Boldly Facing His Fear of the Unknown--on the Back of a Motorcycle

When you don’t have a car, it’s amazing what you think you can get away with schlepping on a motorcycle. I’ve carried bouquets of flowers, fresh-baked apple pies, hot coffee, mounds of groceries, a stereo . . . even lumber. But the most difficult load I’ve ever stowed on the back of my bike has been human.

As much as I’d like to secure passengers with plastic bags and bungee cords so they won’t wiggle around, live cargo just doesn’t work that way. I’ve had passengers attempt to hold on around my neck, drag their feet like brakes and lean in the wrong direction--against the turn.

So when a friend with a lifelong aversion to motorcycles asked me recently to help him get over his “fear of death,” I was ambivalent. Still, the prospect of winning a convert was a little too compelling. We planned our route and set a date.

When I arrived at his house on a clear Saturday afternoon, my friend seemed surprisingly calm. He exhibited none of the telltale signs of pre-ride panic, though he did offer me endless snacks and beverages as a stall tactic.

I suggested we gear up and head out. I handed him the extra leather jacket I’d brought with me. It was so small he couldn’t zip it up. I explained that if he hit the pavement, as he so obviously expected we would, my jacket would peel off like a layer of sunburned skin. I advised him to wear one of his own coats--one that actually fit--even if it was cotton. He complied but looked nervous.

Next came the helmet, which covered most of his head but left his face exposed. He wasn’t too happy about that, especially upon seeing my own headgear--which totally covered my head and had a face shield and nose guard.

“Um. What about my nose?” he asked. Clearly, he was anticipating a short ride and a long, painful death. And we hadn’t even gotten near the bike.

I took him through a few basics: Hold onto my waist, keep your feet on the passenger pegs at all times and lean with me into the turns. He swallowed hard and hopped on. We rode down the street and around the first corner, which I’ve found is pretty indicative of how the rest of the trip will go. Turning, for some reason, freaks people out. I figured my friend would be no exception.

I was pleasantly surprised: He didn’t death-grip me around the midsection, prepping me for an inadvertent Heimlich maneuver. He didn’t lean away from the turn, forcing an impromptu, off-road motocross experience.

I shifted into second gear, then third and fourth. Whoosh. Vroom. I checked my mirror. He had tears in his eyes. Wind.

At 75 mph, it’s hard to chat, so I wasn’t sure how my friend was doing. I got my answer 20 minutes later. He tapped my shoulder and pointed toward the Angeles National Forest, where the curves come quicker than waves at the Wedge. There, instead of following my lead, he started leaning before we even got into the turns and giving the thumbs up to other bikers.

Easy rider? Easy passenger. The only thing missing was the Steppenwolf soundtrack.

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Susan Carpenter sits in today for Drive Time columnist Mary McNamara, who returns from maternity leave next month.