Ego, Asphalt, and ATGATT: Hard Lessons on a Motorcycle

When a 100+ kg bike pins you to the road, it crushes more than just your jeans. It strips away pretense and leaves you with an undeniable reality check.

It was July 12th, 2026. Nearly two weeks have passed since the asphalt took its toll, but looking at my healing palm today, every detail of that afternoon is still crystal clear.

There is a very specific flavor of panic that sets in when you are pinned beneath a 100-kilogram machine. Your brain races, your body reacts, and before you even assess the damage, an instinct kicks in: raise a hand and wave "I’m OK."

Except, lying on the road towards the end of my first proper riding class, I wasn't OK. I needed help. But in that fraction of a second, my reflexive response wasn't self-preservation—it was a sort-of-social preservation. Maybe ego?

The High-Speed Trap of Rapid Progress

Having first gotten my learner's permit back in 2021 before COVID hit and pushed riding off my radar, I felt like I had lost years of time to catch up on.

The day started with tremendous momentum. On the 1st day I learnt ehough to go through three full lessons in a single day. My confidence was soaring; the throttle felt responsive, the clutch engagement felt natural, and I was moving fast through the material.

But rapid comprehension isn't muscle memory. While I was breezing through straightaways, I hadn't truly consolidated the physical art of the turn. When the momentum hit a technical maneuver that demanded instinct over theory, the gap in my practice showed up instantly. Down went the bike, and down I went with it. I did not feel confident in the turns.

Laying on the Asphalt: Ego vs. Survival

Pinned underneath the frame, a flurry of thoughts hit all at once. My initial impulse was sheer self-reliance: Push the bike off yourself. Prove you can handle it.

Then, logic took over. My palm was sliced open right above the wrist—pressing it into the frame to lift a 100+ kg bike was a terrible idea. There were two people available to assist. Accepting help was the smart, rational choice, even if my pride wanted to stage a dramatic solo escape. Overcoming that urge to "prove it" was lesson number one.

I got up and did a quick physical inventory:

• The Hand: Cut open near the wrist, bleeding, and clearly needing urgent dressing.
• The Lower Body: Road rash across my left foot, ankle, and knee.
• The Jeans: Torn. (My immediate thought: At least this scar comes with a cooler story than "I tripped.")

The Home Ritual: Stripping Away Distractions

When I got home, before I even washed off the dirt and blood, I walked straight to my bathroom and grabbed the nail clippers.

I had been embracing my feminine side lately, growing out my nails and enjoying that aesthetic. But staring at my bloody hand, I realized those long nails felt like a complete mismatch for what riding demands: utility, control, and raw grip. In a swift, symbolic reset, I chopped them all off with straight, functional cuts. No hesitation.

Only after shedding that distraction did I inspect and dress the cut on my palm. Nothing was broken—except, perhaps, a slightly bruised sense of invincibility.

Key Takeaways for Next Time

This fall was a heavy tax to pay, but it came with invaluable clarity for my return to the track:

1. ATGATT (All The Gear, All The Time): Regular denim will shred in milliseconds on asphalt. Proper abrasion-resistant pants, riding boots, and heavy-duty gloves with palm sliders are mandatory, not optional.
2. Upper Body Conditioning: Physical strength matters. Building upper body power isn't just about managing the machine on the road—it's about staying in control during unexpected weight shifts.
3. Respect the Pace: Slowing down the learning curve is better than speeding into a crash. Cornering requires deliberate practice, not rushed confidence.

Am I sad? Honestly, yes—a little bit. But am I going to stop riding? Not a chance. Right now, the focus is on healing this palm. As soon as my grip is back, I'm getting right back on the bike. Wise, well-geared, and entirely at my own pace.