My dad bought a motorcycle while we were in Spain . . . all the Navy guys bought them! I believe it's the combination of a number of things behind the reason nearly every military man owns at least one in his life:
- Bikes are obviously very cool
- They make you feel like a badass
- Girls dig guys who own bikes (or at least THINK they do)
- They are pretty cheap to operate
- Bikes satisfy a man's inherent need for speed
Oh don't read that with your judgement!!
And NO . . . in no way do I condone the purchase of a motorcycle!!
So anyway, my first "encounter" with a bike was Dad's, and I thought it was pretty cool to ride on the back of his! It had a huge exhaust pipe that I had to be careful of while sitting on the back of his seat, but that usually wasn't a problem. Well, it wasn't a problem until the day I ran to give him a hug as he sat on his bike . . . that's when my thigh hit the hot exhaust pipe . . . that's when a blister the size of my thumb appeared . . . that's when I screamed! It took weeks to heal . . . I couldn't wear pants at all . . . I wasn't so crazy about his motorcycle after that!!
I was 11 when the next bike came into my life. My Papa bought one . . . he was in his late 60's I believe . . . he wrecked it leaving the dealer's lot I believe! My grandmother never wanted him to buy one, and he kept it at his cousin's house because she wouldn't even look at it! He died that same summer, so they sold it. My dad had to drive it to Savannah to deliver it . . . I watched him lay it down in the rain when a semi passed him and threw too much water for him to maintain control. My mom dug gravel out of his body for weeks!
My next encounter with a motorcycle was in South Georgia . . . on the farm . . . I was probably 13 or 14. Karl had a dirt bike, and I wanted to learn to ride it. He, of course, resisted at first . . . probably because he didn't want a girl riding it. I begged . . . he caved. Karl spent a good 10 minutes explaining how to make it go . . . how to change gears . . . how to stop . . . all the important things. I didn't hear a word of instruction because I, of course, KNEW how to ride a motorcycle. I rode it alright . . . up the side of a fence post . . . fell off the back and was nearly killed by it! I didn't ask to ride it again . . . doubt seriously Karl would have acquiesced a second time.
I was 19 when I met my first serious "casualty!" While working in Gatlinburg during the Knoxville World's Fair, I saw him waiting in line. his face was a mess, but I couldn't quite understand what the deal was . . . looked a little like he'd been burned. I stared a little too long, and his buddy asked me if I wanted to know what happened. Before I could answer, he said they were riding through the mountains when a deer darted in front of them. This guy, who wasn't wearing a helmet, hit the deer and went over his handlebars . . . scrubbed his face on the pavement for about 100 yards . . . removing his eyebrows, nose, and lips. Months in the hospital combined with plastic surgery sort of restored his face . . . they had to build him a nose . . . create lips from skin that came from his thighs. He had no eyebrows though, and I think that's what surprised me the most . . . but hair follicles that are damaged will no longer produce hair. His hair follicles were severely damaged.
At 20 Charles . . . and the next bike rode into my life! He was nuts!! But at 19 I was "bulletproof" so I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle wearing shorts and a tank top . . . not a care in the world as he drove that thing like a bullet! Thankfully I broke up with him before his altercation with the cops . . . he drove it through the middle of a field to get away from one. Nah, he didn't wreck it, but I wouldn't have wanted to have been on the back of it that night!
23 was the year of the Harley . . . and the idiot I dated. We were in Wyoming when he bought it, and being able to ride one out west . . . with no helmet . . . was quite a rush I will admit. I felt like Bob Seger's girlfriend while on the back of that bike. She was a SoftTail . . . a beauty! Black and chrome . . . announcing her presence as we rode down deserted roads . . . through the Wind River canyon . . . and down the legendary Highway 66. I even got to drive a couple of times too. My (then) boyfriend was alone when he totaled it in San Francisco . . . a cab hit him . . . broke his leg!
My last ride was last year . . . with The Captain who seems to think I'll grow to love his bike as much as he does. I'm over the age of 50 now, and motorcycles, for me, have lost their luster. He took me for a spin around the lake . . . heavy jacket . . . heavy helmet . . . said it made him feel free. While I get that, it just made me feel miserably confined and claustrophobic.
I've seen bikers down on the Tail of the Dragon . . . seen them lose control on the interstate . . . watched as cars clipped them on side roads, sending their riders into tailspins. I've had friends who've cheated death in wrecks . . . and some who haven't been so lucky. I know a lot of people that enjoy riding . . . men AND women . . . even encourage their kids to get motorcycles too.
Maybe . . . maybe if I lived in Montana or Wyoming or New Mexico . . . a state with some seriously wide open spaces . . . I'd think about riding again.
Bob Seger was another one of my favorite music artists . . . here's a snippet of the song that always made me feel like going for a ride:
"Stood alone on a mountain top,
Staring out at the Great Divide
I could go east, I could go west,
It was all up to me to decide.
Just then I saw a young hawk flyin'
And my soul began to rise
And pretty soon
My heart was singin'
Roll, roll me away
I'm gonna roll me away tonight
Gotta keep rollin' gotta keep ridin',
Keep searchin' till I find what's right
And as the sunset faded
I spoke to the faintest first starlight
And I said next time
Next time
We'll get it right."
~Bob Seger, Roll Me Away
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