Riding My Own Ride

For the past eight years I have ridden pillion with my husband, sharing the same small space together on the same bike. He has been the driver and I have been his teammate, navigator and fellow competitor. But now I am riding my own bike, following at a slight distance behind him, no longer dependent on him to make all the decisions about how to handle the bike.

It's great fun steering my own bike, making my own mistakes and pushing myself to try on a new challenge. My years of riding with my husband are paying off...I have a natural feel for what to do having experienced so many different situations in all our time together. I understand what wind or rain feels like, what the bike will do when it's going too slow or too fast, and how to maneuver through curves and traffic.

The critical learning is that no matter what is happening, I have to be riding my own ride. I typically follow him when we are riding together, allowing my concentration to be on improving my ability to navigate through different situations and circumstance rather than where we are going. I feel a bit more comfortable figuring out my pace and style when I am not being followed by a more experienced rider.

And therein lies the critical issue: I have to ride my own ride. The very first time we rode together I mistakenly believed I had to keep up with him, particularly when we came to stop signs and decisions to move through them. I failed to acknowledge my own experience and felt I had to do what he did. A couple of times I almost fell when I had to suddenly stop for an approaching car that he easily cleared but I didn't have the space to do the same. I then had to spend time calming down, and in the process I felt my confidence waning.

I realized I wasn't connecting to my bike and my experience. I was still on his bike, and that was a dangerous place to be. That realization forced me to let go of his expectations and his knowledge, and begin to develop my own sense of what to do and when to do it. Coming to a stop sign, I had to slow down, stop, and figure out when I felt safe to proceed. If he had to wait for me, so be it. Whether riding on the freeway or a twisty mountain road, I had to find a pace and rhythm that worked for me. I had to listen to myself, not anyone else.

It's easy to get caught in someone else's ride, in someone else's experience, and forget to pay attention to my own. Noticing when that happens, the solution is simple...coming back to my bike, my body, my ride. Being willing to let go of someone else's expectations and experiences, whether real or imagined, and remain connected to myself is critical, especially when my life depends on it.