I'm getting tricked into a 3 hour motorcycle ride tomorrow. Could be fun. A good friend of mine has been using my garage for the past week to restore a wrecked Ducati Monster 7-something, I don't really know.
Now, I'm all up for an hour or so on the back of a bike cruising down the open road with mountains and rivers surrounding you in their nurturing cocoon. But....but...but....
It's HOT. And, HUMID. And did I mention DF-Dub? Um. Traffic out the wazoo. Semi-Trucks & Corvettes doing 120 are NOT my idea of a nurturing cocoonish type experience. I want to hear the sound of the Ducati revving up when it cruises up a mammoth hill. I do not want to hear 46 different radio stations blasting through the air at ear breaking decibels.
I want to rest my chest on the back of a guy I've known and trusted for longer than I can remember. I do not want to be looking around in fear at the thousands of vehicles rushing along beside me, around me, through me, and gripping said friends thighs while I battle a panic attack of epic proportions and my life flashes through my mind, and I pray that my babies will forgive me for being selfish enough to take an afternoon off.
So. Ya. I'm gonna go. Why? Because this friend saved me. Pulled me up when I was drowning and didn't even see the water rushing over my face. He found a beautiful house for my children and I (that I'm not starving to afford), gave me work through his company where I can keep my baby with me at all times, and smacks me around when I start whining that it's all too much. Dude keeps things in perspective. Dude would have a heart attack if he knew I called him "Dude"!
So, if he wants me to ride a Monster till my bum falls off. I will.
And, dammit. I'll like it.
Get your mind out of the gutter. A Ducati Monster. Motorcycle. You Dirty Bird.
Love & Sloppy Kisses
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