THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, April 12, 1996 TAG: 9604100122
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 10 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SOURCE: BY ELIZABETH THIEL, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 161 lines
SPICY SUMMER AIR rushing past. Trees, flowers and grass glowing Technicolor in the sun. The odor of warm asphalt oozing up the nostrils. A hot engine rumbling.
Donna L. Kilroy has seen, smelled and heard it all from the back of her husband's Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She's been riding with him ever since she met him two years ago.
But she's tired of being a passenger.
Last weekend, Kilroy and 10 other Hampton Roads residents donned helmets and whatever leather gear they owned, straddled motorcycles and learned to ride in the parking lot of Tidewater Community College's Chesapeake campus.
The weekend-long motorcycle training course, which qualifies successful graduates to earn a motorcycle license from the state Department of Motor Vehicles, are taught as often as twice a month at the campus on Cedar Road. It costs $50. Local members of the Harley Owners Group, a national organization, get a rebate for the cost of the course.
For some, the class is red tape - a hurdle they must clear to get legal after riding motorcycles or dirt bikes for years.
For others, though, it's an act of personal courage. They've seen motorcycles before, maybe even ridden on the back of one; but finally have worked up the nerve to try it out for themselves.
``I never thought I'd be brave enough,'' said Kilroy, 38, a Virginia Beach resident, wearing a bright pink windbreaker to protect her against the cold drizzle that made last weekend's class miserable.
Nearly half the class were women - five of the 11. Everyone had a different reason for learning to ride.
George D. Hughes, a 26-year-old firefighter from Moyock, N.C., wanted to learn because his parents had just bought Harleys, and he wanted to be able to ride them.
Debra G. Janezeck, 38, of Virginia Beach, wanted to be able to drive her husband's Harley, should he ever become incapacitated while riding with her on some back road somewhere.
Larry E. Smith, 44, of Virginia Beach owns a Harley and rides dirt bikes with his son. But he just recently moved here from Alaska, and wanted to get the paperwork that will allow him to ride legally in Virginia.
Dan A. Randler, 29, a Virginia Beach police officer, also has been riding for years. But the police department required him to take the safety course anyway.
Even with his years of experience, Randler managed to learn a thing or two.
``There are bad habits I've gotten into from riding so long, and I didn't even know it,'' he said. Habits like not signaling for a lane change or a turn, or using only the index and middle fingers to squeeze the hand brake, instead of four fingers.
That one earned Randler a reprimand or two from instructors Gary L. Hanson and Randy L. Crabill. To drive the message home, Hanson had Randler sit on a motorcycle and demonstrate to the rest of the class how not to use the brakes.
Hanson, a tough taskmaster, pressed on despite the weather, barking orders and leading the small class through exercises that progressed from riding their bikes in a straight line to maneuvering around tight corners.
He had only Friday night, and all day Saturday and Sunday to teach them everything they needed to know about operating a machine that can bring either joy or death, depending upon the circumstances. Sunday afternoon, the students would take tests - written and riding - of what they'd learned.
Saturday morning early, after a night of introductory information about motorcycle parts and road rules, the class assembled in the TCC parking lot. Some shivered as much from nerves as from the cold, because it was the first time they'd taken control of a bike.
But one by one, they mounted the small motorcycles donated by local bike shops. They learned to start the motors, shift them into gear, ride them in a straight line, pilot them in circles, weave between cones, take corners and stop on a dime.
``I've only been run over once today,'' said Hanson, dusting off a pant leg that was brushed by someone's errant motorcycle wheel. He took that as a good sign.
``When do we learn to do wheelies?'' joked student David J. Rogers, 36, of Virginia Beach.
``You don't,'' said Hanson, squelching the hopes of anyone who was looking for stunt training.
Hanson barely let his class get their bikes out of first gear.
A 44-year-old Deep Creek resident, Hanson has been riding since 1968. He and his wife are involved with the local Harley Owners Group. He figures he's owned about a dozen motorcycles in his life.
He toured Europe astraddle one; he lost his foot in Spain when a drunk driver hit his bike. Doctors sewed the foot back on, but Hanson still walks with a limp. He knows the dangers.
In 1988, Hanson decided that two decades riding two-wheelers entitled him to teach others how to do it. He got certified by the National Motorcycle Safety Foundation, and has been an instructor at TCC ever since.
He's seen it all. Doctors and lawyers looking for a new hobby. Testosterone-crazed macho dudes, looking for a thrill. Folks who think riding might be for them, but want to try it out before investing thousands of dollars in a bike.
``We give 'em the tools, so they can go out and ride a motorcycle with confidence,'' Hanson said.
But Crabill had a warning for those who might think they were prepared for a cross-country race after a weekend in an introductory course.
``This doesn't by any means mean that you're ready to get out in heavy traffic on (Interstate) 64,'' Crabill said. ``We recommend that you get out in empty parking lots and residential streets and practice, practice, practice.
``It takes time. Everybody's got to start somewhere.''
Kilroy was starting from the very beginning.
It was a little rough going at first, following Hanson's instructions to ``ease and squeeze,'' ease out on the clutch and squeeze in on the throttle.
It was tough for Kilroy and other novices in the class to swallow their fear of speed enough to grasp Hanson's instructions that speed helps control the motorcycle; going slow makes the two wheels harder to maneuver.
But Kilroy had an incentive to persevere. She wanted to prove to herself and her husband that she could do it.
Besides, she said, ``Right now, I spend all my time polishing his (motorcycle). I'd rather polish my own.''
As she coaxed her bike along the training course for the first time, Hanson encouraged her and the others.
``You have ridden a motorcycle for the first time,'' he said. ``Good job.''
He should know good when he's seen it, because he's seen bad.
Like the woman who lost control of her bike, jumped a median strip in the parking lot and wrecked on the other side. Or the hot dog who was riding his bike too fast and ended up sinking it in a nearby ditch.
``I've had people come out here and fail the course, come back out again and ace it,'' he said. ``It's something you've got to get used to. People just get nervous, and they blow it.''
There are strict safety rules on the course. Everyone goes slow. Hanson and Crabill, using large arm motions, signal the riders when they're getting too close to each other. Everyone turns off his motorcycle when stopped.
There were no mishaps last weekend.
``We've got 'em pretty much under control,'' Hanson said, watching the class motor through a circular formation. ``Randy and I haven't had to jump out of the way once.''
True to Hanson's instincts, the class did well. Everyone passed. MEMO: The motorcycle safety course is scheduled to be offered again later this
month. For more information about it, call Tidewater Community College's
Chesapeake campus, 549-5100.
ILLUSTRATION: [Cover, Color photo]
MOTORCYCLE 101
David Rogers rides the course at Tidewater Community College.
Instructor Gary Hanson, a 44-year-old Deep Creek resident, has been
riding since 1968.
Debra G. Janezeck wanted to be able to drive her husband's Harley,
should he ever become incapacitated while riding with her on a back
road.
Yolanda Walker drives the motorcycle course at Tidewater Community
College. For some, the class is red tape - a hurdle they must clear
to get legal after riding motorcycles or dirt bikes for years. For
others, it's an act of personal courage. They've seen motorcycles
before, maybe even ridden on the back of one; but finally have
worked up the nerve to try it out.
Photos by L. TODD SPENCER
by CNB