From Forest Roads to Fearless Corners: The Day I Found My Flow

There’s a moment in riding — a moment I probably didn’t think would ever come — where the noise in my head went quiet and that was yesterday.

Where the clutch, the throttle, the lean into the corner, the line your eyes trace ahead of you… they all fall into place. Ok. Not perfectly. Not technically flawless. But beautifully, intuitively right.

The day I found my flow, I wasn’t on some epic Alpine pass or the sunlit sweep of a coastal road, no, it was somewhere quieter. There was a corner, I focused on the exit, took my eyes off the front of the bike, leaned in — further than I have been before and there it was — that ‘oh ****’ moment.

I was somewhere pretty ordinary with no audience (wonderful biker hubby was too far in front around the next bend.) It was on a winding forest lane not far from home. The kind of road where damp leaves hug the corners during winter, where the air smells like pine and earth, where every bend invites caution, lower speeds and blind turnings. Welcome to the Forest of Dean on a motorbike.

I hadn’t set out that morning looking for some sort of breakthrough. It was sunny Sunday ride out with biker hubby.

To be perfectly honest. I was attempting to wear in a pair of Aplinestars boots which have been collecting dust in the cupboard. That day, I had set out in a bit of a wobble. Almost losing the thing on the gravel outside the house — again.

Before Flow, There’s Fear

When you’re learning to ride — especially if you’re learning later in life , like me— the fear is loud. Deafening, some days and it can penetrate your head so much it drowns out tinnitus of that morning’s earworm from the radio.

Normally, my brain shouts the risks on repeat like some broken record and yesterday was no exception:

Nag Nag Nag… here we go again….

What if I can’t handle the corner? What if I stall again at the junction? What if I drop the bike and everyone sees?

Oh for flips sake…… What if? What if? What if? Is this what it’s like when you get older? Ugh.

Photo: Arrived at Hereford — me and the wonderful biker hubby at HR4K

No one told me how much of riding would be about managing my own mind, not just the mechanics — I really always though it was about what was in between your calf muscles. But no, in truth, the biggest muscle I am having to train is my courage.

I remember that one corner on the forest road where, on earlier rides, I’d always tense — like I was suddenly made of wood. Target fixated. Roll off the throttle too soon, look too close to the front wheel, panic-brake on instinct. Every time, I’d come out of the turn berating myself for getting it wrong. Damn.

But yesterday was different.

The Shift I Didn’t See Coming

Ok, so what happened? Well, I will do my best to explain:

Instead of gripping the bars like they were the last rung on a ladder on a burning building, I softened my hold. I rolled my shoulders down.

I once read something that said, a phrase I’d heard but never felt until then:

Look where you want to go and not the bush you’re going to hit.

It was my Dad that told me that.

And for the first time, I really did it.

I lifted my eyes through the curve. My fingers stayed light on the controls — easy on my wrists which usually hurt like Hell. My body followed the line my eyes had drawn — don’t ask me how. No panic. No leather trouser moment. No target fixation. No fear chasing at my heels.

Just flow. Yeah — just like that. I probably won’t do that again for a while.

The bike leaned. I leaned with it. My breathing stayed steady — what I did feel was utter joy.

It clicked.

What Finding Your Flow Really Means

I used to think “flow” was something mystical, reserved for other riders — or even people who felt compelled to wear floaty maxi dresses and open-toed sandals — the ones who didn’t give a monkeys, the natural-born people who are just in the zone all the time without the aid of drugs.

I thought, at least, it would require some magic combination of skill, bravery, and sheer luck.

But flow, I learned, is something you grow into — so how is it taken me decades?

It’s the reward for showing up scared — yeah, petrified and doing it anyway. For practicing the basics, again and again until it’s drilled into you. For choosing trust over tension. Because it can be done.

It’s not about perfection. It’s not about speed. It’s about presence. But there will be future days when that won’t happen again. I will still stall it in front of a crowd of small children. It won’t happen all the time and I know that.

But,

Flow happens when you finally believe that the bike wants to stay upright (yes, it does) — that it’s built to do so. (Bikes really don’t like taking naps on the ground.)Flow happens when your body starts to remember what your brain has been trying so hard to control.

Flow happens when you stop fighting your fear, and start riding with it instead like it’s your biker buddy.

Techniques Might Have Helped Me Get There

Here’s what I think might have subconsciously helped me on that bend:

✅ Eyes up, always. Funny enough, your bike goes where you look so make sure you’re always looking that way.

✅ Relax your grip. Death-gripping the bars only tells your brain you’re in danger. Soften your hands and relax.

✅ Smooth inputs. Gentle throttle roll-ons, easy clutch releases, soft braking. Let yourself glide across the dancefloor.

✅ Practice slow control. The more confident you are at walking-pace riding, the more your body learns balance.

Flow Is Where Fear and Freedom Meet (and shake hands.)

Yesterday on the forest road didn’t make me a perfect rider — heck no. I am a long way off. I still wobble and will continue to do so. I still get it wrong and will continue to do so. I hope I do because I don’t like the idea of getting over confident. But that day gave me something I’d been chasing all along — the proof that I belong out here. Not because I’m fearless. Not because I’m flawless. But because I keep showing up.

I keep getting on the bike. I keep on riding.

Full Throttle Full Heart — the book I wrote for anyone who’s ever stood where I stood — is about this very thing. About the messy, emotional, beautiful road to self-trust and freedom on two wheels. It’s not a manual for being perfect. It’s a companion for finding your flow, your courage, and your voice — even on the days your hands are shaking.

And just like riding, this journey isn’t meant to be done alone.

Your Turn: Trust Yourself Enough to Try

If you’re still waiting for the fear to vanish before you give yourself permission to ride fully — stop waiting.

Fear is allowed to come along for the ride. But it doesn’t get to take the handlebars.

Lean in. Eyes up. Breathe.

The road is waiting. And your flow is closer than you think.