I’m sitting at the entrance of my garage. Paul Cauthen is on the stereo and a cold beer is in its rightful place by my side. It is the first weekend we’ve had this year in the 70s since Snowmageddon buried us for over a month.

A GOOD DAY

I just returned from my maiden voyage carrying a pillion (Mrs. Bald Rider) on the Goldwing. We rode up Rim of the World Highway to Big Bear and back, a brief two-hour trip. Despite the short distance, it stood as a giant leap forward in our ability to partake in two-wheeled adventures.

There are two reasons this apparently insignificant event was, well, significant.

The Passenger

Mrs. Bald Rider is not new to motorcycles, though she currently does not have an endorsement. She took part in track days before I ever got my license. Interests change. She stopped riding. Despite my best efforts, I cannot get her to pilot an iron horse again.

The only time she had ever wrecked was as a pillion passenger.

People referring to themselves as having PTSD is a growing trend. The term is overused. You’d be excused for using it here, though. When you have completely placed your safety in the hands of another, as you do as a passenger on a motorcycle, and you wreck, it is very difficult to put yourself in that position again. You either face the fear right away or it festers, making it more difficult to address as time goes on.

She didn’t wreck with me. It occurred long ago. Mrs. BR has not been on the back of a bike since that day. A long time had passed. She only had one opportunity. One shot, as it were. Mom’s spaghetti not included.

The Rider

We bought the Goldwing exactly one year ago this weekend (retrospective review in the works). Mrs. Bald Rider followed behind me for the entire six hours home. I had never ridden a bike that large before and we had left A LOT of cash behind with the seller. Getting home without wrecking was the top priority. The next step…riding two-up.

I have been spending the last year riding solo, getting more comfortable piloting the Crimson Couch, preparing for this day.

Prior to today, I’ve only carried a passenger while riding a motorcycle once. A coworker needed a ride to the shop to pick up his own bike and I took him on my KLR650. Kawasaki did not design the KLR to carry two adult humans. The seat is large enough. It has passenger footpegs. However, the engine and suspension let you know those other things are only for show, especially when you are an American-sized rider.

If I dropped the bike on our first excursion together, she’d never ride with me again. I had to be confident and comfortable enough to pull off a clean trip. No room for error. One mistake and we’d have wasted all that money. The whole point of owning a Goldwing is to take trips together. Otherwise, I’d have a Triumph Tiger Sport 660 with hard bags or some other middleweight touring-adjacent machine ideal for a solo traveler and much less ‘spendy.’

SUCCESS

I’ve never claimed to be an expert rider. Mediocre? Sure. Adequate? Barely. Embarrassing? Occasionally.

Kickstand up with her at the pillion position induced more than a little anxiety. There isn’t a straight or flat road within 20 miles of my driveway. Shoulders are covered in loose cinders left over from the snow-clearing efforts. Massive new potholes are everywhere. Mountain community issues abound.

As we proceeded, I relaxed. The riding improved. Stop thinking about it and just do it.

Potholes were dodged. Loose debris was avoided. No hard parts scraped. No squishy bits donated flesh to the pavement. We arrived at our midpoint without incident, a shopping center in Big Bear. After a few purchases, we were back on the road. Another hour and we arrived home, an uneventful trip. A successful mission.

The biggest hiccup of the entire trip was that music wasn’t playing through her Cardo helmet speakers. She asked for music. I started streaming. 10 minutes later, I asked if she could hear it. She said no. Pulling into a parking lot for a quick disconnection from her phone’s Bluetooth and restarting the bike was all it took to get the tunes flowing. Easy peasy, Jay-Z not Yeezy.

We jumped on the bike, rode a couple hours and came home. A boring ride with a distinct absence of excitement as the goal. A trip of this sort shouldn’t be worth mentioning. However, it was a milestone for us. Milestones do not have to be monumental. All journeys have a beginning.

The proverbial band-aid has now been ripped off. New adventures are on the horizon. Our touring motorcycle can now be used for touring. It ‘only’ took a year to get here. It won’t be another year before we are crushing miles. We’re going to need those fresh tires in the garage soon and I won’t look like an idiot for buying them so far in advance.

You’ll have to come back to see if I can get Mrs. Bald Rider to write from her own perspective. I can only nag her so much to participate.