|Suffering the nonsense.|
I saw a story the other day that motorcycle sales are on the decline in Europe, with the number of bikes sold in the United Kingdom having dropped 13.4 percent over last year (and moped/scooter sales having dropped 17.1 percent). I can’t really speak to the experience of riders in other countries but if their licensing processes are as convoluted, multi-tiered and expensive as the one in this soggy realm, I find the numbers not at all surprising. Whereas I can see how the UK licensing system better ensures the safety of riders than the one I went through when I was 18 years old (1), I can’t help feeling it so wrapped in red tape it forces a person to be nigh fanatical to want to put him- or herself through it.
The next day, I bought study materials for steps 2 and 3: the theory and hazard perception tests. And last night, I booked myself to take them at 8 a.m. on 12 March –– the earliest slot available. The ball is rolling quickly now. I feel wound up with nervousness. The British love giving tests and I am notoriously poor at taking them.
Then, just half an hour ago, the stress level jumped even further. I got a text from my instructor: he has booked step 4. That’s an on-the-bike test conducted on a closed course, known as the Module 1 test. The date for that one is 19 March –– the day before my 37th birthday and only a week after my theory and hazard perception tests. If I screw those up, the whole house of cards will collapse.
I believe the phrase you’re looking for is: “pooping myself.”