Thursday, May 21, 2009
My husband has one big crush - on his beautiful blue Harley Davidson motorcycle. We are off to take it in for a "check up" in preparation for summer fun. Or is it fun? The answer is a resounding YES for him, and a tentative maybe for me. You see, I have developed a phobia on the bike.
It happened one day while we were riding in Portland with some friends. I don't know what my husband was thinking, but we were on the freeway, and simply put, he started going way too fast. He has his excuses, none of which I have accepted. In the meantime, I forgot to open all the air holes in my helmet. So the combination of a lack of air, the 75 mph, traffic, the feeling I was going to faint and fall off the bike, the inability to get his attention because he was intent on keeping that bike going forward at a hair-splitting speed, has left me with a damned phobia for riding in any kind of traffic!
It's crazy how phobias become so real - all it takes is one time of feeling out of control and fear takes over in a very strange way.
Anyway, I forced myself to go with him again when we lived in Minneapolis. That trip he kept going and going and going, without stops. Now if you know anything about seats, you'll know it is a very unfair situation. His seat is much larger than mine - despite the disparity in sizes of the appendages going into said seats. Some women liken it to riding on a fence post for hours. Stops are very important! But he just couldn't make up his mind where to stop, so we drove and drove. The end result was a very crippled passenger, and one that didn't want to go again for a while. (His story may be slightly different :-)
He's had bikes since we first met. Back in the day it was a Suzuki, without even a sissy bar (a bar to hold the passenger on.) We used to motor up to the Lake (we lived in Reno), spend the day at the beach, have lunch at a favorite restaurant, head back to the movies, and be home in time to BBQ. All before children, or dogs for that matter. Next came the dog, thus we had to take our sports car, next came the children and that required a Taurus station wagon! Anyway, you get the picture. Now we are back to the motorcycle. Only I'm 30 years older. I am just not that same young, carefree girl. (Or size, for that matter.)
You can wear lots of gear to keep you safe. "Leathers". But I feel claustrophobic in them. They're heavy and hot. Add a big helmet and you might as well be going to Mars.
So, I know I'll go with him. He really wants me to go, and I'll do it for him. But being a Motorcycle Grandma, is not all that it's cracked up to be.
Any others out there that will be hitting the road on two wheels this summer?