Who needs a motorbike anyway?

I write this post fresh from my first motorbike riding lesson. I must admit, to my shame, shame being a key feature in this post, that it was my first time operating a piece of machinery with a clutch. As it turns out riding a motorbike is not as easy as it looks, or at least not as easy for me. I can think of at least 3 likely readers of this post, the previously mentioned Uncle Richard springing easiest to mind, who will now be sitting with arms smugly crossed over inflated chests thinking, “Silly, lad, its as easy as falling over!” apparently for me the falling over, or rather off, is considerably easier.
When Dave suggested over some fascinating cabbage soup and rice that he teach me how to ride the motorbike I was thrilled. Sounds like great fun, so I agreed of course. After lunch I went over to the guest house and after fighting off the usual little people who wish to come in with me I got changed and ready for my lesson. I decided a quick prayer was in order, its not every day a chap gets to ride a motorbike for the first time and as issue of shear British pride, one wishes to get it right first time. With this in mind my prayer was along the lines of my hopping onto the bike, revving up the engine and speeding off into the sunset (still not for another 4 hours so I’m not sure where at came from…) to the applause of all those around. A short arrow was sent up regarding safety, but who needs safety when you have sunsets and applause?
I went up to find Dave and discovered that Musungu on a motorbike is what passes for entertainment around here as anyone within a certain range downed tools in order to watch the show. Dave gave me a cursory introduction to the various controls and I relied on my own limited know-how as to what they do. My Dad always taught me to never be afraid of asking questions no matter how stupid they might seem to you. It’s just better to know. I asked a few questions about things I probably should have known, and Dave ran me through the order of controls by which you start up the bike. Choke, kick-start, clutch, throttle, gear, release clutch…or something along those lines. I tried once or twice getting different things wrong each times until at last I had the bike going in neutral every time. During my various failed attempts to even start the thing my mind was a mess of “Clutch, no throttle, don’t throttle yet! Try the choke, how do I change gear, where is the clutch!!” Of course my mental picture of getting it right first time wasn’t helping; it was serving to make me feel slightly more incompetent with every failed try. The local Ugandans who had gathered together for the show were all standing looking somberly at the young white man. They all possessed looks on their faces that suggested they were wondering what exactly was wrong with this youth that he can’t even get it started. The looks didn’t help, neither did the slight giggles of surprise when I finally got the thing started.
Now in order to get the Bike out of neutral and into first gear you have to pull back on the throttle a little bit and tap the peddle by your left foot. I tried once or twice and stalled…I was getting good at that. Finally on my third try I did it. Helpfully no one mentioned that changing from neutral to second carries with it a kick, a quick jolt forward that the rider must quickly control in order to ride off into the sunset with applause ect. When I triumphantly changed gear I experienced said kick which had only fazed me for a second. Having ridden push bikes all my life I know if you get thrown back off the saddle for any reason you simply pull yourself up onto the saddle again by pulling gently on the handlebars. What had been explained to me and what I also happened to know was that pulling gently on the handlebars is also a perfect way of sending a motorbike forward. Unfortunately in the moment of the kick, this handy little nugget of information slipped my mind and I reacted on instinct, I pulled on the handlebars. The result of which, as Uncle Richard will chuckle to picture, was me pulling a spectacular “wheelie” whilst heading in the general direction of some rather long grass. This time I panicked a bit and again relied on instinct. If a bicycle was, for any reason, to behave in a similar manner the correct course of action is to apply your body weight to the front of the bike therefore forcing the bicycle down and back under control. Unfortunately at the moment I decided upon such an action I was almost horizontal with the bike still moving forward beneath me. I had to pull myself on top of the beast in order to tame it. I foolishly did the same as last time, pulled myself up on, that’s right, the handlebars. This time it half worked. The Bike regained two wheels on the ground but was traveling now even faster. Eventually after my failed attempts to stop the bike, I came off and landed hard on my shoulder with my left leg under the Bike.
I think my self respect came off the worst, followed by the Bike followed by myself. The damage to the bike is nothing a bit of TLC and a new clutch handle can’t fix and the leg and shoulder ache slightly but nothing a good nights sleep can’t fix. The self respect though has now retreated somewhere in the vicinity of the nearest toilet. I know I need to get back on the horse…that expression now holds a scary and not at all funny meaning for me…and I plan to as soon as the bike is ready to be mauled again. I must end this post here and attempt to deal with Becka. She is in floods of tears and refusing to let me anywhere near her because I decided waving a carving knife at her brothers and sisters was actually a bad idea, and took it off her.
All the best
Dan (Plus bruise to left shoulder, minus ambitious sunset notion)