The Hog


Well, this escalated quickly.

My husband, Dave, got an opportunity for some free training. Whenever there is the word, “free” involved, he doesn’t pass it up.

The Army was offering some free motorcycle training through Harley Davidson. Dave used to ride several years ago, but let his license expire. He said, “It’s a four day class, and then I can take my test and get a bike whenever something good comes up.”

Okaaaaaay.

I love motorcycles. Let me rephrase: I love to be a rider on a motorcycle. I don’t like to physically be the person to steer the motorcycle.

That would get us all killed, and when I mean “us”, I mean anyone else on the road who is with me, and it may be you. Shit, I can’t even walk straight let alone ride a motorcycle straight. People think I’m drunk half the time.

I could pretend to act like Mayberry’s resident boozer, Otis, who lets himself into the jail to sleep it off, but I’m not. I mean, I don’t even look like him.

Last Saturday, I’m sweating my ass off-as usual-while vacuuming my home because I have four dogs. When you vacuum a home with four dogs,  you are not allowed to skim around furniture. No, no. no. Hair balls grow everywhere; they become the size of tumbleweeds and start taking on sly personalities like hiding in corners, jumping out at you when you walk across the floor.

I can’t deal with it. They’re like spiders for Christ sake.

So, I’m sweating and vacuuming and Dave walks in the house with his hair all disheveled. This is unlike him. However, I knew he had motorcycle class, so I assumed he was letting the wind blow in his face the entire afternoon, or he was have a torrid love affair and forgot to comb his hair as his mistress ran her fingers through it.

“Hey, I need to show you something,” he said.

“What?”

“Just come outside, you have to see this.”

I thought it may have been something the dogs did, or he wanted to point out a new species of bird since the side of our home has become Section 8 housing for cardinals, robins, blue jays….you name it. These, along with squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits provides a morning ritual of my dogs practically jumping through the window screens to get a little blood on their teeth.

I go outside, and my jaw dropped. He bought one.

A blue 2007 Dyna Low Rider.

motorcycle

I screamed.

He told me to shut up.

Then we went for a ride.

We went for a longer ride yesterday. I have to ride deaf because it’s too much noise for me, but I learned a few things:

1. Your ass gets sore after about an hour on the bike

2. Your face feels numb and you can hardly move your lips

3. You feel so free!!!!!!!!!!

It’s so much fun, I want to go everywhere on it.

Yay!!!! I even got a Harley shirt! Oh! And, I learned about the whole hand signal thing too. I figured I should ask about that first because if Jeep owners had a hand signal, motorcycle riders HAVE to have something!

Peace out.