, anything felt possible—learning to read Braille, starting my own library, visiting every country in the world.
I haven’t exactly checked off those particular goals (still can’t read Braille, no personal library, and definitely haven’t hit every country), but last week I got one step closer to crossing another big one off the list: learning to ride a motorcycle.
It’s one of the few things from that list I’ve actually carried with me into adulthood—something I’ve always wanted to do. So… we bought a bike!
Full disclosure: we didn’t only buy it so I could learn to ride. More than once, we’ve found ourselves camped just outside of town, close enough to see it but not close enough to actually explore. And either we had nowhere to park the EarthRoamer, or if we left our campsite, we risked losing it entirely. (Turns out before 4 PM is the golden hour for finding a decent boondocking spot—every hour after that and you’re flirting with an 11 PM scavenger hunt.)
So, we bought the bike. And Jacob gave me my first ever riding lesson.
It’s... a lot more complicated than I expected. Two brakes, a clutch, shifting gears, and a bike tall enough that I can’t touch the ground. That last part surprised me—and made everything harder. I’m nervous about not being able to catch myself if the bike starts to tip. A 300-pound machine landing on me is not the kind of adventure I’m looking for.
But I keep reminding myself: this is just like learning to drive a car. Back then, I had a permit, did driver’s ed, logged my hours, and only then got a license—and even at 16, I was nowhere near being an “expert.” A friend recently told us about a motorcycle class in California designed specifically for women. I’m already planning to sign up.
Of course, with the new bike came new gear—helmets, armored jackets, gloves. Our EarthRoamer immediately became a lot more cluttered. The helmets bounce between the bed and the couch depending on the time of day. The jackets live in bags under the table. While I don’t regret getting the bike, the visual chaos in such a small space has been driving me a little crazy.
So this weekend, we finally tackled it. We spent three hours reorganizing everything, unpacking and repacking compression cubes, and creating a pile to drop off when we pass through home. Turns out neither of us needs two pairs of sweatpants or 15 pairs of socks. The motorcycle jackets and gloves now have a drawer of their own (not ideal when you only have six drawers, but better than nothing). The helmets… still no solution there. For now, it’s couch to bed, bed to couch.
Anyway, I can officially say I’m an expert at riding on the back of the motorcycle. Check back in six months and ask me if I’ve got my license yet.