By Lee Adrain
I got my motorcycle license and rode a motorcycle for the first time at the age of 55. And no, I’m pretty sure that day in my 20s, renting a moped on Block Island, doesn’t count. Or does it? That fleeting taste of freedom never left me. I’ve dreamed about it for decades.
Over the years, I rode as a passenger once or twice, but it just wasn’t the same. In fact, I hated it. I craved the driver’s seat, the control, the feeling of truly riding. So, when my sister gifted me riding lessons, I jumped at the chance.
I’ll be honest, riding both thrilled and terrified me. Every time I get on a bike, I think of everything that could go wrong. But instead of letting fear stop me, I lean into it. Not a paralyzing terror, but a sharp, exhilarating awareness—an alertness that makes me present, focused, and fully alive. It’s the kind of fear that fuels confidence, unlike the sheer panic I’d feel jumping out of a plane or off a bridge on a bungee cord. No thanks. But riding? Riding is magic.
In the beginning, I practiced in a graveyard, maneuvering slow speeds and sharp turns. No music, just the hum of the engine and the feel of the road. Eventually, I got a Bluetooth headset for my helmet, and everything changed. Music didn’t distract me—it made me even more connected to the ride, deepening the experience. Now, riding is like hiking for me—an escape into full immersion.
And the smells—oh, the smells! The scent of the trees, the salty ocean air, the sweetness of honeysuckle, even the not-so-pleasant ones—everything is sharper, more present on a bike. It’s a connection to the world around me in a way that driving a car, even with the windows down, never quite captures.
For my first two seasons, I rode a Piaggio Fly 150, a scooter that I managed to push to 60 mph—plenty to get comfortable on two wheels. But last summer, I was ready for more power. Not speed for speed’s sake—I’m not the type to open the throttle on an empty road just for the thrill of it. For me, the power is there when I need it, but often, I slow down and take it all in, hearing the lyrics in my head: We may never pass this way again.
Now, I find myself constantly looking for excuses to ride. On dry, mild days, I ask: Can I bring my dog? Do I need to carry anything? Or can I take the bike today? The New England riding season is too short to waste a single opportunity.
Then I discovered group rides. At first, I thought: What a great way to meet experienced riders, learn from them, and share the road. What I didn’t realize was how much thought, planning, and communication goes into riding as a group. My first meetup last fall was an eye-opener. I met incredible people from all walks of life, all bonded by a passion for riding. To those who organize and lead these rides—thank you. And to the seasoned riders who welcome us newbies with patience and advice—I appreciate you more than you know.
And then… the highway. So far, I’ve tackled two exits. My top speed? 66 mph. I was alone and nervous—so, of course, I had to do it. And I survived. Will I do it again? We’ll see. A little fear keeps things interesting.
I can’t believe I only just started riding, and now the season is over. But I know this is just the beginning. I can’t wait to see where the road takes me next.
