When I Write about Riding

In the 11 years that I have been writing this column I know of exactly two people who have read every single one; my mom and my friend, Scott. I know for sure that Scott has read them all because it happened this past winter. He was telling me how surprised he was to learn that I wrote for the paper and that he wanted to read more of my writing. After a quick conversation about all of the ways he could access past pieces online, I offered to let him take my scrapbooks. I have this old-fashioned habit of carefully clipping out my column each time it is published in the paper and then placing it in a scrapbook. I have kept them all. So Scott took Volume 1 of “The Flip Side: Life After 40”, and then two weeks later, Volume 2. He was very complimentary of my writing, but inquired as to why I don’t write more about riding my motorcycle. The answer to that question is simple, yet complicated. I actually do write about riding my motorcycle. Those pieces just never seem to make it to my laptop. One of the most peaceful things I do in my life is ride my motorcycle. And as I ride, I compose. I think about how lucky I am to be able to ride around Northern Michigan anytime I want, all summer long with the beautiful blues of the lakeshores to my right and the stunning views of the rolling hills to my left. I smell the amazing scent of the Lilacs in June and marvel that I can hear the spring peepers above the rumble of my motor. I write and write and write words which will never see print because when I come to a stop and swing my leg back over my bike, what I was sure I’d never forget, gets lost in the lunches with friends, shopping downtown, bike nights, and festivals. What started as a hobby that my husband introduced me to as a passenger soon became my love also as a solo rider. However, as the years go by and I have a few more close calls, get a little more fearful, see yet another driver stopped at an intersection looking down at his phone, I think that maybe it’s time to sell the bike. But selling the bike would not only mean a loss of the enjoyment I get from riding, but it would also mean the many hours of writing that take place without my fingers ever touching the keyboard would end too. So Scott, you may not see many columns about riding, but you can know for certain that they are being written.

Practice Makes Better

I’ve never been much for practicing anything. When I pick up a new hobby I usually just start making stuff. I don’t really put forth the effort to ever get really good at it. And for someone who considers herself to be somewhat of a perfectionist, I don’t get much perfect. I don’t even get better. When I was a kid it was important to my mom that all of her children take piano lessons. She acquired a beautiful second hand upright that was missing a bunch of ivories and wasn’t tunable. Try running your 10 year old hands down a keyboard with no ivories. Not fun. Only one out of 3 of us kids actually put in the practice and got good at music. It wasn’t me. I was always in awe of my piano teacher, Mrs. Dvorak, when she would say, “You didn’t practice, did you.” How in the world did she know? Apparently practicing for 15 minutes before I rode my bike down to her house didn’t do a whole lot. Needless to say, my level 2 rendition of Journey’s “Open Arms'' didn't make the cut for the spring recital. Last year, during the COVID shutdowns our younger son stayed with us. Both of our sons are amazing musicians, but I never realized the amount of practice that it takes to become really good at guitar. He would practice for hours every day, playing these short riffs over and over and over, (not gonna lie, it got on my nerves a little). But the first time I got to see he and Robby play together I couldn’t believe it. They were amazing. This spring a few friends and I are taking tap lessons. You might remember I took tap lessons several years ago but it was mostly for fun. There was no practicing as is customary for me. But this time I was thinking about Sam and his endless practicing and about how much better his guitar playing has gotten. So I decided I’d take on the example he set. I took a video of my tap teacher and set up a little make-shift dance studio in my laundry room. I have been practicing both the dance she is teaching us and what are called “rudiments'' which are short steps practiced over and over and over. I can’t believe how much more confidence I have. I go to class feeling like I can keep up. I know the dance and don’t feel like the awkward 5th grader confessing that she hasn’t been taking it seriously. I may not be ready to audition for Riverdance, but I can say that practice does make better. And I’m getting better.