Motorcycle Fantasies.

You may be surprised to learn that I was the second woman in Flora (as far as I know) to get a license to officially ride a motorcycle. I would have been the first, but my kids bragged to our neighbor about my plan, and she hurried to the Driver's License station and took her test first.
I had to take a written test, of course, and the only thing I remember about the riding portion of the test was doing Figure 8's. I guess it wasn't very difficult to pass.
I learned very fast that when you ride a motorcycle, you don't smile or bugs get plastered on your teeth; barking dogs like to chase women on bikes; and if there was a dead shunk anywhere in a five-county area, it would end up on the stretch of road I happened to be riding on at the moment.
Riding that morotcycle was a great tension-buster as I was working part-time, caring for our kids and helping Jim in the new business he had just started. One day, however, it began to drizzle rain, and I simply was not paying attention to what I was doing, I was going too fast and when I tried to put the brakes on, I kept going through the stop sign and ended up doing some rather intricate Figure 8's before I got that machine stopped. I realized then and there, that I had no
business risking life and limb on a motorcycle, since I had a husband and three kids to raise. For the most part, my biking days were over.
Jim has owned many motorcycles, and although he doesn't have one now, he still lusts after every Gold Wing he sees on the road.
We were in Tennessee a while back, and it seemed to be the motorcycle capitol of the world. The weather was exceptionally beautiful, and that brought the bikers out in droves. Jim and I began observing the couples we saw riding. We noticed that the beer-bellied men who looked
rough and mean seemed to attract the cute, little, hot babes. One couple, in particular, caught my attention. Perhaps I had been inhaling too many gasoline fumes, but I could almost imagine being on the back of that bike.
My long, blonde hair was blowing in the wind from beneath my black motorcycle helmet (it matched the bike, you know) and my derriere seemed molded to the back of that bike. I held on for dear life to the bronze-skinned young man in front of me, who had a day's worth of beard on
his face, and rippling muscles peeking out from under his sleeveless tee-shirt!
All at once, the reality bubble burst right in my face, as the couple on that bike pulled into a gas station to get gas, near where we were parked. The sweet, young thing threw her leg up and
over the back of that bike in one, smooth, synchronized movement, as she gave me a sly grin.
Right then, I realized that if I could have hiked my leg up that high in order to get off the bike, it would have undoubtdly have become locked in that position, and that would make getting
back on the motorcycle impossible.
That's too bad, because there for brief moment, I was ready to ride off into the sunset with that Greek God--face stubble and all!
Ah--old people and their fantasies. I tell you, it is a beautiful thing!