I am also impulsive, bipolar, given to flights of ideas, and I-Swear-To-God-Unwanted Drama. These things define me as much as methodical does. Some might say I'm balanced. Others would stick the prefix un before it.
One warm - which is to say HOT - March Saturday, I went motorcycle shopping with a friend. I wasn't yet ready to buy a bike - I'd carefully planned to complete my rider's safety course first. This would be window shopping, and I thought my friend was a safe bet. He's the one with the 900 pound VMax who, a mere two weeks earlier, was in a near fatal accident on his bike. Confined to bedrest with most of his ribs broken and his clavicle mashed, he repeatedly said that me getting a bike was an extremely bad idea.
Bedrest bores a person, I guess. He became my secretary from his sedentary position. He made all the Craigslist contacts, set up the appointments, and picked me up at 9:00 am on the appointed Saturday. Then he chauffered me from one location to another. Somehow, despite being cautious, especially when something costs more than $50, I managed to write a check for 38 times that amount and bought myself a bike.
Then my broken-ribbed friend with the mangled clavicle rode my new bike on the Interstate back to my house - in a short-sleeved shirt and no helmet.
AND I THOUGHT HE WAS THE REASONABLE ONE!
Back at my house, he put 'er in neutral in the driveway and told me to ride across the threshold into my backyard. Excitedly, I took the helm and half rode half walked my little Rebel into the garden. A couple of days later, I got a wild hair and decided to ride her around the garden. This proved difficult in weeds and grass and mud from a recent rain. Also, not knowing how to ride a motorcycle added to the drama. I almost crashed into the fence, then kept stalling as I tried to back the bike up. Where is reverse on this thing? Oh. Right. Better leave her parked till that class next weekend.
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