I remember the day I took my MSF (Motorcycle Safety Foundation) Course. It was July eleventh, two thousand twenty-six. It was hot. Ninety-plus degrees hot with humidity so thick I could taste the heat.
Day one started with me arriving an hour early, looking for where I was supposed to be. The email instructions were so clear it was confusing.
Shortly after driving around a bit, I met Angel, one of the MSF instructors. She was getting things ready while we waited for the other eleven students. The garage where we met was the last of ten grouped garages, with a slide-up metal door. Inside were two levels. The ground floor was concrete, with a number of bikes on repair stands, gear, boxes, tools, and, um, junk spread everywhere except for a path down the middle.
While others arrived, Angel invited us upstairs, which took a few maneuvers past boxes and up a steep, metal-grated staircase. At the top was a bar area, with a sofa, a couple of chairs, and some bar stools. It was the perfect place to decompress and reminisce after an eventful day. The only downside was that the garage was all metal, we were on the top floor, and there was no air conditioning while the sun steadily cooked everything inside.
After filling out the paperwork and doing an AA meeting introduction, we headed outside to move our equipment and vehicles to the driving course.
Groms, Ninjas, and some other brands were grouped up waiting for a rider. Instructions were given out along with the rules and guidelines.
We met Chris, the other instructor, dropping cones after precisely measuring with his stride. There was an explanation about what we were about to do, but I was trying to figure out which bike I would crash less on.
I looked up when Chris said, ” Okay, choose a bike; it will have your name on it for the next forty-eight hours.
I moved in slow motion, letting everyone else choose their bike while I kept trying to decide. I walked up to a ninja; it was tall and intimidating.
Someone in the front row got my attention. He asked if I wanted to switch. He was standing next to a grom, a tiny little motorcycle you might find in a circus. I said, ” Hell yeah, absolutely. I’m five-nine, but I looked six-two sitting on this thing.
Chris mentioned that if we’re sitting on the bikes, and we will be spending the majority of the time on the bikes, we need to wear our full gear. Full gear wasn’t so bad: gloves, long-sleeved shorts, long pants, ankle-high shoes, but the agonizing thing was the helmet.
Remember the after-school specials where they showed two eggs frying and said, “This is your brain on drugs”? My brain felt like it was on drugs.
It wasn’t so bad while we were moving, but let’s be real, it’s over ninety degrees and a storm was brewing. We took breaks, had lunch, and cooled off at times, but the heat was the main thing on my mind. It was inescapable.
Six or so hours into the event, the sky fell, and the instructors decided to add what we didn’t do today to tomorrow’s schedule.
Emotionally, I was torn. Part of me wanted to keep going; this was fun, the other part of me was thanking GOD for the rain and cursing the devil for all this heat.
Day two started with me waking up sunburned, dehydrated, and looking for my car keys. Everything else was on the bathroom floor, soaked from the day before. The saturated clothes were a pretty even blend of sweat and rainwater.
Everything plus a little extra from the clothes hamper was tossed in the washer while I let the dogs out and cooked a heavy breakfast.
Six a.m., I jumped in the car, hunting for a store open on a Sunday and stocked with a small supply of sunscreen.
I got lucky at a Shell station with three bottles of 90 proof. I didn’t hesitate spending ten bucks on a ridiculously small bottle. I picked up more blue PowerAids and headed to the course.
Everyone arrived an hour early to make up for yesterday and unload the bikes from the trailer. Yesterday’s downpour set up today’s humidity bombardment. The saving grace was all the cloud coverage from the impending thunderstorm.
Events kept getting knocked out one after another. Riders were getting adjusted to their bikes, and confidence was building.
Clouds disappeared as the sky turned black; lightning flashed in the distance.
We wanted to continue; the cool rain was a welcome change; however, the instructors had their rules.
Most of the students gathered in the trailer, while the bikes enjoyed the rain. We broke the boredom with jokes and stories while the storm passed, then regrouped and started back up.
I don’t remember much after the storm; however, I felt the fatigue as the hour approached six that evening.
We finished the events; now it was time for the rider evaluation.
To my surprise, I thought we had just taken the course; it turned out we had to pass it to bypass the skills test at the DMV.
I was further surprised when I found out we still had to take a written test at the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) to receive our endorsement.
My heart felt twice as heavy, and I was terrified of not passing the evaluation.
Funny how being watched increases the chance of making mistakes.
My first event started with me rolling off into a ninety-degree turn, crossing to the outside of a twenty-foot-wide rectangle, circling back without crossing the white lines, and parking in front of the instructor.
On top of the humidity, my forehead was soaked with fear sweat.
Ninety-degree start, done with ease.
Circling back to the instructor, I traveled a bit beyond the outside white line, then braked perfectly on the exit.
The jackhammer in my chest stopped, and my fears washed off me along with all the anxiety. Watching everyone else complete their events was exciting.
There was an unusual number of stalls; however, everyone was knocking it out of the park.
The sun was disappearing as the instructors arrived with the results. Riders could have their score read aloud or whispered in their ears. Everyone felt good about the evaluations, so it was unanimous.
Two or three had perfect scores. I was not one of them. My crossing of the white line cost me 5 points, and my break was 1 foot beyond the standard, costing me another point.
Others racked up more points and still passed.
Only one rider didn’t pass. It was the guy who switched bikes with me from day one. The instructors assured him he would pass with some personal one-on-one time with them.
Angel handed me the completion packet in a sealed manila envelope.
To be opened by the DMV receptionist, and only the DMV receptionist.
I was so excited. Cloud 9 excited, and exhausted. Like rotate the temperature to seventy degrees and unplug the alarm exhausted.
