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Posts Tagged ‘biker’

Although they love the freedom and sense of flying that they feel when they’re riding, there’s a corner in every male motorcyclist’s brain that says, “Riding a motorcycle makes you more attractive.”

Don’t misunderstand: I’m not on the market, Robin’s the only girl for me. That part of my brain says she’s thinking: “There goes one hot pappa and he’s all mine…” as she watches me ride off to work every morning. She probably thinks about how sexy my butt looks, too.

While most women may outwardly snort at a middle aged man buying a motorcycle and make comments about mid-life crisis and pitiful attempts to recapture boyhood, my wife gave me the story straight. She told me that when she sees me cruising up on my mammoth muscle bike I instantly appear twice as hot to her.

That means on a hotness scale of one to ten my motorcycle transforms me into a solid two.

If I hide her glasses and get a couple of tequila shots down her neck I bet could cross the “three” line.

Okay, I made all that up; I’m a solid two without the motorcycle.

What were Robin’s actual words after she followed me home from EuroSport Cycle on my bike? Well, the conversation went like this:

ME: [Entering living room, helmet under arm and still wearing the black leather gloves and jacket even though I'd had plenty of time to take them off (but I look so cool in them!)] “So how’d I look boynin’ up thuh slab on mah new machine?”

ROBIN:[Picking up the remote and scrolling to the 'American Idol' recording from last night] “You looked real cute riding your new motorcycle, Honey. What’s a ‘slab’ and why are you talking like that?”

ME: [Long pause, waiting a bit for the sting to subside] “Okay, I wasn’t exactly going for ‘cute’ when I insisted on buying the largest bike on the market. I did tell you that’s a 2300cc engine between those two wheels, right?”

ROBIN: “Oh, honey, you know what I mean by ‘cute’. But you change lanes kinda funny on it. Are you sure you’re supposed to do it that quickly?”

ME: “I was just putting her through the paces…getting a feel for it…wait, I’m not done talking about your impression. Don’t you have any other words to describe the situation besides ‘cute’?

ROBIN: “Oh sure, Sweetie, your bike is gorgeous and you looked really happy on it. And you were cute on top of all that”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had just invested $15,000 in high anticipation that I would be described as ‘tough’, ‘manly’, ‘brave’, ‘heroic’, ‘impressive’, ‘burly’, ‘daring’, ‘mysterious’, ‘bad-ass’…all kinds of words that I would use if I were a woman and saw me riding that big bruiser down the road.

A fifteen grand British hot rod motorcycle just had to bump me way up one the wife’s hotness scale.

I’d envisioned all the things that came to mind every time you see one of those Triumph commercials or a biker movie with a motorcycle cruising along, the rider wearing those dark sunglasses, a half-helmet if any at all, long hair and beard flowing in the wind, legs splayed on pegs jutting out from crash bars like he’s about to kick the door off any car that dares get too close; the image of living wild and running free.

Why couldn’t she see the transformation into that sort of guy that happened when I was rollin’ on two wheels? Should I buy a phone booth to change into my riding gear in? Just as surely as Nicholas Cage became “Ghost Rider” when he mounted his bike, I became “Handsome Bad-Ass Biker Dude” when I mounted mine. This I believed every time I got within that sacred owner-only proximity zone around my bike.

We hadn’t discussed it; I just assumed she would see the obvious transformation. After all, she had recently gotten her new eyeglasses.

She had to be messing with my mind.  Then again, perhaps something was still missing.

I knew I had to take the final step to ensure she would never again see me as ‘cute’. I had to truly commit to becoming ‘Biker Dude’ whether I was near my bike or not. On the road, or sitting on the couch, I had to walk the walk and live the life. I was dead serious and 100% all-in.

As I left her to watch ‘American Idol’ I made a silent vow to grow out my hair and beard and get a tattoo.

A temporary tattoo, of course.

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.

My brother Mike sent this today…and it’s nearly the perfect joke since it includes subjects like the left wing media, motorcycling, military service, and the biker attitude of “taking care of business”. The only thing missing is something about the second amendment! So, without further adieu (or credit to the unknown author):

A Harley biker is riding by the zoo in Washington , DC when he sees a little girl leaning into the lion’s cage. Suddenly, the lion grabs her by the cuff of her jacket and tries to pull her inside to slaughter her, under the eyes of her screaming parents.

The biker jumps off his Harley, runs to the cage and hits the lion square on the nose with a powerful punch.

Whimpering from the pain the lion jumps back letting go of the girl, and the biker brings her to her terrified parents, who thank him endlessly. A reporter has watched the whole event.

The reporter addressing the Harley rider says, ‘Sir, this was the most gallant and brave thing I’ve seen a man do in my whole life.’

The Harley rider replies, ‘Why, it was nothing, really, the lion was behind bars. I just saw this little kid in danger and acted as I felt right.’

The reporter says, ‘Well, I’ll make sure this won’t go unnoticed. I’m a journalist, you know, and tomorrow’s paper will have this story on the front page… So, what do you do for a living and what political affiliation do you have?’

The biker replies, ‘I’m a U.S. Marine and a Republican.’ The journalist leaves.

The following morning the biker buys the paper to see if it indeed brings news of his actions, and reads, on the front page:

“U.S. MARINE ASSAULTS AFRICAN IMMIGRANT AND STEALS HIS LUNCH”