I was a stupid kid once too, you know.

I learned to ride motorcycle on a 1977 75cc Yamaha motorcross bike that had been bored out and hot rodded to the point where, you hit the throttle without controlling it, it WOULD throw you off. Geared down to ridiculous proportions on the low end, geared up on the high end. Rebuilt for hill climbs and bouncy-bounce cross tracks, stripped of all lights, and most anything that could be stripped off.

My first ride on it was down a gravel road.

Funny thing. I credit part of my motorcycle riding technique to my grandpa, a guy who can't even ride a bicycle as far as I know. Why? He taught me everything I know about manual transmissions. He had me running tractors at the age of three with him there with me. Had me running them on my own by seven. Had me driving a big grain truck in the fields and around the lots by the time I was thirteen. Anything with a manual transmission makes me think of everything he taught me.

It took me a few days of practice in pastures and on gravel before the hand clutch, foot shift became automatic for me. Once that happened, I did what any crazy idiot kid does. I went riding in the most dangerously crowded wooded area I could as fast as I could, jumping, sliding and essentially riding like a moron.

Back then it was as much utility as it was fun though. It was used to get the cows in for milking. It was used as a lookout on the highways when the tractors and implements were hauled long distances. It was used to move small items and people from point A to point B. It was used for fence checks and flood gap runs. It was the least fuel using go-to machine on the place to go to the off-home properties, and I used it for that a lot.

Oh, I had my share of spills. Believe me, I did. I can't remember a one when it wasn't something I brought on myself though. Getting knocked off the bike by a tree branch. Trying to jump something that really wasn't jumpable. Taking a corner too hard and thinking I could swing the rear around in time. Kicking up mud in the crick bottom and hitting a stone in a place I should have known it would be.

I've done my stupid.

Something happened between then and now. I guess you could say I grew up, though that would imply a maturity that, frankly, just isn't there. I guess I became a realist more than an idealist. I started asking more what if questions, instead of just approaching every moment as if it couldn't hurt me.

I climb on a bike now? I feel that little thrill deep down I always did, but it's not the thrill of finding danger like it used to be. It's the trill of finding ways to escape danger now. Knowing there's risk, but I've done everything I can to minimize it is as much of a thrill as the crazy-ass rides through the woods, dodging trees was then.

The difference of nearly 1400ccs between then and now is sizable, but the memories of control pounded into my head on every piece of equipment I've ever been on roll through and the power, though there, present, available, remains an undercurrent until I ask it to come forward. Someday, I'm sure, I will require it.

I think these thoughts as I see the older gentleman pull out into the highway right in front of me without a stitch of motorcycle gear on him, without so much as a beanie style helmet on his head, on his new big-ass Harley. Weaving back and forth, staring at his hands as if he just can't remember which is throttle and brake, which is clutch, speeding up, slowing down, crossing the center line, crossing the outside line. I leave plenty of space as I wonder at how people think lack of control is OK on the highway. Live the dream, but good grief learn control.

I wonder if I've gone overboard on caution. Riding jacket, new helmet, leather gloves, riding boots, riding pants, taking a safety oriented class, practicing in a parking lot for nearly three weeks. And then I see something like that man and realize, "that could have been me."

I'm not over-cautious. I'm a realist. I ride every time, even in the parking lot, as if I know I'm going down, but do everything I can to be ready to try and prevent it from happening.

I see thirty to thirty five bikes every day on the way in to work and the way back home. I see three helmets, and one of those on a guy riding a Vespa with a full-facer.

I'd rather hang with that dude on the Vespa than most of the others I see. He comes across as someone who also believes in being prepared.

To know I've done all I can is the best I can hope for. I question the judgment of others around me, but I don't judge them. They've made their choice. I've made mine.

In three days, I'll be testing my decision.