And so she rambled on, in the bar, telling me how she used to ride with her husband on his Harley, but not anymore. I just love the way she started the conversation. . .
"Do you ride? We ride a Harley! Well, we used to. What do you ride?" as if she was excited about riding, or bragging that she "once" owned a Harley.
Often, I get the "Why don't you ride a Harley?" question, but that's an entirely different story.
These are "enthusiasts" who seem to be proud that they used to ride, but ride no more, because they "smartened up and quit riding." It seems to be their mission in life to discourage me and everyone else within earshot from the desire to ride. And I'm constantly wondering, why the fuck to they care? It's as if they're delivering a divine message to me that riding a motorcycle is dangerous.
No shit. Really?
Yes, I know that.
My philosophy is this. Most things in life are dangerous. Eating seafood is dangerous. Crossing the street is dangerous. Wearing a tampon is dangerous. Shit happens. Get over it. You're going to die one day. But when are you going to start to live?
I don't want to live afraid. That's really what this boils down to. The storyteller is afraid of riding. They've either been hurt, or they know of someone who's been hurt (and frankly, who doesn't know someone who's been hurt on a motorcycle?), and now they are filled with fear. And that fear keeps them from riding.
If you're afraid, you don't belong on a motorcycle. Those seats are so tiny because there's only room for your ass on there. Not your ass and all of your emotional baggage. There is simply no room for fear on a motorcycle. Don't pack it along, because it doesn't belong on there.
Caution, care, and thought are important when riding. I'm not condoning recklessness. I don't want to die. But I don't want to live afraid of the next moment either. That's worse than death in my book. If you think long enough and hard enough about the things that will kill you, you'll never leave your basement filled with ammo, health food and vitamins. If that's how you choose to live, more power to you.
As for me, I don't want to hear your stories of motorcycle disasters. When I was 4-years-old my Daddy had a wreck that left him in a body cast, lying in a hospital bed in our home for 1 year. At the age of 16 I crashed, badly. I know what happens when we hit the pavement and I don't need you filling my head with that shit.
Thanks, but no thanks. I would rather hear some dirty jokes. Got any good ones? If not, then please, shut the fuck up.