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Remember the spontaneity of childhood? Friends showed up at our front door with only a bicycle, a smile, and no plans. There were no deadlines, no concerns about how tomorrow could surprise us. There was only today, and it was fun. It was enough.
One day, we all went for our last innocent playdate without knowing it was the last. We grew up. We became adults. Long work hours, incompatible schedules, and family responsibilities took over.
Editor’s note: Ananda Costa is a member of the RevZilla Rider's Alliance, a team of everyday riders from across the nation, from all walks of life, on all types of bikes, that represents and embraces the diversity of the RevZilla ridership.
By age 26, I'd established my boring, stable life. It felt weird and not right, but well, I just thought that was my inevitable fate. I remember looking at random parked motorcycles and thinking, “If only I were younger…” Then I’d get lost in my childhood dreams that never came true. The biggest of them? Having a motorcycle.
Beginnings: The little girl who dreamed of two wheels
Since I was very little, growing up in Brazil, I was obsessed with anything self-propelled. For years I wrote to Santa asking for a motorcycle, but a little bicycle was all he brought to me. I learned how to ride a bicycle without the training wheels when I was three. My friend’s dad was teaching him and I asked if he could teach me, as well.
"I'll give you a push, do not stop pedaling and keep looking forward, OK?" he said.
"OK!" I replied. I did as he said and only stopped pedaling when I had to turn around. Cornering was a lesson for another day. The love for two wheels was instantly installed in my soul.
When I was 10, after a lot of insistence, my mother and father gave me a little stand-up scooter called the Walk Machine Millennium. The year was 2001. I don't have a photo, but you can see what it was like in the video below. These little things were powered by a two-stroke engine under 50 cc and started with a pull rope. They were very popular in Brazil back then. Not so popular for girls, but I was fine with being a little different.
The Walk Machine was very jumpy and most of my friends crashed on it after performing unintentional wheelies. The body work was completely destroyed after a few weeks. But it kept running for three more years.
I'd ride the entire day. My dad taught me how to mix the gasoline and oil so I could fill the tank myself when I ran out of fuel. I’d clean the filter every month and my right arm was definitely stronger than the left one due to the pull-start cord. Those days are still the ones I miss most about my childhood. I can still smell those memories.
My neighbor got a Honda Biz, a small motorcycle-style scooter, from her dad. She was super scared to ride it and she’d let me take around the block every once in a while. Another friend at school had a Yamaha Jog scooter and he'd let me ride around the neighborhood near the school sometimes. All of that without my mom and dad knowing. Although my dad was a rider when he was young, he got involved in a few accidents and was reluctant to give me a real bike. (Spoiler: Today he’s proud to see me on a bike and is considering getting back into it himself.)
After many miles on my two-stroke scooter and begging neighbors to let me ride their bikes, I grew out of it. I literally grew up and became a regular teenager, trying desperately to fit any approved stereotype. The motorcycle dream went into hibernation.
Chapter two: The dream fulfilled
Cut the scene and the year is 2018 and I’m living in Los Angeles. It is time to bring the child back to life. After a few months of contemplation and doubting myself, I decided to get a real motorcycle. I had no idea what that would mean to my life, but I wanted to fulfill my dream of flying to places on two wheels of my own.
After a little research and watching Lemmy and Spurgeon’s review of the Honda Rebel, I started to look for one. Found it. A 2018 Honda Rebel 300 with a little over 300 miles on it for $3,500. I went to check the bike in person and there was a dent on the tank, so I haggled the price down to $3,200. I didn't exactly know how to ride but I had a general idea. I rode around the block. The motorcycle would rev high but give me no power. Burned clutch? I did not know. Maybe that's why it was so cheap. I bought the bike.
After that, I signed up for an MSF Basic RiderCourse, had a great weekend riding the Harley-Davidson Street 500 and decided I was ready to start using my Rebel for my daily commute. On my first day of commuting, I started to feel that something was really wrong with the bike. I took it to a Honda dealership and they confirmed that they'd have to replace the clutch. I was pissed with myself for not knowing that before purchasing, but well, lesson learned.
The first group ride I went on was organized by Bartels' Harley-Davidson, the dealership where I took my MSF course. During that ride, I saw someone riding the bike of my dreams, a Triumph, and I introduced myself. He told me all about how he got his bike for less than $5,000. He would become one of my best friends, someone who brought those childhood feelings back to my life.
With its new clutch, the Rebel was like a new bike, but the riding position was not that comfortable (I'm five feet, nine inches tall) and the power wasn’t enough to get me away from hazardous situations. Eventually I got my new bike, my Triumph. But that's another story.
I went on more rides, I made more friends. Suddenly, life was great, even better than being a kid: I'd leave in the morning with no time to come back, no curfews, just me, my bike, friends and an open plan and road. Motorcycles and the motorcycle community brought me back to life after a debilitating bout of depression, and I can never be too thankful for that.
Remember the spontaneity of childhood? Inside every boring adult lives a failed child. Don't be that adult. Revive that child.
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