Why I wrote it all down
Two weeks after I bought my touring bike, I put it on its side at pump number three. I came in slow, turned the bars to tuck in close, and squeezed the front brake with the bars still turned. The man at the next pump set down his nozzle and helped me lift it without a word. A couple of weeks later I dropped it again, turning right from the stop sign at the end of my own street.
The next night I sat at the kitchen table and typed a for-sale listing. Year, miles, new tires, “minor scratches.” I'd made both of those scratches. Carol read it over my shoulder and told me I could sell it, as long as I knew I'd be the guy who sold it. I closed the laptop. I never hit the button.
Here's what I had wrong. I'd ridden for twelve years before, so I figured slow speed would come back. It didn't. Two drops at walking speed didn't mean I couldn't ride. They meant I had never learned slow speed on a heavy bike.
So I bought orange cones at the hardware store, asked Gus for his empty lot on Sunday mornings, took a weekend course at 54 and read the manuals with a pencil. Three notebooks later, these are the three books. Every rule has the manual and the page next to it. When two manuals say it differently, you get both.
I can't promise you won't drop it. Nobody honest can. What I can give you is the steps I use now, in the order the manuals give them, and a safe place and way to practice them.
Kickstand down, engine off. See you in the lot.— Dale Kovach, Parma, Ohio