I love my bike. I really do. If I could take it in my house and snuggle with it, I just might do that. I think I might love it more than my husband! (It’s ok, honey. It’s a joke). Seriously though. Nothing was more surprising to me than my love affair with my motorcycle.
I didn’t grow up around bikes. My uncle had some sort of crotch rocket growing up but sold it when he had kids. That was the extent of my exposure. I had always thought they were dangerous and had absolutely no interest in riding one. One of my best friends in college got one too, another little crotch rocket that goes 0-60 in less than a second. He had taken me out on the thing a few times, which was fun. Definitely not designed for the comfort of the passenger, but fun nonetheless. I still had zero interest in them. Then I met Dave.
When I met Dave, he was a bad ass firefighter with a bad ass bike. A little daunting, but when he asked if I would like to go for a ride, I said yes. I was a little nervous. Do I trust this guy enough with my life? Dave has a really nice newer Harley that is meant for passengers. I stuffed a helmet on my noggin and hopped on the back. Oh, Lord have mercy. What an amazing feeling.
He took me around town on a beautiful day as summer was just ending. I could look around, see the trees above my head, look at the road beneath my feet, and feel the wind in my face. I was in love.
Our relationship was too new for me to actually ask him to take me everywhere on the bike, but I would have! I was enrolled in an EMT class in the next town over and Dave visited me during one of our breaks. Every single time for the next 3 months, whenever a motorcycle drove by, our instructor would stop what he was doing and say “Oh! Your boyfriend’s back!” Cute.
So our relationship grew and he brought me for more rides. I loved it! Then we started getting more and more busy, he stopped wanting to go, and finally, he started making excuses not to bring me “There’s too much pollen in the air!” (really, dude?). In my defense, it wasn’t me. In his defense, he didn’t keep the bike at our house and it was a pain to get out.
Long story short, I was pissed. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before but what was stopping me from taking my own bike? Oh besides not having a license or a bike. Hmm. So! I did my homework, signed up for a class, got my license, and bought a bike. I really do think that Dave thought I was kidding when I told him “If you won’t take me, I’ll take myself!”
Well? It was the best decision ever. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t ride a motorcycle. I have had my bike for 6 months now. I take it anywhere I don’t need cargo space or to go on the highway for extended periods of time. If it is nice out, you can bet I’m on my bike. I’ve even been on two chaity rides as a rider. I can’t get enough. That puppy in the picture, my baby, is a 2005 Harley-Davidson Sportster 1200 Custom, white, with pretty, shiny pipes.
The feeling of freedom is really what you’re paying for. Sure, you have a neat looking piece of machinery chugging away underneath you, but really, you are buying a sense of freedom. My two favorite things about my bike are accelerating (it came with nice pipes and I like the power of it) and the smell. Unlike a car, you can smell everything. The sweet summer air, the cow manure pile, the campfires, and the fall leaves. Even people doing their laundry or the smell of cool damp earth. It brings you back to the moment. You are free, you are here, be happy.