Motorcycles were always something I thought were cool.
What I never imagined was just how much one little motorcycle would change my life.
When I turned 16, I needed a way to get to college. Public transport between my home and my chosen college was virtually non-existent and, with my mum commuting in the opposite direction, lifts were no longer an option. A moped seemed like the answer.
On my sixteenth birthday, I had my first taster session at a local riding school. I wasn't exactly a natural. At barely five feet tall, it was a struggle to even get one foot comfortably on the ground and I quickly discovered that learning to ride wasn't going to come easily to me.
After a lot of tears, frustration and stress trying to complete my CBT, I eventually tried a different riding school. Their bikes fitted me much better and, after a very shaky – and still quite teary – CBT day, I finally earned my certificate.
Waiting at home was a brand-new Honda Vision 50.
At last, I had my independence.
If I'm honest, I didn't love every minute of those early days on two wheels. I was anxious and it took me a long time to build confidence. But every journey made me a little more comfortable and a little more capable.
A few years later, I bought the motorcycle that would ultimately change everything: a Honda MSX125.
Affectionately known as my "silly little bike".
The transition to gears was another steep learning curve. I'd had a trial lesson on a 125 and sort of understood the basics, but I quickly realised that the only way I was really going to learn was by getting out there and doing it. So off I went to college and work.
I genuinely lost count of the number of times I stalled during those first journeys. But gradually things started to click. The bike became familiar. The controls became second nature.
And I started to understand why people loved riding so much.
When I decided to study motorcycle mechanics, I knew I needed more than L-plates. The journey to my new college could involve motorways, so at 18 I began training for my A1 licence.
One of the biggest advantages of the A1 category was being able to complete all my training and tests on my own motorcycle.
I already knew the bike. I trusted the bike.
And, perhaps most importantly, I wasn't terrified of dropping somebody else's.
Most of the training focused on tidying up bad habits and practising the slow-speed manoeuvres. Everything was going brilliantly.
Then came Mod 1.
I arrived at the test centre nervous but quietly optimistic. Unfortunately, I failed. Not because I dropped the bike or hit a cone but because I didn't get through the speed trap quickly enough for the emergency stop.
Twice.
I'd made the mistake of changing up into third gear and my little bike simply couldn't build speed quickly enough. I was devastated. So close, yet so far. We rebooked the test and moved my Mod 2 to a later date.
One piece of advice I always give riders now is to be careful about booking Mod 1 and Mod 2 on the same day. If you fail Mod 1, you lose your Mod 2 slot. Leave a few days between them and it's much easier to rearrange.
But I rebooked, regrouped and returned. This time I passed.
Doing the test on my own bike meant I didn't have to wait for instructors or school bikes to become available. It also meant that when I passed, there wasn't really anyone there to celebrate with me. At the time, that felt a little bittersweet.
Looking back now, though, it remains one of the achievements I'm most proud of. If you'd met the nervous, tearful 16-year-old struggling through her CBT, you probably wouldn't have predicted it.
One of the biggest lessons I learned was that not every instructor or training environment suits every rider.
Sometimes it's not about your ability. Sometimes it's about finding people who teach in a way that works for you. In my case, finding the right riding school—and the right-sized bike—made all the difference. But the licence was only the beginning. As my instructor often told me, the real learning starts once you're out on the road. He was absolutely right.
The more miles you ride, the more you learn. Different weather, different roads, different motorcycles, different people. Every ride teaches you something. And every rider is still learning.
What I didn't realise at the time was just how much that silly little bike was going to shape my future.
Without it, I would never have pursued motorcycle mechanics.
Without it, I would never have applied for my first full-time job in the parts department of the very dealership where I bought it.
Without it, I would never have helped organise an MSX owners' ride-out, attended events such as the Brighton Burn Up, Hastings May Day Run or the Ace Café Monkey Bike Run.
Without it, I would never have joined owners' groups, shared photos online or connected with other MSX enthusiasts around the country.
And without it, I would never have started chatting to one particular MSX owner.
At first we talked about motorcycles. Then we talked about everything else. Eventually we met up away from bike events.
Today, I call him my husband.
It's funny how life works sometimes.
A little motorcycle that I bought as a teenager gave me independence, confidence, a career, lifelong friendships and the person I would eventually spend my life with.
In recent years the bike has spent some time off the road due to health issues, but I could never part with it. It's far more than a motorcycle.
It's part of my story.
My goal this year is to get it repaired, get it roadworthy again and start enjoying those rides once more. And perhaps, in the next few years, finally work towards my full Category A licence.
After all, this story isn't finished yet.
And neither am I.
