As gas prices continue to strain American budgets this summer, motorcycles and motor scooters are appearing more frequently around Atlanta. Cycling conserves fuel. It's also incredibly dangerous.

As a veteran motorcycle passenger who has suffered a few mishaps, I know the importance of professional riding instructions, even for those planning only to ride shotgun. However, the sharp rise in motorcycling deaths throughout Georgia makes me wonder just how many newcomers to cycling are bothering to enroll in motorcycle safety courses before hitting the road.

(ENLARGE)

Brenda Deily Constan lives in Decatur.

Throughout my years as an educator, two of my students lost their lives and one a leg to motorcycle accidents that might have been prevented had the riders been schooled in the risks of the sport and guided through safe riding strategies. I too could have avoided a few unpleasant motorcycling injuries had I refused to ride with anyone who had not passed through a certified motorcycling class.

My high school boyfriend bought a Yamaha 305, which my parents forbade me to ride. However, like most teens, I regarded myself as invincible and my parents as overanxious.

During one of my clandestine rides, my boyfriend blasted into the school parking lot, spraying behind plumes of white stones and oyster shells. The front tire floundered in deep gravel, and the bike capsized. As I struggled from under the wreck, the exhaust pipe seared my calf, and blossoming on the skin was a large, discolored blister, puffy and undulating with fluid. The injury was painful, required medical attention and took months to heal. I was through with motorcycling.

But the man I married happened to be a motorcycling enthusiast. To his credit, before he would allow me to ride the bikes, even as a passenger, he insisted I enroll in our community's motorcycle safety program. There I learned to ride responsibly, make emergency stops and negotiate road hazards.

Regrettably, there are some motorcycling blunders from which not even the most astute cycling instructor can save his students. One morning, my husband and I prepared for a ride through the Georgia mountains on our touring bike. As he pulled into the street, I placed a boot on the back peg to mount but stepped off momentarily. The weight change mistakenly signaled him that I was aboard, and he sped down the road. Alone.

Dressed in winter leathers and a full-face helmet, no bike in sight, I must have looked befuddled to the neighbor kid delivering the morning paper. "Hey," he screamed into my face shield, "your husband just left you in the street!"

"Yes, I noticed," I replied sarcastically, lifting the shield so he would shop shouting.

Several hours passed before the phone rang.

"Oh, you're there!" Stephen said breathlessly when I answered the phone.

"Of course I'm here," I bellowed. "Where did you think I'd be?"

"Hold on. I'll call you right back. I'm at a hospital in Ellijay."

The phone rang again. This time a police officer was on the line asking me to verify my identity, and the story began to unfold.

Throughout the morning, as my husband rode through the mountains, he had been pointing out for me interesting sights along the way — a hang glider, an ostrich farm, a wild turkey flying out of autumn brush. Not until he pulled into a parking lot did he realize I wasn't sitting behind the backrest that separated our seats.

Certain I had been thrown, he backtracked to look for me. Then, in desperation, he rode to a nearby hospital, where the admissions nurse assured him that no one had admitted an injured woman wearing a motorcycle helmet and a leather jacket. The investigating officer thought the story so outlandish he began to suspect Stephen had fabricated an elaborate alibi to cover a domestic murder. Fortunately, the sympathetic nurse persuaded them both to try phoning me at home.

We laughed about the story for many years, but added mounting procedures to our safety checklist.

Since my husband's death to cancer several years ago, the closest I get to motorcycling is watching reruns of "The Wild One" or "Easy Rider." But for those of you who still enjoy the ride and especially those new to cycling, I recommend a safety class. It might just keep you sunny side up as you head on down the road.