Last Thursday I nearly peed my pants.
I replay that moment a lot in my head. The sound of my floorboards scraping across the asphalt still rings loudly in my ears. Every divot in the rolling blacktop underneath the soles of my boots remains in sharp focus. I can still feel my palms pressing against the grips of my handlebars as I negotiate my motorcycle through every hairpin curve and bend in the roadway.
Welcome to the “Twisties” of Yarnell Hill.
Our meetup that day was the Harley Davidson of Scottsdale dealership with 20+ bikes in our group. The gas station at the base of Yarnell Hill was our first stop of the day. There, I learned we’d be separated into groups depending upon comfort level. One ride leader would take her group on a slower, more conservative ride up the mountain and the other group would take an aggressive, faster approach to the twisties.
Excited that I got to pick my ride, I chose the latter.
After the briefing, I threw a leg over my bike and backed it out of its space. Scott Miller and Lori Edwards were next to me backing out of their spaces and knowing they’d be in Kym’s group, I positioned myself behind them. I followed them when they exited the parking lot, assuming we’d stage for Kym on the side street next to the station. Instead, they rode to the stop sign, paused, turned right toward Yarnell Hill and opened up their throttles. Brraaap!
I rolled my throttle back to stay with them, my palms straining to hold onto the grips, my body feeling as if it was peeling away from my motorcycle…
I guess we’re not waiting for Kym.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I managed to speak aloud the phrase that calmed me throughout my entire career in law enforcement…it’s all good...
Just prior to hitting a door on a search warrant…it’s all good. The few seconds right before conducting a felony stop of a known armed suspect….it’s all good. When the Range Master overseeing our firearms qual barked over the PA system…“The first drill starts from the holster. You will draw and fire two rounds. You have six seconds. Wait till your target turns!”
…“it’s all good”, would roll off my lips as the targets turned and I cleared leather for that first shot down range. That phrase is my zen amidst chaos.
Within seconds, that stop sign became a memory and Scott, Lori and I were on the doorstep of the first intimidating curve at Yarnell Hill.
It’s all good…I said inside my helmet, keenly aware I had never ridden this stretch of road this quickly before. With every turn, my heart raced as if to dance with the RPM’s on my speedometer.
But, I was keeping up with Scott and Lori. I was riding smoothly. And, I was holding my own on this ride.
And, then it happened.
We hit a hairpin turn and my speed caused my motorcycle to drift to the outskirts of my lane threatening to pull me into unsafe territory of which I wanted no part.
And, yet it's easier to just drift…
It’s scary to lean your bike more than you already are; more than you think you can. The drift is lazy whereas the lean is intentional. It takes effort and courage.
Before the possibility of being pulled into oncoming traffic though, I turned my eyes and chin deep into the corner where I wanted my bike to go and leaned my bike father than I thought I should. My floor board went from an easy scraping sound to a guttural noise as if was gnawing and clawing at the asphalt begging for the torture to end.
But I didn’t go down. I provided input into my two wheeled machine and it complied. I got back on track (not without a moment of sheer panic) and I continued to stay on the heels of Scott and Lori the rest of the way up the mountain. At the top, we stopped our bikes, glanced around at one another, throwing head nods and flashing teethy grins in acknowledgment of a ride well done. It was the most kick ass trip up the mountain that I’ve personally ever experienced.
And ever since, I’ve been thinking about how life is a lot like the motorcycle lean back at that hairpin curve. When life throws nothing but chaos and pandemonium our way, it’s easy to drift to the outskirts; into an abyss where if you succumb to that darkness, even for a second, it’s too easy to live there. Or worse….it can threaten to take you out altogether. It's the equivalent of the oncoming traffic lane.
To escape, you have to lean into it. Lean into life. Lean into the possibility that it’s not always going to be marked by dark days and a river of tears and despair.
Lean into hope. Lean into faith. Lean into God.
I’m glad I did. Doing so brought me to a new house. To a way to manage the images from the suicide. To seeing the sun rise every morning. And, to a boyfriend who I believe is The One.
It’s scary. I feel vulnerable.
But I’m just gonna keep leaning.
