Terrified but Thriving: How Riding a Motorcycle Changed My Life

I didn’t trust myself. I was bricking it

Not the kind of stupid jittery nerves you get before a job interview or the first time you cook a Sunday roast for your in-laws and burn the lot, oh no, that’s just for pansies. I’m talking full-body, heart-thumping, hand-shaking, almost-sick-to-my-stomach kind of fear. Sweating, palpitations — every damn menopausal symptom you can think of — was I actually having a stroke?

(Did I vomit? I did before my first 650cc training lesson but that’s another blog post.)

One day.....I'll have one of these

That was me, the day I first sat on a motorcycle.

And it was still in the shop for flips sake.

A woman in her 50s. A mum. A fairly decent business owner. A reasonably rational adult who’d spent most of her life ticking the “sensible” box (only 2 parking tickets to my name.) And yet, here I was — knees knocking, helmet on, hands gripping handlebars tighter than I probably should — choosing to ride a motorbike. At 51.

Yeah, right — LOL

Some (I could count on one hand) people said I was brave. My son, aged 22 thought I was an idiot — he had completely lost it on his first CBT but went on to pass this year at 23.

Others thought I’d truly lost the plot and laughed. Yes, they had tears running down their faces.

Truth? It was a bit of both.

But, this is the trick….

The Fear Is Flipping Real

I remember standing in my driveway, staring at my Ninja 125 — her name is Stacey, by the way — and wondering if I’d made a huge mistake as she rolled off the back of the van. She looked sleek, elegant, and absolutely capable of flinging me into the next postcode with the tiniest flick of her throttle.

Yeah, she was going to get the best of me. I could never out ride her — she was going to be the boss and that was that.

**** — what had I done? I could have used the money to something else perhaps? Thrown it into getting some more work perhaps. Treating my son to a nice holiday but no, the selfish mother that I was, I got myself a bike I hadn’t got a clue how to ride.

And yet, something about her called to me.

First day out - not sure I had ever moved a few inches when this photo was taken.

I wasn’t fearless. I was scared stiff. I’d only ever sat on one bike before my CBT. The roads suddenly looked bigger. The traffic faster — how dare they go more than 20mph?

My protective gear felt more like battle armour than stylish sportwear. It felt as stiff as me. I questioned myself constantly (and still do). What if I stall at the lights? What if I fall? What if I make a complete fool of myself?

Ok, so I always fancied being on stage as a comic, perhaps this was my chance….

But I did it anyway.

Because beneath the fear was a little voice. Quiet. Persistent. Hopeful.

It said: “What if this is the thing that changes everything?”

Yeah, what if?

So, I started doing this instead…

I Learned to Trust Myself

That voice became louder with every ride. I suffer from tinnitus anyway (too many rock concerts in the 80s) but this was a voice that stood a part from the others inside my head. Thank goodness.

At first, my rides were short — I mean, a few metres. Just around the estate, then a few loops of the block took me a week or so. Then, under the kind, calm instruction of my inner voice and a few more YouTube videos, I ventured into Swindon’s traffic. I learned how to use my rear brake properly and not bounce around like an excited puppy.

How to clutch control through corners.

How to trust my own instincts. That bit below your ribcage is your gut. Listen to it. It’s your inner biker guidance.

Let me be honest for a second — I wasn’t perfect and most certainly never going to be Rossi on a bike. I stall at roundabouts. I forget my indicators (and often not actually turning them off.) I used to ride too close to the kerb and too far from the white lines. I felt as though I had to apologised to every motorist, every five minutes like a true British woman trying not to be a bother even though no one can hear you in a crash helmet. But the voice in my head just smiled — sort of. Encouraged. Explained. It never laughed at my fear. It just held space for me to learn and keep going.

Even when comfort-looking laybys were beckoning me to ride in, park and then phone someone on speed dial with a big white van to just come and collect me.

That supportive voice coupled with the one in your gut? It’s gold dust inside your head. And it gives you the space you need to grow.

From Paralysed to Empowered

Fear doesn’t vanish overnight. It still sits with me now and again — like an old mate I’d rather not invite round for a beer, but who insists on showing up unannounced anyway. But something changed the moment I decided that fear didn’t get the final say.

Every single ride becomes an act of courage. And courage, as it turns out, is the root of transformation. I could be a bag of nerves going out, even after a year and 4000 miles. I still get the jitters (even though I don’t tell my biker hubby) but, here’s another trick…

The feeling of fear is EXACTLY the same as the feeling of excitement.

Once I got that figured out in my head, I started noticing things beyond the fear. The quiet buzz of tyres on warm tarmac. The rhythm of my breath when it actually calms down. The beauty of the countryside that I don’t dare look at as I am shooting daggers at the road ahead.

I wanted to look at sunsets — and I eventually did.

And also, I noticed me — really noticed myself again — as someone capable, brave, and alive.

Yeah, that 8 year old that had NO fear… on a bicycle.

The Psychology of Fear (and how to tell it to go hang itself)

If you’re reading this and feel like fear is stopping you from trying something new — maybe motorcycling, maybe something else entirely — let me share a few truths that helped me:

1. Fear thrives in silence. Give it a quiet space and it will scream at you. Speak it out loud and deafen it. Say, “I’m scared.” Say, “I don’t know how, but I want to try.” It loses power the moment it’s no longer a secret. You’ve just given fear a swift kick in the proverbials.

2. Start small. Your first ride doesn’t have to be an epic journey. You can Dennis Hopper another day. Ten minutes around your neighbourhood is still ten minutes of victory, so celebrate it.

3. Get the right people around you. Find a buddy who loves motorbikes and who is brilliantly positive and just as friendly. Or find a mentor or local biker community and let your potential shine even when you think you don’t. People like that will change everything for me.

4. Celebrate every win. Getting your bike off the stand without toppling over? Win. Riding in a straight line for more than 30 seconds? Major win. Find first and then second — hell yes, you’re cooking now!

5. Remember: Confidence is built, not born. Yeah, I know corny. BUT, remember, no one gets on a bike knowing everything. You learn, one wobble at a time.

   
   

Love those wobbles.

Riding Gave Me Back My Life

You don’t get many chances in life to rewrite the narrative. Mine used to be full of “I can’t,” and “That’s not for me,” and “I’m too old.” Now? It’s full of “Let’s see how far I can go without falling off!”

Motorcycling has changed me. Not because I’m suddenly fearless like Bladerunner, but because I stopped letting fear be the driver or at least at the handlebars. I realise now that the open road isn’t just about going somewhere — it’s about returning to yourself — ah, you see what I did there?

If you’re sitting on the edge, wondering whether to try, my answer is simple:

Do it scared. Do it small. But do it.

Because on the other side of terror is freedom. And trust me — it’s worth every heartbeat.

So there.

Ride safe.

A Note from the Saddle: Full Throttle, Full Heart — the ultimate guidebook for men and women everywhere learning to ride — is now available on Amazon for download. 

Download the Book now on Amazon https://amzn.eu/d/1m51MBQ

It’s filled with encouragement, wisdom, and stories to inspire your own two-wheeled journey. And because motorcycling is about more than just the road — it’s about connection, courage and community — £1 from every copy sold will go directly to the mental health and wellbeing charity, Make Your MARK, supporting bikers through acts of kindness, wellbeing hubs, and life-saving initiatives like Dave’s Defib. Ride with purpose. 

Ride with heart. https://makeyourmark.charity