Blog

My introduction to motorcycles was not a safety course in a parking lot. There was no experienced rider walking me through clutch control on a closed course. There was no gear fitting at a dealership, no YouTube playlist, no patient friend on a newer bike riding alongside me at a reasonable pace. There was a rusted Honda 1982 XR200 with holes in the exhaust pipe, a pair of flip flops, and twenty miles of Peruvian jungle road between me and a dial-up internet cafe where I was hoping a girl I like …