Monday, May 19, 2008

Do you have any super glue? I'm sliding.

Today, I got to do something I have always wanted to do. I rode a motorcycle. Seriously. Jim was in town for the wedding and he brought his "crotch rocket" (sorry Amanda Hannah). So after school today I drove to his grandmother's house and he took me out. Oh my gosh. We walked out to it and he pulled out these little metal spikes for my feet and handed me a helmet. My seat was probably 8 inches wide and maybe 16 inches long. I hiked myself up to my perch and looked around. Handles? Seat belt? Rope? Anything? "Oh, you just hold onto me," he said. Holy crap. What if you have a sunstroke?! What do I hold onto then? But, I didn't say this. I am practicing submitting. And submitting sucks. I climbed up to my seat.



Yes, my seat is that strip of metal hovering over the back wheel. But I got up on it. And prayed. He looked back at me before flipping down his visor and said, "You've never ridden, right? Just lean with me on the curves. Don't lean the opposite way. That will mess me up." Mess you up? Which means it will also mess me up, right? I really like my epidermis. I hoped that keeping it was on God's agenda.
And away we went. I leaned. And bit my lip. And gripped the gum size foot rests with my toes, Jim with my knees, and ignored my screaming quadripceps. When he would shift gears, I was worried I was going to slide down and take him out. Lean right. Lean left. Don't look at the speedometer. It was a long 15 minutes. But, I am not a pansy. I wouldn't ever tell him to stop. But as the ride continued, it got easier. My legs relaxed and only tensed when I needed them to. I figured out how to use my human handle (hand on the stomach, one on the back ... I felt like I was administering some weird form of CPR). I didn't want to stop. Once the adrenaline starts rushing and the wind is whipping your t-shirt around it is an amazing experiece. I refused to think about my Dad's horror stories ( he told them to me 15 minutes before I got to the house). You enjoy the ride so much more when you're exposed like that. In my car, I have my radio, my cellphone, or people. Our conversation was limited to our briefs stops, and, of course, cellphones wouldn't fit into the helmet. And Jim is amazing at figuring out where the heck we are... because Brushy Creek people don't believe in road signs.
After 2 hours of Smith Lake highways, I guess asking for more would have been a little demanding. And I had to get back to my online course anyway. Stink. I think I want a motorcycle.
No... never mind. I just want to ride. I had a blast! Thanks so much, Jim! Whenever you need a riding buddy, just let me know.

5 comments:

Dodger of Sheep said...

See? I knew it.

elliebird said...

i rode one for the first time a few months ago. i've decided i want to be a biker chick...a classy biker chick.

Little Lady said...

Good job. I've never try it, but I have a feeling the my father might have a mid-life-crisis and buy one without my mother knowing.

amanda hannah said...

imagine riding one through the streets of thailand where there really are no traffic laws, sans helmet, racing a car back to your apartment ... all the while eating a strange, yet delicious, concoction of a crepe with condensed milk. intense. such is the life i lead. not really.

and please, never say "crotch rocket" again. ever.

Amy said...

crotch rocket.