I was just walking through the parking lot, not expecting anything wild, when this motorcycle stopped me in my tracks 😭. I had to do a double take because tell me why this grown, shiny, serious-looking bike has straight-up training wheels on it. Like… sir?? This isn’t a toddler’s first ride around the driveway, this is a Yamaha trying to learn balance. My brain was glitching because it looks fast, loud, and intimidating from the front, but then you get to the back and it’s giving beginner energy in the most unexpected way. The contrast was actually disrespectful. From one angle, it looked like it could outrun its own shadow. From another, it looked like it needed words of encouragement and a slow clap.
I stood there longer than I’d like to admit, staring at it like the answer might suddenly explain itself. Was this a joke? A custom modification? Some kind of confidence-building phase for motorcycles? Nothing in my life prepared me for this visual.
The training wheels weren’t even subtle either. They were bold. Present. Doing their job with pride. This wasn’t a temporary situation — this bike was committed to stability.
People kept walking past me like nothing was wrong, meanwhile I was having a full mental shutdown in the middle of the parking lot. I felt like I had discovered a glitch in the simulation and no one else noticed.
The more I thought about it, the funnier it became. A motorcycle that says “don’t underestimate me,” but also “just in case.” Fast, fierce, and emotionally supported.
I started imagining the rider pulling up, revving the engine aggressively, then casually cruising away with zero fear of tipping over. Confidence with a safety net. Honestly? That’s growth.
Eventually I snapped out of it and kept walking, but that image is permanently burned into my memory. Because once you see a Yamaha that looks ready to race the world yet refuses to fall over, you never really forget it.
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