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I reside in Highlands Ranch Colorado with my husband and two kids. In the thirty years I've been here I have aquired a few interesting hobbies, and motorcycling is my favorite. My name is Carol Spickler, and why the FZRBABE thing? Well I guess it could best be described as a remnant of my "HELLO, I RIDE A MOTORCYCLE, AND I'M A CHICK!" days. Today I wave at the passing bikers and I'm starting to not mentally scream at them "I'M A CHICK," but I do hope they'll notice the long hair or something, and maybe just for a billisecond wonder "Hmmm, was that a woman?" I even, for a brief time (and I hate admitting this, just so you know), toyed with the idea of a vanity plate along the lines of "CHICK" or "FEMALE" or "FZRBABE" or something to give people a clue. Of course these ideas were dismissed almost immediately. I suppose I could don pink leathers or ride around in a bikini top, but I do have some small modicum of self-respect & self-preservation. Now if people start mistaking me for a guy off the bike... well, then I may have to take drastic measures, but that's a whole other rant entirely, and I've gone on long enough. So, if your out on the streets, and you see a wimpy little dude out on his motorcycle, be nice to him. And remember it's not how you look, it's how you ride.
I've been riding my Yamaha FZR since 95. It was the first streetbike I ever rode, and it was scary as hell so I bought an Intercepter 250, and completed a couple of riding courses. By then I felt I had grown out of it, and moved back up to the 600.I definitely recommend a motorcycle training course if you want to aquire your class M license. But no amount of practice will keep you from being injured, or almost as bad, embarrased.
One embarrasing moment sticks in my mind especially. I decided to take my bike down to my favorite bar. Bikes all lined up out front; Outdoor patio; Tons of people outside; I pulled right up the ramp to the very front of the bar. Removed my helmet, shook out my long blond hair and thought I was just dick all to look at. Upon leaving this place (that will remain unnamed), I proceeded to put on my helmet, gloves and mounted my bike. As I was backing it down the ramp, I turned too sharp and fell right off the edge of the ramp. The bouncers had to pull my bike off of me, even got a standing ovation from the patio crowd. Would of seen me crying if it wasn't for my (now scratched up) helmet. Sometime after that I thought I would like to try riding an off-road bike. |
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Almost crashing is scarier than crashing. There was this undeveloped piece of land not to far from my Mom's house. It had all sorts of fun hills and a killer jump. I had owned my dirtbike for a whole of about two days. But hey, Iv'e seen Crusty Demons of Dirt, and I ride a street bike, how hard could these jump things be. Let's see, first I approched the jump in second gear at at a nice steady speed. Then I remember how in the movies they realy gun it before the jump. That two-stroke jetted and piped 80 then launched me into warp speed over that jump, and when I left the ground every pore in my body puckered closed in stark terror. My eyes bugged out and threatened to bang against my goggles, and my fingernails turned blue from a vise grip on the bars. It was a long way down and it seemed like an eternity before my (gulp) front tire touches the ground. Then I did the worst possible thing any rider could do: I hit the rear brake. Naturally this caused the front tire to slam into the ground with enough force that to this day I can still applaude with my shoulder blades. After I recovered from a serious case of the side-to-side-I'm-going-to-lose-it-wobbles, I shakily got of my bike and walked it back home. Hmm, wonder what it would be like to race a dragbike? |
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