I didn't ride a bicycle this weekend. But I did take a motorcycle road skills course so that I could get an M endorsement in my driver's license. And learn to ride a moto, something I have never tried.
My MTB skills (and road bike, for that matter) made learning to handle the moto super easy. However, it took a long minute for all my hands and feet (so so many) to start working together.
I woke up late on day 1 of the class, slammed a coffee (black), skipped breakfast, and rushed out of the house. Turns out I didn't need to, because I made it with 15 minutes to spare. Who knew the lanes are empty at 645 a.m. on Saturday? It was cold: 40F with a steady 18 mph north wind.
With about two hours left (class was scheduled to end at 1:30), I started to feel a little ... off. Class ran about 30 minutes long, and for the last hour I got clumsy and stupid, and my legs and hips started to feel crampy. The last half hour I was swallowing back the urge to puke. I got in the car afterward to drive home, but I had to stop at the side of the road with my face in the reusable grocery bag I keep in the pocket behind the passenger seat. I didn't puke, but ... Oh man I felt bad.
Made it home though, still too nauseous to eat anything. I told my wife I was pretty sure I had carbon monoxide poisoning from all the exhaust I had breathed. The ****er I was behind in line (actually everyone there -- diverse in every imaginable way -- bonded really nicely, but the story would suck even worse than it does if I didn't call him a ****er) kept blipping his throttle. I mean, I get it: any human male with a grip on a handlebar throttle who doesn't blip that thing a few times has some serious issues. But every ****ing 2 seconds? From 730 a.m. to 200 p.m.? ****! And these bikes were, shall we say, running a pretty rich mixture. Anyway, I laid on the couch all burrito-ed (swaddled, whatever) in a wool blanket until around 6 p.m. Sometimes when I rolled over or changed positions I had to hesitate to avoid a muscle cramp.
So then wife and daughter wanted to get take out from India Palace. Injun food is pretty easy on the stomach (for me, anyway), but the thought of swallerin' still made me feel queasy. Nonetheless, we all rode together (the baby is going back to Kansas this week for school, so I'm trying to spend as much time together as possible) to pick up the food. Wife was driving and I was in back seat. Bad move. She drives by alternately smashing the gas and brake while dodging traffic and obstacles at the last possible moment. By the time the girl jumped out to pick up the food, I had to bail from the back and steal her spot in the front or I was going to plaster the car with stomach acid.
By the time we got back home I didn't know if I was ready to try chewing and swallowing. I still couldn't form a complete sentence, was missing words, and the base of my tongue felt fat and barfy in my throat. (Sidetrack: I was, however, ready to use my body to test whether the whole carbon monoxide doping thing is for real: if my power and speed on the mtb show a spike in a week to 10 days, then yep. Unfortunately, I have about a week to 10 days of serious brain work ahead, and I am not looking forward to doing it while CO poisoned.) But I powered thru and took the first bite. And then some more. By the time I finished, I had eaten about $65 worth of Indian take-out. Felt pretty good, too. I began to wonder if maybe my problem was that I didn't have enough fuel during the day. But I says to me, "Me, you weren't even doin' nuthin'! Just sittin' on the thing." And then me says back to me, "Well you sure wasn't pedalin', but it was cold AF and you were tense from learning and shivering and holding up a machine all mornin'." We started to suspect maybe we may have not eaten enough for breakfast.
I was planning on bagging day 2 of the course. TBH, I didn't love riding the moto, and I did not want to risk being right about the exhaust fumes. But I was feeling pretty good by bedtime, so I decided that if I got out of bed in the morning rather than hitting snooze (which I was pretty sure I would do), I'd go back for day 2.
I got up on the first alarm! Ate 2 PB&Js and packed another, slammed TWO coffees, and headed out. It was cold again, but I refused to shiver. And no wind. Stayed relaxed. I SLAYED all the exercises. Well, mostly. Good enough that the instructor quit paying attention to me, although one time he asked, "Did I hear you engine braking over there?" "Yeah, am I allowed to?" "Sure. But I'm not teaching that. Huh." "Huh." "Huh." Nonetheless, I totally failed one of the five assessment exercises at the end. In my defense, it was because I had left the thing in 2d gear after stopping to wait in line behind farty-throttle-blip-boy, but I really ****ered that exercise as much and as badly as it could have been flunked. I would have failed me, but the instructor just looked at me and shook his head.
I am now home after day 2. I am licensable as a moto rider. I am confident I could handle any situation that might arise on the mean streets of the Del Boca Vista retirement village.
So what carried-over most from my bicycle experience and habits to motorcycle riding? Obviously: my attention to nutrition.
happy waiting back at the truck. 
. Although I work in the ski industry, I'll never complain about resilient high pressure systems. Just means more biking and corn skiing. I think today's commute marks a full year of biking to work at least once per month. Not too bad for living in a place that averages around 400" of snow per year.
