Early thirties, pretty, slender, agile, you know...all that stuff that flew out my window as middle age came and went. My new boyfriend, a good deal of years younger, introduced me to his single method of transportation...a Harley. My method of transportation was only my two size 9 feet, so the solitary thought that presented itself in my noggin was this beats hiking any day of the year...I'll take it! I was clueless to the etiquette of safety for this monstrous machine, and the fact that I am here today goes a long ways to show that guardian angels do actually exist in this universe. I'm sure mine knew all too well the unpleasant sensations of numerous stress headaches. Head gloved in a fashionable, super cool helmet, I must admit that cruising on the back of that Harley, gave me such a rush of pure, unadulterated, fly-on-the-air freedom that I had never experienced before.
Arriving on the back of a cycle did prove to be quite a hassle at my not so cool bank job. A bummer carting that helmet on those carnival rides, it was easier just to wear the dang thing. Nights out would be no more than casual affairs, as a 45 mile an hour wall of wind should never be trifled with in lace and frills. Purses were a no-no, so I learned to live with only that which could be stuffed in any of my pockets. Movie nights were arrive-earlier-than-usual, cause there had to be a third seat just for our pair of helmets. And I'll have to admit while flying about, here and there, thoughts of lamed, maimed, dead on arrival never entered my wind numbed brain at all.
This wild and woolly relationship only lasted until winter's arrival, then it fizzled and sputtered to a really fast death. It wasn't in the Harley's favor when boyfriend showed up date night drenched from head to toe, the victim of a bus flying past that water soaked intersection red light had halted him at. That could have been me, too...what if I had been with him? Nor was I impressed at just how much excruciating pain I could endure whipping through that 28 degree icy funnel of arctic air. Let's just say Harleys and winters don't co-mingle well together, and leave it at that. My cool love affair bit the dust at record speed, as I began to frantically desire enclosed transportation of any type...I was desperate and becoming none too picky. Not that I considered cruising on the back of a Harley an "are you out of your mind" moment, but as far as I was concerned, it was definitely just a sweet summer affair.