Uneasy Rider
If you enjoyed the video of my Harley experience, this is the column I did it for from today's Naperville Sun...
As she boldly strode into the bar all eyes were upon her.
She knew she looked good. Her black leathers fitted her like a glove. Carefully she pulled the shiny red helmet off her head and her flaxen hair tumbled around her shoulders like water cascading from a fountain.
The bar man stood to attention. He was edgy. He knew better than to mess with a biker chick. One false move and she could have the whole place in splinters at her feet. Sensing her power, she slammed her hand down on the counter and hissed threateningly, "raspberry iced tea please."
At least that's how it was supposed to happen. In reality I'm more biker chicken than biker chick.
For months now, my friend David Harleyson has been promising me a pillion ride on his motorcycle, an 80 cubic inch Low Rider Harley. I can't say riding a motorbike was ever an aspiration of mine, but it seemed rude to refuse.
I'd seen enough movies where small towns quaked as the bikers rode into town, and sadly, to someone over 50, it sounded pretty cool. Eventually the time drew near and we set up a date.
"Are you sure you're not afraid?" said Grumpy, showing unusual concern for one of my crazy ideas.
"What's to be afraid of?" I said. "I'm not driving, just sitting on the back. It'll be fun. I might even want to get one myself after."
But his words lingered in my head. Supposing there was something to be afraid of? Since I've never managed to actually master a bicycle, what was I thinking?
Anyway, the day finally dawned. I could hear the Harley approaching from the distance, roaring up the road like a herd of buffalo.
"Ok," said David. "Hop on."
"Hop?" It was like trying to mount a horse (and no, I'm not doing that either, by the way).
"Er, what about the leathers? What about the helmet?" I said, stalling.
"You'll be fine," David said. "We only wear leathers when it's cold and helmets aren't mandatory in this state. Don't worry, I've never had an accident and I've been riding for 30 years."
"First time for everything," I worried under my breath.
After five minutes of swaying my left leg wildly in the air, I managed to climb onto the bike without pushing David off. OK, this wasn't so bad. The seat was quite comfy.
"Hang on," he said.
Hang on where? To what? Why wasn't there a seat belt? To be honest I don't know David very well, but we got a lot closer as I realized if I didn't wrap my arms around him tightly I'd be a heap on the roadside.
He revved the engine, which thankfully wasn't as loud as I feared. OK, I could handle this. No problem. Oh my God! He shot off the drive at 100 mph (OK, five but it felt like more) and we were off up the road. Once I opened my eyes I realized we couldn't be going that fast because we were only a few yards from my house. Horrified, I saw my neighbor waving wildly at me. How embarrassing. There I was clinging on for dear life to a comparative stranger with my hair blowing around so much I looked like Cousin It!
We got to the end of the road in one piece.
"Here, we'll go this way, hold tight," said David as we swerved round the corner.
Hold tight! If I held any tighter his eyes would be popping out of his head.
"Aaahh," I screamed, "Remember it's only 25 miles an hour along here."
He let out a devilish laugh as we shot off down the road at 55.
Five minutes (that felt like five hours) later, we got back to the house and I crawled off.
"I think I've suffered permanent damage," I said. "I may be off the bike, but my thighs won't stop vibrating."
As she boldly strode into the bar all eyes were upon her.
She knew she looked good. Her black leathers fitted her like a glove. Carefully she pulled the shiny red helmet off her head and her flaxen hair tumbled around her shoulders like water cascading from a fountain.
The bar man stood to attention. He was edgy. He knew better than to mess with a biker chick. One false move and she could have the whole place in splinters at her feet. Sensing her power, she slammed her hand down on the counter and hissed threateningly, "raspberry iced tea please."
At least that's how it was supposed to happen. In reality I'm more biker chicken than biker chick.
For months now, my friend David Harleyson has been promising me a pillion ride on his motorcycle, an 80 cubic inch Low Rider Harley. I can't say riding a motorbike was ever an aspiration of mine, but it seemed rude to refuse.
I'd seen enough movies where small towns quaked as the bikers rode into town, and sadly, to someone over 50, it sounded pretty cool. Eventually the time drew near and we set up a date.
"Are you sure you're not afraid?" said Grumpy, showing unusual concern for one of my crazy ideas.
"What's to be afraid of?" I said. "I'm not driving, just sitting on the back. It'll be fun. I might even want to get one myself after."
But his words lingered in my head. Supposing there was something to be afraid of? Since I've never managed to actually master a bicycle, what was I thinking?
Anyway, the day finally dawned. I could hear the Harley approaching from the distance, roaring up the road like a herd of buffalo.
"Ok," said David. "Hop on."
"Hop?" It was like trying to mount a horse (and no, I'm not doing that either, by the way).
"Er, what about the leathers? What about the helmet?" I said, stalling.
"You'll be fine," David said. "We only wear leathers when it's cold and helmets aren't mandatory in this state. Don't worry, I've never had an accident and I've been riding for 30 years."
"First time for everything," I worried under my breath.
After five minutes of swaying my left leg wildly in the air, I managed to climb onto the bike without pushing David off. OK, this wasn't so bad. The seat was quite comfy.
"Hang on," he said.
Hang on where? To what? Why wasn't there a seat belt? To be honest I don't know David very well, but we got a lot closer as I realized if I didn't wrap my arms around him tightly I'd be a heap on the roadside.
He revved the engine, which thankfully wasn't as loud as I feared. OK, I could handle this. No problem. Oh my God! He shot off the drive at 100 mph (OK, five but it felt like more) and we were off up the road. Once I opened my eyes I realized we couldn't be going that fast because we were only a few yards from my house. Horrified, I saw my neighbor waving wildly at me. How embarrassing. There I was clinging on for dear life to a comparative stranger with my hair blowing around so much I looked like Cousin It!
We got to the end of the road in one piece.
"Here, we'll go this way, hold tight," said David as we swerved round the corner.
Hold tight! If I held any tighter his eyes would be popping out of his head.
"Aaahh," I screamed, "Remember it's only 25 miles an hour along here."
He let out a devilish laugh as we shot off down the road at 55.
Five minutes (that felt like five hours) later, we got back to the house and I crawled off.
"I think I've suffered permanent damage," I said. "I may be off the bike, but my thighs won't stop vibrating."
posted by Hilary at
8:45 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home