CBT = Compulsory Basic Training for a motorcycle, step one to getting a license!
What an amazing day. My instructor, in classic full time motor bike instructor fashion, had short red hair apart from a 15 inch long, pleated, rattail. It blew in the wind outside his helmet like a small flag announcing he was free from office job formalities. I loved it.
Last night I nearly buckarooed myself off a friend's motorbike so I was kind of apprehensive at the start. And well this is horrible, but you know what really calmed me down? The other person there for training was AWFUL. Like, amazingly bad at riding this bike. (It's only sentences barren of proper sentiment that I prefix with 'like' but sometimes it's gotta be done. Like, you just gotta.) So since there was just the two of us, I was top of the class! Woohoo!
From then on I had to keep up the pretence that I knew what I was doing, since top of the class was my new role. It was similar to when a friend is stressing out in a disaster and you think: well someone has to be calm, I suppose it'll be me. They're screaming arrrggghhh and you're humming ahhhhmmmm and it all works out; nobody misses the flight / falls out of the boat / stays lost in the desert forever.
So I passed (admittedly this is one of those situations where it's really more something to be ashamed of failing rather than proud of passing, but meh). Now I'm going to buy my very own helmet and venture forth on the adventure. Some lessons on a bigger bike, a couple tests and one exciting shopping trip later and I'll be roaming around on my very own bike, free as a rattail in the wind.