I was stupid but I can’t go back

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Today, I want to talk to you about a conversation I had with Martina, who contacted me by email to share her story. Martina obtained her motorcycle license at the age of 41; she had only ridden a moped during high school and wasn’t particularly interested in motorcycles. Then something changed when she met her future husband and started riding as a passenger on his motorcycle:

“At first, I was extremely rigid. I couldn’t see anything, and my helmet kept bumping against M’s helmet with every brake and acceleration. It was tiring; he had a sportbike. He wore a leather suit, but I didn’t even have a jacket. He told me I didn’t need to buy anything, that a jacket or a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers were enough. I didn’t feel inadequate; it was hot, and I felt fine.”

After a few months, Martina got tired of being a passenger and decided to get her A license and her own motorcycle. M. supported her, teaching her everything and also helping her financially.

A few weeks later, with her license in hand and a “old but reliable” Ducati Monster she named Devil, our Miss embarked on her first steps in the mountains.

Everything was wonderful. I felt like Wonder Woman even though I had no idea how to handle the hairpin turns and was going extremely slow! On a ride with friends, I fell behind even though I was giving it my all. I reached the top of the pass while they were already having coffee. They laughed, affectionately calling me “snail,” but it felt like a punch to the stomach. I felt terrible. So, I decided to take a safe riding course as many of you had recommended, but this time M. disagreed. He said the courses were useless and just a way to take money from people. He said he would teach me… too bad he had no patience at all.

In the meantime, we got married, and I found a job at a cleaning company. I didn’t earn much, but I tried to save something for my passion. For my birthday in July, I bought myself a nice white AGV helmet. The next step would have been to get a jacket, then a back protector, and take a course.
Then, the disaster in August.

After a heated argument with M., I decided to go out on the motorcycle and head towards the mountains on my own. The motorcycle had always been my solace; it had always made me feel good. But that day, I didn’t “feel” it; it was rough and difficult. It was hot, I felt the wind on my skin. Maybe I closed my eyes for a moment, I don’t know.
The fact is, I took a turn badly, I was going fast, and the motorcycle didn’t hold the road, throwing me onto the asphalt.
The ambulance arrived very quickly. I had abrasions on my legs, hands, arms. Blood everywhere. A compound fracture of the tibia. A head injury. Devil was destroyed and beyond repair. I cried a lot; I remember that.

Since then, I haven’t ridden a motorcycle again. It’s been three years. I read all your posts in the MissBiker community, your beautiful articles, and I dream of finding the strength and courage to get back on the bike. Meanwhile, M. has left. He couldn’t handle my crises or maybe he simply wasn’t the right person. I look at the scars on my hands, scars that won’t go away and remind me every day of my stupidity.

It’s easy to say now that I should have bought the right gear. I don’t want to be pathetic or give lectures to those who are reading. But I learned that lesson the hard way. I hope my story can help someone. Always wear protective gear, even when it’s hot. And take a safe riding course. If I could go back, I would do these two things immediately, ignoring those who claimed to care about me.

It will take a while, but wait for me, girls. I’ll be back on a motorbike.

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