I started learning to ride in August 2023, aged 50 and 4 months.

It took me weeks of lessons just to get my CBT. During that time, I dropped the training scooters several times (yes I started on a scooter – a geared bike was too much for me back then).

The following summer, I failed my Mod 1 test on the first go. I dropped the bike on the slalom, despite nailing it in training, and had already dropped it countless times in lessons before that (see real footage here!) Only ever on the training pad, though. Not out in the big wide world.

When I did go back to retake the Mod 1 a month later, I passed with no faults. I couldn’t believe, it, I was so proud of myself!

Then came Mod 2, with just two minors. What a relief. By July 2024, at 51 and 3 months, I was officially a fully-fledged rider, deemed to be competent.

But that simple summary hides what really happened.

Why Did It Take Me So Long?

Because I needed time, more time than most, to learn. (It took me 9 months to learn how to drive so I knew it would take me a while to learn to ride. I knew however that I WOULD succeed, if I allowed enough time and practice to let my brain join the dots. Time to allow the unfamiliar to become familiar. I had to let go of the need to rush, even when others were flying past me. Even when I felt behind. Especially then.

Learning to ride at 50 meant retraining instincts, facing fears, and doing things that didn’t come easily. One of the hardest things for me has been starting and stopping. That’s when dropping my motorcycle felt most inevitable at times, and I had to work hard to overcome that belief.

When the bike is stationary, coming to a stop or just about to move, it feels at its heaviest, especially if, like me, you’re short. The lean of the bike means you become the support. Add wet ground, gravel, cambers or cobbles, and the difficulty multiplies, and especially if your hand goes anywhere near the front brake while moving slowly with the front wheel turned. It’s hard not to overthink, or think the worst.

It reminds me of the saying – what do you think of when you are told to not think of elephants! It’s the paradoxical effect of making that very thought more prominent in your mind. Don’t drop the bike becomes ‘drop the bike!”.

Then there’s the front brake. My muscle memory from riding bicycles as a child would kick in at the wrong moments. More than once I grabbed the brake when I shouldn’t have. (As I child I once tumbled over the handlebars when braking and landed face first!).

I’ve had to unlearn those habits, slowly and deliberately.

Dropping My Motorcycle in Training

I dropped my training bikes many times. Including during the slalom on my first Mod 1. So when I got my own bikes, I made a point of protecting them – from me. That fear of damaging the bike (and myself) was very real.

I invested in crash protection from my local dealer, and I always wear my gear. But I also knew I needed to take ownership of my learning, and that meant acknowledging what went wrong, reviewing footage when I could, getting advice from other trusted, experienced riders, and being honest with myself.

Dropping my CB500F

On 25 August 2024, I dropped my first big bike. I’d only had her a week. I was overthinking gears in slow traffic. I let go of the clutch, the bike lurched, and I dropped it. The clutch lever snapped at the end. Thankfully it was still useable so I was able to carry on with the ride we had planned for the day.

Then on 28 September, I was manoeuvring out of a steep camber in the rain. My foot slipped and my instincts took over … I grabbed the front brake. The bike went down again. This time it was the brake lever that broke. Luckily I had planned to replace the levers and had a set ready to put on. So it didn’t hold me back for long.

Each time, I checked myself and the bike, accepted help from kind strangers to get it upright, and I got back on. Then reviewed the footage to see what I could learn.

Dropping my CBR650R

In December 2024, I upgraded to a CBR650R. At first, she felt easier to handle. Smoother. More responsive and much more stable at slow speed. For a while, everything went fine.

Then came 6th March 2025. I was turning into a petrol station when my back wheel slid across a wet metal grate and from nowhere the bike went down. The fall shook me more than I expected as I couldn’t understand it. I blamed myself, thinking it must have been one of my ‘bad habits’…- my technique, my hesitation, my reactions. But it felt different that time…

When I shared the footage of what happened (once I’d repaired my pride) it was pointed out to me that there was a metal grate, and I’d gone over it at an angle. Suddenly, it made sense. There was an external factor. It wasn’t just me. I knew it had felt different – so while I had still been responsible, there was new learning from it, which was insightful. But by then the damage to my confidence had already taken hold.

That month, I dropped my motorcycle twice more, as I felt I had lost trust in both my bike and myself, and our relationship went through a bad patch.

On 16th March, I was turning right at the end of my road. I hesitated, grabbed the front brake out of fear, and down she went.

Then on 29th March, I was pulling out of another petrol station. Same fear. Same reaction. Same result. Dropping my motorcycle had become a symbol of my internal panic, not just a physical event.

Each time, I followed the same process. Hit the kill switch, and made sure I was OK. I checked over the bike. I accepted help when it was offered. And I got back on. Then reviewed my footage at the earliest opportunity, and just kept getting out there. Realising it was becoming a problem, I took myself off to a local car park and practiced over and over, under the watchful eye of one of my best riding buddies.

Where I Am Now – June 2025

It’s been a few months since the last drop. But I’ve had a few close calls, and I’m always aware of the risk. That awareness no longer paralyses me – but it informs my preparation.

I ride as often as I can. I practise the hard stuff deliberately. I have spent time rebuilding my trust, both in my bike and in myself, and we’re working much better together as a team. I’ve booked a slow control course so I can strengthen the areas where I still feel unsteady.

I keep spare levers, mirrors, and the spanners I need to fit them in my panniers. Not because I expect to fail, but because I respect this process, and what it demands of me and I don’t want a drop to leave me stranded.

I review my footage when I can. I reflect. I journal. I learn. I write blogs, and social media posts, sharing my experience. Because every time I dropped my motorcycle, I also dropped a little of the fear, and instead of thinking about what can go wrong I focus on what will go right, and remind myself of what I’m capable of. Every repair has been part of my rebuilding.

The Real Lesson

A resilient mindset isn’t about being confident. It’s about continuing to show up when you don’t feel confident, trusting that you will get there in time. It’s about knowing that failure doesn’t mean you’re not cut out for this. It means you’re learning.

It’s also about accepting that the fear is real, especially the fear of getting hurt, or hurting your bike. But those fears don’t have to stop you. They can guide you toward preparation, reflection, and support.

As Rocky Balboa said:

“It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

That’s how riding works. That’s how growth works. And that’s how I help others work through it too – because I live it.

Final Thoughts

Dropping my motorcycle didn’t mean I wasn’t ready. It meant I was in the thick of learning. It meant I was human. Take a look at this YouTube video if you don’t believe me.

And if this article helps even one person see that dropping their bike isn’t the end of the road, then it’s worth every word. You’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re becoming a rider. Just make sure you get the practical training and emotional support you need.

I’m thinking of putting together a reel of all my drops. If you’d like to see it, let me know. Maybe it’ll be the nudge someone else needs to keep going.

Update March 2026

It’s now been almost 8 months since I last dropped my bike. Ironically that happened on the way to my slow control course, in July 2025! And then on the course (and so did everyone else on the course so I didn’t feel quite so bad about that one!).

The course itself was a revelation as it identified habits that had crept into my technique as a result of being hyper-vigilant. In trying to protect me my brain was making it more likely I was going to drop it. Once I became aware of these habits, under the guidance of an experienced and knowledgeable instructor, I was able to stop doing them, and thus stay upright.

Of course I am not kidding myself that I will never drop it again, but I have lost the fear of turning right, which was where I felt most vulnerable, because I have had the training and practice to give my nervous system the evidence that I can do it.

Important Note: I am not a motorcycle instructor, I do not give advice about riding or assess your skills. I will always encourage you to get more practical training to enhance your skills and confidence. You remain responsible for meeting your training needs and your safety.