GREENVILLE, N.C. — The first few times I rode a motorcycle, I was overconfident and wound up embarrassing myself. Not much has changed in 40 years, apparently.
I recently visited the local Division of Motor Vehicles driver license office to renew my motorcycle-operating privileges. The portion of the test about which I was most concerned — identifying blank road signs — I passed with ease.
The kind examiner then escorted me to a computer station for the fundamental-knowledge portion, which I considered a mere formality.
How quickly the road can fill with potholes.
After missing the first couple of questions, my confidence began to wobble. With 13 of 25 questions still unanswered, I crashed into a wall. The examiner said I would have to come back another day.
On the list of places I care to revisit, there are literally thousands of locations ahead of the DMV office. But failure is not an option and I shall return.
The good men and women at the DMV are specially trained to make sure everyone takes a number, waits in the same line and answers the same questions before being let loose on the same highways.
Everyone must be equally tested without regard to race, religion, sex, national origin or personal hygiene.
I was so sure of my motorcycle-riding knowledge that I didn't even study that portion of the official Motorcyclists' Handbook.
My attitude of superiority was equally inflated the first time Craig Owens let me ride his minibike when we were 8 years old. I wouldn't listen to Craig, so his mother had to teach me the concept of using lower gears to maintain speed while climbing hills.
Later, after I'd mastered Craig's minibike, I straddled my cousin Wayne's Yamaha Mini Enduro 60 in his backyard. Wayne started to explain the concept behind a clutch (Craig's minibike had automatic gears) but I dismissed most of the instruction as an affront to my vast cycling expertise.
Seconds later, my Uncle Ed had to remove the small motorcycle and me from the top of a six-foot wire fence that provided an enclosure for their dog.
Fortunately, only my self-esteem was damaged by the incident, which Wayne often recounted as proof of his Yamaha's superior capacity for climbing the steepest of inclines.
Since those early riding mishaps, though, I've logged thousands of miles on motorcycles with no major incidents. More than 40 years of riding experience should be adequate preparation for any quiz the DMV might throw together, right?
Wrong.
Oh, the shame of failing a test on something I've been doing for most of my life. It's like going to the doctor and being told there's a lot you don't know about how to inhale and exhale.
"That test has trick questions," I asserted to the DMV examiner.
"You have to go by everything that's in here," he said offering me a fresh copy of the Motorcyclists' Handbook.
I've studied every page of that handbook, and guess what? There's absolutely nothing in there about how to successfully climb a six-foot fence on a motorcycle.
Some things you just can't learn from a book.
Mark Rutledge writes for The Daily Reflector in Greenville, N.C. E-mail mrutledge(at)coxnc.com.