I wish I could find the one and only picture that exists of me on a motorbike. (Hint: that one above is not it) You might be thinking, Kim? On a motorbike? By herself? But I swear, it does exist - not photoshopped or anything - little old me riding my brother-in-law's motorbike in Australia. I look pretty damn happy, too. Or at least, I did until I got to the end of their half kilometre gravel laneway and couldn't figure out how to turn the thing around. I fell off and it fell down. Strewth!
The Aussie experience aside, I've been toying with the idea of learning to ride ever since D took me for my first wild excursion on the back of his Honda 350 three years ago. The boys have trained me to ride their Honda 70, which was apparently built for midgets, has no clutch and is sadly bereft of shocks. I've also tried a few tentative rides on Dwain's bike with him frantically coaching me on the back. D and his two brothers grew up riding motorbikes of all kinds and they each own one, with D's youngest brother's Harley Davidson being the jewel in the family motorbike crown. So driving bikes is second nature to them. As for me, I've never even learned to drive a standard car, so the whole concept of wrestling with gears and clutches is as foreign to me as eating balut in Manila.
One of the best memories I have of last summer is going for a post-chore motorbike ride with D and C, the boys on their manly hybrids, me on the wee 70. I felt like a mongrel pup bouncing along behind two graceful purebreds, but that was okay. The fields were fragrant, the sun was setting, and I was going as fast as I dared. It was brilliant.
And D proposed to me on a motorbike ride, hiding the ring inside a small compartment of his 350 and feigning engine trouble at the lighthouse. So the darned machines have won a spot in my heart on many levels and frankly, I think it would be cool to learn to ride one of my very own.
But the trouble is that I'm very timid when it comes to operating motorized vehicles that aren't enclosed. My reluctance will become especially problematic this summer when I am forced to learn how to use our riding lawnmower; there's simply too much grass at Someday to revert to my luddite ways and use a push mower. So how am I going to learn to ride a motorbike if I'm scared of a riding lawnmower? I ask you.
Then again, I never saw myself milking cows or using power tools either, and look at me now...
3 comments:
Great writing, girl. You keep using words I dunno. Teachers, eh?
I think you should get a Vespa. Groovy Laura Secord soft mint green. Then ride it around the Kink as if everyone does it. And tie a scarf around your head and wear big sunglasses: very Marilyn Monroe--except for the bike part.
:)
As you already know, I am a closet biker chick (albeit on the back of one and not as the driver). I would much rather learn to ride a bike myself, however, than learn to like balut!!!
Tanzi, I got enough of Laura Secord mint green (great description by the way) with my old Honda Civic, thank you very much. And Vespas are "death traps" according to D.
Susan, I remember and I love that about you! Balut is just wrong on so many levels...
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