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This morning I had a meeting in downtown Dallas, and I had to provide limo service (Dodge Magnum RT style) to a couple of client execs. So I shined up the station wagon last night and poor BB stayed in the stable as I piloted the cage to the office.

Around noon, after the meeting and an early lunch, I rolled into the driveway at the house. As I walked in the front door Robin looked up and said, “Hey, what are you doing home so early?”

“Just came home to get the motorcycle,” I replied.

“Oh. Okay. Well, see you this evening.”

“Okay, Love you. Bye.” I said as I was exiting the back into the garage where my beloved BB waited.

“Love you, too, bye.” She replied.

A month or so ago Robin would have rolled her eyes and said, “That’s silly, driving all the way home just to ride the bike back to work.”

But now she either understands or has just resigned herself to the fact that I consider an opportunity to ride no different than a compulsion and necessity to ride. I don’t invent excuses to ride. The absence of a serious obstacle in space and time to riding is reason enough to do whatever it takes to ride.

Isn’t that really the difference between a biker and a weekend warrior?

At the moment BB is happily standing alongside her American daycare friends (two Harley-Davidsons) in the parking garage waiting for the whistle to blow so we can return to the pavement.

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