I first met Bernadette Murphy at the Y, where we were both watching children swim back and forth in a swim class-- the most boring thing on earth. A redheaded woman, she was reading a book full of post-it notes--a reviewer! We quickly started up a conversation. Now, 20 years later, her memoir Harley and Me has appeared, about how learning to ride a motorcycle in middle age has changed her life.
The book is divided into three major sections, Look, Lean and Roll, based on the elementary instructions on how to ride into a curve on a motorcycle. Steer where you're looking, lean into the curve, and roll on out. The second one is the tough one, because it's counter-instinctual. You start to lean on a 350 pound bike, and whoa! You want to lean the other way. But if you don't lean enough, you don't make the turn. All of this supremely metaphorical for making a change in your life.
I liken it to becoming a chrysalis. Caterpillars don't sprout wings and legs and those curly tongues from their long wormy bodies. They actually dissolve and reconstitute themselves in a new form. It's a scary process, this becoming ourselves. But in midlife, with a dying father and a marriage that was coming apart, Murphy discovered that a major application of risk--learning to ride a Harley--had its repercussions up and down her life, and the resonances are still occurring.
From its first wobbly jaunts, to a cross country ride, and subsequent journey to the South Pacific where she lived for several months, Harley and Me gives us a road-map for re-wilding a life. Women in middle age tend to be smarter than the average bear, and therefore try very hard to get everything right, do everything right, avoid accidents and exposure to risk. But strangely enough, we start to feel the walls pressing in. . This timely memoir is the opposite of a book like Cheryl Strayed's Wild, in a funny way--it's not about getting your life together, it’s how to loosen up on a well-lived life to make space for the unexpected.
It's a completely honest, sometimes shocking little book--sexuality is dealt with in a very openhanded way--and in a world full of "inspirational" books, this one really did inspire me to push my courage index up a few notches. After finishing it, I finally, for example, taught my daughter to drive the LA Freeways, something I had been chickening out on for years.Riding shotgun with a newish and uncertain driver on the freeways, doing some complex maneuvering, I found myself saying, "Imagine if you were on a motorcycle!" which I found instantly relaxing.
There's something about the example of courage that seems to call up courage in the observer, and I think that's the purpose Murphy intended of her frank and gutsy memoir.