Lift Butt Cheeks Then Turn

Learning how to counterbalance on the road and in life

Don’t be fooled. They are wolves in sheep's skin. | Photo by MãXím ÇhäŅĢmåí on Unsplash

The stray dogs. Damn them. If not for them, I wouldn’t need to spend extra time and money to get a darn motorcycle license.

I’m a full-time student in Taiwan, and deciding to live off-campus was a mistake in hindsight. The reasons were legitimate at the time. In an earlier article, I wrote about being chased by stray dogs while commuting on a granny bike, a push-pedal with no gears.

I’m already on a tight budget, so I can’t afford to fail this week’s written and practical tests. I’ve only had one day at the driving test centre to practise doing the circuit, and my Chinese is not at the level where I can pick up everything the instructor is uttering at Mach-2.

The theoretical part of the exam consists mainly of common-sense questions. I should pass unless they ask trick questions, like “Is racing — without a helmet in the wrong lane of a school-side road — allowed?”

I’m more concerned about the practical test, in which I must make a series of sharp U-turns at a low speed, roughly under 15 km per hour. It’s been decades since I rode a motorcycle, and my Spider-Man agility is not what it used to be.

My feet mustn’t touch the ground during the turns, but they did on my first day. What was I doing wrong? So, I went on YouTube to learn some tips, and that’s where I realized I needed to remember counterbalancing.

To me, counterbalancing is not so much a manoeuvre as it is a mental approach. When my centre of gravity is not aligned with the bike, I lose balance and my ride.

What to do? First, look ahead to where I want to go. Push the handle lightly down on the side I want to turn. Lift my butt half a cheek off the seat. Which half depends on whether I’m turning right or left. I tried this at home on my granny bike. Whoa! It works!

I know, I know. Bicycles aren’t motorbikes. But I grasped the sense.

Turning left, I raise my right butt cheek. Turning right, I raise my left butt cheek. I should say this in my head on test day like I’m rapping.

Left: right butt cheek. Right: left butt cheek.

After my Nobel Prize-winning revelation—insert eye-rolling—I returned to my desk to resume my studies. I’m in my first year of a PhD program in Austronesian Studies at a rural university in Taiwan. And I’m already second-guessing myself about my ability to get through the next four years in one piece.

Even if I digest all the required reading and stay afloat academically, I am jobless and have minimal opportunities to supplement the scholarships I’ve received. Although I anticipated this situation, it’s still nerve-racking, making it challenging to focus on my studies.

This is what some people call a downward spiral of negative feedback.

It feels like a never-ending loop of U-turns where I can’t seem to find my centre of gravity and feel like toppling off my mojo. What to do?

Counterbalance. You probably saw that coming.

Recall my motorbike turns. I just need to lift my butt cheeks off the hot seat. Relax my shoulders, look in the intended direction, keep enough throttle to maintain angular momentum, negotiate the friction, and commit.

My physics might be inaccurate, but I trust you get what I mean.

Photo by Appic on Unsplash

In other words, I shouldn’t be so neurotic and so hard on myself. I got this far. There’s no need to be egotistical and cocky, but I’m allowed to be a little proud and confident. Self-esteem and self-confidence have always been a kind of Achilles’ heel. Whenever I get a yard away from the finish line, nerves make me trip and fall on my face.

Does my experience resonate with you? I’m still determining if this story offers any practical solutions. Still, I hope you will keep your mojo intact in your endeavours. I will try.

There will always be angry stray dogs chasing me or tricky U-turns to manoeuvre. As long as I remember to counterbalance and throttle nicely, the test should be a cruise.

Once a biker, always a biker.