Biker Chic

Today I shall amuse you with the story of how I was a faux biker chic. For 4 whole weeks.

I have long found a fascinating with bikers and motorcycles, (Sons of Anarchy is pretty much my favorite show) although I prefer the looks of very fast street bikes to anything that resembles a Harley. My ex-husband was very influential in shaping my inclination to Yamaha streetbikes by  making frequent visits to every Yamaha dealer within a 100 mile radius. He and his brother also switched ownership back and forth of a Yamaha TDM,  a rarer model of streetbike that was much to tall for me to sit on, that in no way deterred me from attempting to start it up when I was inebriated, resulting in a cartoonish-like incident where I gunned the throttle and the bike when skating off into the garage wall. (oops)

During one of the occassions when said TDM was under my ex’s ownership, he thought it would be dandy to have a girlfriend who could ride her own bike, so I came home from work to find a Kawasaki Ninja 250 waiting for me. He explained that he was jut at the dealer and saw this little bike and had just gotten paid from a concrete job, so he had mega-moolah in his pocket, so he paid cash for it. (Yet he forgot to pay the electric bill) I ignored the fact that such an impulse buy was completely doltish, because I was distracted by images running through my head of me on my new crotch rocket, scooting down the open road at 100 mph with the wind in my hair and the cops at my back. I wanted to get started learning how to ride immediately.

Now, I had ridden BEHIND my ex on his bike, but I had never in my life sat on a moving motorbike alone. Needless to say, the first few attempts were… interesting. Luckily, we were living in the middle of Bum-Fuck Egypt at the time, so there were many empty roads at our disposal. My ex had a friend, Fred, who accompanied us on my learning sessions, and after the third time I stuck my leg out to stop my new bike, he stated, “I can’t watch. She’s going to die.” while shaking his head and walking away. I felt affronted at such a statement. Of course I was going to stick my leg out to stop, that’s habit when you stop a pedal bike!

Let’s just say that although I got down the shifting, I never fully got the balancing act down. Paired with the fact that my legs were slightly too short to reach the ground while stopped on my bike, it is understandable why my ex decided to sell my Ninja while I was at work only a few short weeks after he bought it for me. His visions must have been slightly different than mine- instead of the police giving chase to me  with the wind in my hair, he saw them calling ambulances and firetrucks when I stuck my leg out to stop and crashed into a passel of school children.

P.S. I STILL want to go to Strugis. Even if I have to walk to get there.