Life is Good

This weekend, my kids were with their father so Dallas and I were fancy free to do as we pleased.

Friday night, we went to see the movie Star Trek and unexpectedly, I loved it. I was never a big Trekie back when fellow Canadian, William Shatner, helmed the USS Enterprise but as the new Captain James T Kirk, eye candy Chris Pine, rocked. And getting a glimpse into the human side of Spock was a treat. All in all, it was definitely worth the bucks.

Saturday, was a bit of an emotional roller coaster but in a positive way. One of the consequences of removing teenager daughter from our home back in March was silence.

Hers.

Text messages were either answered with one word replies or blatant disrespect or not at all, which emotionally, was very hard on Dallas but he remained resolute. As the adult in the relationship, it was his duty to continue to reach out to her in spite of her attitude and he did. However, he refused to apologize for our decision to kick her out and he refused to engage with her when she was abusive. Both of these behaviours were markedly different from the way that he had interacted with his children before and this line in the sand stance was a concept that they needed to digest.

So, a few months passed.

Saturday afternoon, he had lunch with teenage daughter. The conversation went very well and it now appears that the lines of communication are once again open. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see progress with this particular issue.

The details of man-child's life have been a source of anxiety, as well. Often, he is like a reed in the wind. One minute he sways in one direction and the next, he's pointed in an entirely different place, which is normal for someone his age. We have encouraged him to take a year and travel or work or a combination of the two. We said, "Slow down, take a personal inventory and plan." Well, some of the chatter must have been retained because late Saturday afternoon, he asked us to accompany him to see an apartment that he wanted to rent. He had researched the area to death and had landed on the best value for his buck. He chose to forgo the option of a flat mate so that he would not have his living arrangements dependent upon someone else's ability to pay the rent. We were blown away. And proud.

There is just the slightest catch in the back of my throat at man-child leaving our home. I know that he will survive and I'm pretty sure that he will find his success but there is a part of me that wants to nestle him right under my wing and make his decisions for him.

After weeks of unbroken rain, we woke up Sunday morning to a cloudless day and warm temperatures. So we rode. With the sun on my face and the scent of clover in the air, I felt a contentment wash over me that I have missed in recent months.

I woke up this morning exactly eleven pounds lighter than last Monday. LIFE IS GOOD.

Another Day After

Is the month almost over? Blogging every day is like having a deadline that never goes away. How do the writers of daily television shows do it? Burnout for them must be worse than air traffic controllers.

...not that I am comparing my pointless drivel to real talent like the Tonight Show staff or anything...
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Today was "Black Friday" and when I got into my car to drive off to the mall, I missed the fact that my HEAD WAS ON FIRE! It's not like the deals were really that great. Oh, I suppose if one got up to be at a store at 4:00 am for the "early bird" specials then who am I judge but I am old enough to remember the Cabbage Patch frenzy and the last place I wanted to be was in a Wal-Mart fighting over a Hanna Montana dress up set with a woman who could eat corn in the cob through a picket fence.

So, I waited until a reasonable time to partake of the shopping lunacy and immediately, I regretted my decision. Between screaming toddlers, Michael Bolton Christmas songs and those god awful Santa Clause animatrons just inside the door of every shop, I'd had enough well before noon. I knew that I would lose it if I laid my eyes on one of Santa's helpers. There is just something terribly disturbing about an elf with a mullet.
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In other news, I think that I may have sold Little Girl today. She wasn't really up for sale but I had someone offer me a reasonable sum and I'm probably going to take it. Strangely enough, I'm feeling sad at the thought of opening the garage door and not seeing the Sporty.

I guess it's true that you never forget your first. Of course, once she goes, there will be an empty spot in the garage......

A Ride, A Pucker Moment and A Reunion

Yesterday was the first time in a while that my bike did not feel totally comfortable underneath me. It was so strange. I found myself really apprehensive with some of the more challenging curves on our route and when we pulled off for a break, I was so relieved.

Perhaps it was the cold. Experienced riders tell me that the bikes perform much better in warmer weather. Maybe it was the wind which threw me around a bit. There is also the fact that I was following Mark. He was on a Suzuki Bandit, which is a racing bike and it executes the twists and turns differently than a Harley. It is compact, agile and make-your-eyes-water fast. In any case, as the day wore on I adjusted.

We stopped for a late lunch at a known biker place and took in the local scenery, which happened to come in the form of some pretty colourful people.

There are three distinct biker groups. You have people like me who go to work everyday in an office and break out the leather on the weekends. Then there are the metric devotees like Mark, who are also nine to fivers but they often ride EVERYWHERE because that rush is as necessary to them as breathing. Finally, there is the third group. These folks are hard core bikers. The stereotype. Rough, tough, unwashed, cigarette-smoking, whiskey-swilling, scary types who have scarred knuckles and dirty fingernails. And that's just their women....

Anyway, the place was full of all three and although nothing out of the ordinary happened, there was a feeling that at any moment, something could.

On the way home, I noticed that my throttle was sticking quite badly. I'd change gears and the rev would stay on until I purposely rolled it off. Finally, it got so bad that I made a left turn and it stuck as I changed into second gear. I immediately pulled up out of the curve, took a curb straight on and came to a quick stop in a bank parking lot. I silently gave thanks to Tim and Trey (my instructors) because they drilled us on this exact situation and although I chewed on my heart, I survived it without dropping the bike. As it turns out, there is a small cruise control nut that I had unconsciously nudged tighter with the knuckle on my thumb every time I rode the bike. I had finally wound it to the point where the nut stuck and the throttle stayed in an open position. For some reason, my left turn signal relay went bad at the same time, too.

So, I got home eyeballed Big Boy and decided that it was time to take him on real roads and not just my neighbourhood streets.

He rides like a dream.

Existential Harley

Yesterday was fabulous. The ride was better than expected except we got just a wee bit lost a few times and I thought that I ran out of gas.

For those in the dark, motorcycles that do not have a gas gauge come equipped with a handy fuel reserve. As my motorcycle wheezed and spat from fifth gear to fourth, I muttered all sorts of profane language and kicked my stupid self for not checking the fuel levels at the last pit stop. Then my friend from work pulled over, pointed to my fuel shut off switch and told me to turn it to reserve. EFFING DUH! I would like to think that had I been alone in this situation, I would have remembered but really, the more likely scenario is me with my thumb out like a Ted Bundy lure asking for a lift to the nearest gas station.

After the ride, I had five minutes to shed the leather for more appropriate Grandma gear and get out the door to Tiffani's baby shower. Her current situation isn't that far out of the ordinary. Girls are having their babies at a much younger age down here in the south. One man was surprised to learn that Dylan and Olivia were mine. He thought that their mother was this girl who happened to be twenty years old. I'm not sure where the disconnect happened since the second I walked in the door, Olivia draped herself over me and chanted, "Mama, Mama, Mama" like a Buddhist monk. She then proceeded to torment Dylan with little pinches and pokes until he was nearly spastic with his need to clobber her. I admire his self control. However, he did speak up once or twice: "MOM! DO SOMETHING!!" The point is that my kids clearly claimed me as their own and still, the man couldn't get his head around the fact that this forty year old (WHO, I REMIND YOU, LOOKS LIKE 32) had young children.

Anyway, it was a busy day. Today, I'm headed to the dealership range and then out for a ride with Dallas. While at the dealership yesterday, I ran into my friend Tim, the Rider's Edge instructor. He's teaching a small class this weekend and casually suggested that I hang around and chat with his students, presumably about my experiences so far. Eight weeks ago today, I was stressing about passing my road test.
Fifty six days.
Two months.
Impossible.
It feels like this has always been a part of my life.

Riding is one of the best decisions that I have ever made. Every day when I come home, open the garage door and see the two bikes, I am thrilled all over again. I ride daily, even if it's just a quick jaunt through the neighbourhood. Now, I acknowledge that I'm probably more passionate about this than a lot of people but there are these instances of indescribable joy that happen when you are on a bike. Yesterday, our route took us through a section where the road is bordered on each side by a wall of rock. The view ahead included a postcard panorama of forest, meadow and blue sky. It was sunny and clear and the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. As we passed through this mini canyon, the pipes of 250 motorcycles reverberated against the rock and in that moment, any stress in my life just melted away. I was filled with this sense of happiness and gratitude and I thought, "Wow. I cannot believe that my life looks like this."

And really, isn't that what it's all about? We spend our lives searching for whatever it is that gives us those bursts of clarity; the ones where we unconsciously focus on our blessings and where we come away with a sense of peace that even the worst day at work can't touch. My kids, the perfect chip shot and my Harleys provide those times for me.

It makes me tingly to think of what else might be out there that I haven't discovered yet.

T.G.I.F.

Oh, thank GOD it's Friday.

I'm taking today off to see to some personal business and I have never been so happy to welcome the weekend. This has been a monstrously stressful week at the office and I'm not even bearing the full brunt of the issues. My Seinfeldian workmate in one of our satellite offices has had to be the face to our customers and I can only imagine how hard he's hitting the bottle this week has been for him.

This weekend, I'm planning to ride and golf. Close your eyes. I sound like a guy, don't I? I probably need to check that. Anyhoo...Saturday, a friend from work and I will be participating in the last poker run at our Harley store. I've never ridden in one before but apparently, you start at the dealership and then cruise to several different locations. At each place you will be asked to draw one card. Everyone stops for lunch and then rides back and assembles their cards into a poker hand. Best one wins. I don't know what the prize is but who cares? Just getting the itch scratched is enough.

Sunday morning I'm golfing and in the afternoon, Dallas and I are going to ride out to one of our favourite places for a late lunch. The route is lined with huge sugar maples so the scenery should be spectacular. Besides, I love spending time with him.

The weather is chilly enough that I'll have to dress like a serious biker chick. Gloves, my new jacket and leather chaps will be the outfit du jour on both days. Chaps are naughty. It doesn't matter that they serve a purpose. They're wicked. You just never know what a girl might be capable of when she's wearing a pair of chaps.

Beijing

I love Beijing. We landed here Saturday night and it was like coming home. I could easily live here. With the evergreens and the mountains, it reminds me of Canada. The last time I was here was in the winter and I had forgotten how the cold, sharp air can make your lungs sing. This time, Beijing is in the first stirrings of fall and it is beautiful in spite of the smog, which is worse than Los Angeles.

Before heading out to our factory, I got up early yesterday morning and took a cab out to the only Harley dealership in mainland China. I'm pleased to share that the biker spirit is alive and kicking in Asia. I had a nice chat with the general manager who took me outside and showed me his bike. He rides an '07 Electra Glide Ultra Classic. It was a gorgeous cherry red and he had added a bunch of accessories. Even though he had changed out his pipes, Beijing noise laws had prevented him from being able to put on real rumblers. I showed him pictures of my bikes and we bonded. I ended up buying a couple of shirts and a new leather jacket from them. He was kind enough to give me a discount. Bonus.



From there, we went to the factory and had a very productive meeting. Of course, we had lunch and since they know that I like spicy food, they had the restaurant make me a special fish dish. I'm not sure that I have an esophagus left. It made my eyes water and I could have lit a cigarette with my breath.


Those black things are whole peppercorns and the red bits are dried chili peppers. This, not vitamin C, is how you kill viruses.

Anyway, we're at the airport now and off to Hangzhou where I will suffer through four miserable hours driving out to a factory, where they have probably never seen a "gui lo" (Chinese slur for caucasians). I can't bear to think what lunch might be like. Shudder. I raided the cracker and cookie bin in the airport lounge just in case. Then, we will turn around and drive four hours back. I'm charging my iPod and downloading Grey's Anatomy episodes as I write this.

Hopefully, we will get back to the hotel early enough to take a walk. Hangzhou is one of my most favourite cities in China. I'll post photos so you can see why.

Hong Kong, I Love You

Well, I arrived into Hong Kong without issue. The best part of the trip occurred after getting off of the plane. My luggage was the first to pop out onto the carousel, which had me looking around for Alan Funt and his Candid Camera. Then, there were no lines in customs and I got through in about five minutes. To top everything off, my limo driver was waiting for me in arrivals.

Bottom line: I was in bed at my hotel within an hour of landing, which is impossible.

At 2:30 pm, a real, live person called me to wake me up. "Goddess, it's time to open your eyes." Well, he may not have said that exactly but you get the point. After a shower, I went across the street to our Asian office. The good news is that my friend, TC, had to go to a corporate dinner which meant I was free until the evening. So, I went shopping.

The first stop was the Harley-Davidson boutique in Tsim Tsa Tsui. It was the size of a postage stamp and just as overpriced as the stuff is at home. Of course, I had to buy some shirts because they have Hong Kong embroidered on them. Hopefully, the Beijing store will be better.The mall is located beside the Ocean Centre and it is massive. Everybody had some retail space in there. Jimmy Choo, Versace, Valentino, Jill Stuart and a fabulous Donna Karan couture shop were represented. For a mere $3800 US, I could have been the proud owner of a DK cashmere mumu. I passed on the tent but my Visa took a beating anyway.

I walked back to my hotel and stopped for dinner at a placed called Sticky Fingers. The name is wretched but they have great curry and since I knew that the next several days would be exclusively Chinese fare, I was thrilled to have my face burned off by some of the best Indian food outside of Jaipur. While I was dining, a man at the bar sent me a drink, which was unexpected but I was enjoying the solo, iPod mood and besides, I had to leave to meet TC. Must be the damn pheremones, again.

If today is any indication of how this trip is going to go, I'm feeling pretty fortunate. Tomorrow we're off to Guangzhou and the Canton Fair which is like the NYC subway during rush hour. After a few days, I fully expect to be muttering to myself like Rainman.

The Perfect Weekend

Now I don't want you to fall off of your seats or anything but the one thing I did not do this weekend was partake of too much moonshine. How mature of me, right?

We had our annual bike rally here this weekend and it was my first time attending. It was absolutely amazing. Streets were closed down to any traffic except bikes and all day long, they paraded up and down the main thoroughfare. Spectators lined the route and every pub was hopping with live music and cheap draught. There were loads of vendors set up under tents and they sold everything from leathers to helmets.

I learned that the passenger on a bike is referred to as "the bitch". You can understand that I had all sorts of issues with the moniker. For instance, it is degrading and oink-like-a-pig chauvinistic. I have no doubt that some sweaty, stinky, jerk with bad teeth, a Buddha belly and stained yellow fingers coined the term. But the t-shirts discussing it had me laughing out loud. My favourites:

"If you can read this, the bitch fell off." This is so bad on so many levels but for some reason, I found it hysterical.

"This bitch is nobody's bitch."

And then there was this little gem:

"This bitch don't ride bitch."

Well alright, then.

Up to this point, my only exposure to motorcycle fashion had been our local Harley shop. Once we got down to the rally, I got a crash course in biker chic.

Fashion statements were plentiful. I have never been a fan of men in sleeveless clothing.....until now. There is something deeply sexy about well-muscled shoulders that have been accentuated with a bit of artwork. Throw in a do-rag, a single hoop earring, a non fussy pair of jeans, riding boots, facial hair and a smidgen of attitude and OH. MY. GOD!

I saw many women in very small tank tops with spaghetti straps and no bra. This only works on girls who either have no boobs or fake ones. For the rest of us, it can go from bad to outright indecent. There was one lady (term loosely used) who had elected to accentuate the downward situation by affixing blinking lights to the only place where lights could possibly be attached. It's a shame that the only thing they lit up was her BELLYBUTTON.

I bought my first pair of leather chaps. I couldn't see myself in the fringe kind but I did splurge for some nifty braid work. I was not able to find a leather jacket that spoke to me so I'll probably end up back at the Harley shop getting spanked with a $500 number. Ah well...

On Sunday, we went out for a long, long ride. It was my maiden voyage on roads with real cars and real trucks! I was terrified. At the stop sign exiting my neighbourhood, I was forced to wait for a break in traffic and my heart was thrashing around inside of my chest like a meth addict in withdrawal. The ride turned out to be fantastic. The leaves are starting to turn and periodically, the wind blew them over the road. Fall has its own special scent and on a bike, everything is magnified. I couldn't get enough.

I just don't think that life gets any better than what I experienced this weekend. Since today is Thanksgiving in Canada, it is no surprise that I woke up this morning counting my blessings.

Malaise

I'm so sorry about not posting the last few days. I am under the weather. As soon as I am able to hold on to more than a glass of water, I'll be back. In the meantime, please see the video below. Maybe a few bucks spent on some lessons might have helped.

Little Girl Comes Home

Yesterday, after work, the kids and I went back to the Harley dealership to pick up the Sportster. Dave, who was in my motorcycle class, just happened to be the person who got the bike ready for pick up. He made it shine. I apologize for the photos. I have no picture taking talent.

After supper, while the kids were getting ready for bed, I took her out for a quick spin through my neighbourhood. She is so much more responsive in the lower gears and much, much lighter than big boy. Two hundred pounds makes all of the difference. I am so much more confident riding this bike. Little girl has come home!

And now, I've officially become one of THOSE people who talk about their motorized vehicles like they live and breathe. But they do, don't they? I haven't named her... yet (does "Little Girl" count?), so I suppose my metamorphosis into a total motorhead is not fully realized.

The kids are with their dad this weekend. Guess what I'm going to be doing?

Live to ride, baby.

Impulsive? Me? Naw...

Saturday morning marked my one week anniversary as a motorcycle operator. I took the Harley out for a short spin in my neighbourhood and confirmed that my model is designed for experienced riders. The Street Glider is a touring bike and it performs like a dream at higher speeds but tooling around in second or third gear makes it feel heavy and cumbersome for someone who still has to think about EVERY single operation.

Scan ahead. See stop sign. Get ready to gear down to first. Check mirrors for traffic behind. Pull in clutch. Gear down with left foot. Check mirrors for traffic, again. Use right foot and find rear brake. Decide on left or right turn. Steer to proper lane position. Roll off throttle. Apply front brake GENTLY with right hand. Get ready to put feet down. Left foot down. Right foot down. Steady....

This thought process is automatic for anyone who has ridden for any period of time. For me, it is an exhausting brain drain. Looking back, I have always learned like this. In university, I bought a five speed car without knowing how to operate a stick. I took a two minute lesson from the kid who washed the cars and then I DROVE the car off the lot. The first stop light I encountered had me on an incline. I stalled, cranked it back up, stalled again, missed the light, had traffic beeping at me from behind, shed a few tears, turned it over again, put it into first and when the light changed, I gave it way too much gas, let go of the clutch and squealed through the intersection. I was sick to my stomach by the time I made it home. The next morning I got up, saw my keys laying on the hall table and decided that I was going to take the car over to one of the university parking lots to practise. I never looked back.

The experience with my motorcycle is slightly different, though. Now, I am twenty years older and I understand that I am mortal. I am keenly aware that a serious accident on my bike could leave my kids without a mum or worse, with a burden that needs to be fed and changed. My cousin, Ashley, suggested that I park my baby and buy an inexpensive smaller bike to use to develop my skills. Dallas had advised something similar.

So, I went back to the dealership. While there, I ran into Tim and we chatted for a bit. I asked for his advice, as well, since he was intimately familiar with my riding skills (or lack thereof). I was trying to decide between a Buell Blast (which I had learned on) and a 2002 Harley-Davidson 1200cc Sportster. Without hesitation, Tim recommended the Sportster as a good bridge. He felt the Buell would not be challenging enough. I tested the Sportster out back on the range and she was lighter and more responsive at lower speeds.

I put a deposit down and I'll probably pick her up today if I get the right price. Tomorrow, you'll be able to find me on the corner panhandling for food money.

We Are Family

I have had no less than ten people welcome me to the Harley-Davidson family. I've been told about the local chapter of lady riders and encouraged to join. I've been directed to an incredible network of people who all share this same passion and plugged into a ton of events.

I have never been more at peace with a decision of mine.

My new ride made it home last night courtesy of a friend and this morning, before the sun and the neighbour dog were up, I crept into my garage to have another look. I had to pinch myself.

Even my coffee tasted better this morning.



Beautiful, eh?

And Down She Goes..

The Harley saga continues....

Yesterday, I went down to the dealership to give them all of the documentation they needed and it occured to me that there might be an unsavoury element who try to obtain financing through Harley Davidson. Why do I say this? Well, for starters,the refinancing of my house (update on that coming soon) was less arduous than this deal.

My driver's license address did not match my application so I had to provide proof of residence because when repossessing, I imagine it is easier for Harley D to know where to find the bike. The trouble is, all of my home utilities are under my nickname, not my nunnery name (peace be with you, my child) and apparently, it was too much of a stretch to connect the dots between "Elizabeth" and "Beth".

Then, my birthdate was cut off the copy of my driver's license that was sent over. Then, there was something else.

While waiting for the bank to decide if they wanted a kidney and my right arm, I went out onto the range behind the dealership to test drive the bike. Within a few minutes, I felt comfortable except for the fact that the bike is a BEAST. Holy crap! I knew that there would be a difference between the small Buell I learned on and the big hog I bought but I was humbled by the difference in weight. I could hear Tim and Trey's voices in my head telling me to "walk with the bike", "practise stopping", "do your figure eight's" and I wished for them to be there to demonstrate like they did before every course exercise. Total student/teacher separation anxiety.

After tooling around on the range for awhile, I rode very slowly through the parking lot and was about to pull into a space when a friend beeped at me. Being the highly skilled rider that I am, I got all flustered and dumped my brand new bike. GAH!!!!

I was fine, the bike was fine and nothing got bruised except for my ego. And let me tell you right now. I will be practising getting that bike up off the ground over and over and over from the safe confines of my garage because I think that the odds are pretty good that I'll dump it again before it's all said and done. This is not negative thinking..just a smack of reality and the last thing I want is to be stuck somewhere.

Well, late last night, after promising my first born grandchild, my sales guy called to tell me that we were square and I could sign the documents today. A friend of mine is going to ride it home for me and this weekend, I'm meeting a classmate out at the range to practise. Someday soon, when I'm all grown up, I'll be able to ride on the streets like the big kids. For now, though, I'm content to walk the beast through the undeveloped portions of my neighbourhood and learn how to become one with the hog.

Harley and Me

I passed! I passed!

On a cerebral level, I knew that there was no possibility that I was going to fail my written test because unlike some of my university courses, I actually attended the classes. However, being slightly type A, I felt it necessary to suffer through small pockets of apprehension until it was confirmed that I was an official Rider's Edge graduate. I have not wanted anything this badly in a very long time.

After our test, we had a few minutes to peruse the showroom floor before our graduation party got underway. I was so grateful for this time because I FINALLY made a decision on a bike. For days, I had been eyeballing this beautiful, red, Road Glide with a fixed fairing but I wasn't happy with the aesthetics of the nose and I couldn't put my finger on what actually bothered me about it. Then Chad, a fellow classmate, cleared it all up.

"Looks like a Gold Wing." And it does.

So, I left that one behind and took a closer look at the Street Glides. This is the bike that makes my heart quicken so.....



I bought it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go put my head between my legs and breathe deeply.

Hog Wild Weekend

I spent this entire weekend on a motorcycle. It was beyond awesome. Nirvana.

Thursday night started my Rider's Edge course, which is sponsored by the Harley Davidson dealership in my town. The class was comprised of twelve people and four of us were women. We had a blast. On Thursday, we had just over three hours of class time. Friday was the same. The time you have to spend with your nose in a book is very similar to sitting through the whole "rules" portion of the Academy Awards. A necessary evil but not especially scintillating.

Saturday was different. For the bulk of the day, we were on the bikes. Did I mention that we had torrential rain? Oh, it was awful. We got through three exercises with a little light rain. I asked one of my instructors if I should get my rain pants on and he said he thought it might pass. Well, on the fourth exercise, the sky opened up and we got soaked. I am not talking damp where you might be a bit uncomfortable. This was run your hand down the leg of your pants and water streams off. Absolutely miserable. I actually wrung out my leather gloves.

Lest you think that there wasn't a silver lining....soaking wet jeans called for emergency action. I had to shop.

Determined, I strode into the merchandising section of the dealership and tried on a pair of Harley jeans. I came out and the sales girl looked at them and said, "You are floating in those. Can I get you a smaller size?" This would be the part in the story where I heard harp music and the sales girl was suddenly bathed in a beautiful white light.

"Why, yes. I will take a smaller size." I don't know if is my amped up exercise program or if Harley Davidson is just generous in their sizing but who cares? The whole experience made my day. I ended up buying two pairs of jeans and a black belt with silver studs that just screams biker chick. Nirvana, I tell you.


Anyway, we had classwork to finish so we chose to do it during the downpour. Later on, the rain had slowed to a steady sprinkle and we tried again. It's funny how perspective can change. By the time we were able to get back on the bikes, we were grateful for the drizzle and the opportunity to be one with our rides. The only mishap was one of the girls laid down her bike. For those that don't know, this means that she lost control and the bike went over. We cheered, though, because we were told that at least one student does this with each class. We were glad that Sarah had taken the brunt for the rest of us.

Sunday morning, I woke up and felt like I had been beaten with a blunt object, particularly around my tailbone. My thighs were on fire and my left hand was sore from the clutch. It didn't matter, though. I couldn't wait to get back on a bike. We rode ALL day, drill after drill.

Early afternoon, while doing a challenging drill through a curve, I LAID MY BIKE DOWN...just barely. Part of the problem was the fact that I couldn't straighten my left arm but I knew that and I should have compensated. Ah well. It was the source of genuine concern from my fellow riders and then gentle abuse once everyone could see that I didn't suffer a scratch. The great thing was that it wasn't the $25,000 bike I'm planning to purchase. I also learned how to pick a bike up, the knowledge of which I plan never ever to need again.

Ten minutes later, Jeanie laid her bike down too. So, along with Sarah, we three became crash sistahs for life. And no, it isn't a woman driver thing. Plenty of the guys weebled and wobbled but didn't fall down because they were strong enough to counter gravity. This is what I will tell myself so that I'll sleep at night.

Later afternoon, I made up for it. On my riding test, during the quick stop drill, I came at the instructor in second gear going about 26 miles per hour (roughly double the required speed). At that velocity, I was able to stop the bike in 11 feet, which happened to be the best of the class. My instructor, Tim, said my performance caused him to have a religious moment. Anxiety will do that for you. I will say that when I crossed the cones, Tim's eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth formed a perfect "O"...

....like Mr. Bill.

So, I passed the riding portion of my exam and the written test is tonight. My favourite motorcycle is sitting on the dealership floor and every time I walk by, he calls out like a siren:

"Buy me, Beth. Think of the times we'll have together. Just you and me and the open road. You know you want me. Come. Be one with the hog."

I may just lose that September 15th bet after all.

It's Good to Be Forty

This has been a weird week.

On Tuesday, my daughter claimed to be ill. She came downstairs, refused her favourite breakfast and said she didn't feel well. She looked pale and felt clammy to the touch. I suspected that a visit to the toilet might do her a world of good but she insisted that she'd already been there and done that. I explained to her that staying home from school meant she would have to stay in bed all day without TV, sidewalk chalk or her bicycle. She made the choice to go back upstairs to bed. Well, I thought, she MUST be sick. About an hour later, I heard her up in the bathroom and fearing she would vomit in the sink (her usual MO), I flew up the stairs but stopped abruptly at the top because I could hear music. In her special little girl voice punctuated with new kindergarten moxy, Olivia was softly singing:

"I didn't have to go to school to-day. I stayed home with Mummmmmmmy".

I turned around and went back downstairs to my bathroom so I would have the benefit of a mirror while removing the giant hook from my mouth. Needless to say, she spent the rest of the day in bed with nary a hint of sensory stimulation. That night, she dramatically wiped her brow with her hand and told me she was soooo happy that she felt sooo much better. Uh huh. Let me tell you a story about the boy who cried wolf.....

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Wednesday, I went out for a run in my neighbourhood and noticed that the sidewalks were filled with toads. I guess when the sun goes down, these warty creatures come out and hug the cement for warmth. I was convinced that I was witnessing the Apocalypse in my subdivision since "plague" is only loosely defined in Revelations. They were gross. I tried to take a picture to show you how one toad's eyes defied the laws of physics but the iPhone doesn't have a flash. The worst part is that I don't see well in the dark. I am not a feline, bat or an owl so jumping off the sidewalk onto the road is always a crap shoot for me. One day it could be success, the next could mean knee surgery. Anyway, the queerest thing was that the toads WOULD NOT HOP AWAY. My feet were pounding down right beside them and they didn't move. I had visions of scraping squished amphibian out of my shoe treads and it was more than I could bear. I moved to the street where every leaf looked like a tarantula and every stick resembled a snake. When I got home, I was relieved to find the children still in their beds so the Rapture hadn't happened after all. I won't be running at night anymore.

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Yesterday, I got to see my favourite Dr. Sexy Metro Boy and when I left his office, I was feeling positively sassy. He told me that I was a "stud" because I had healed so well and had such great use of my arm. He lavished me in superlatives and I basked in all of that good patient glory. On the way out he asked me to wait because he had something to show me. Then, he goes into this office and comes out with his brand new iPhone. He tells me that he got it because of me. Small talk and more basking ensued. I told him I was learning how to ride a hog this weekend and he lifted up my pant legs apparently to see what my shins looked like before I tore the skin off of them. Now, that is just not positive thinking but no matter. I still have a crush.

And speaking of my Rider's Edge course, I learned one major thing tonight. Motorcycles are a little bit like pregnancy. Everyone has a horror story about some friend of a friend. So far, the other eleven people in the class seem great. I met one guy who just turned forty in January and like me, his fascination with Harley Davidson has roots in a mid-life crisis although I don't think he would actually coin it that way.

And hey, I know that I appear to be the poster child for the whole crisis scenario but I am having the time of my life right now and I wouldn't change one thing. This isn't a crisis! It's EVERYTHING I would have done in my twenties if I'd had two nickels to rub together. In class tonight, I learned that one of the other instructors owns the most reputable tatoo parlour in town. Coincidence? I think not.

It's good to be forty.

How Do You Say Freedom?

This weekend, while contentedly in the throes of my mid-life crisis, I did two things that made me really, really happy.

First, I went to my local Harley Davidson store and signed up for the course they offer to teach you how to ride. For a reasonable sum, you get twenty five hours of instruction, a written test and a road test. After it is all said and done, I will be able to meander down to the DMV, whip out my official certificate and after a mere ten question "test", they will add motorcycle to the list of vehicles that I am able to operate. I.CAN'T.WAIT.

In preparation for the class, I was told that I had to acquire some gear.

Oh, darn.

Riding boots were the top priority and I was cautioned that I would not be allowed on a bike without them. Well alright, then. The trouble with riding boots for women is that they are just all kinds of ugly. I landed on these and they happen to look great with a pair of jeans.

The second directive was that I must wear long sleeved shirts. I am in the south and the weather is likely to stay a balmy 85 degrees well into this month so I figured that if I am going to sweat, I might as well do it in style.

While at the store, I was able to look at some of the bikes and my salesperson gave me a crash course on the different models and what he felt would be the most suitable one for me. If I decide to buy a bike, I think I've got it picked out. Of course, that is a big "if".

I have found that walking into my local Harley store has the same effect on me as a bookstore. I get all tingly and excited. A friend of mine bet me that I would be a proud Harley owner by September 15th. I'm thinking that a mid September date might be a wee bit early but who knows? Once I make up my mind on something, it's usually just a matter of time. But, I will admit that the sense of freedom is intoxicating.

The second thing I did this weekend was take an impromptu flight...in a single engine, 4 seater Cessna.



I have been toying with the idea of learning to pilot a plane since flying on a corporate jet several years ago. After slogging through commercial airports and suffering through episodes of missing luggage, raised terror alerts, late flights, mechanical issues and cramped seating, the allure of private flight captured my attention. I don't think that I am destined to purchase a plane because I'd have to sell one of my children to afford the fuel but I like the idea of knowing how to fly.

And, you can't beat this view of our local lake from 5500 feet.

Easy Riding Mama

Harley's name is Dallas. I should have just used his real name right off the bat because nobody would have believed it. I asked him how it was that a kid from New Zealand gets named after an American city. He shrugged and said it was popular at the time. Simple. The good thing is that I have never dated another Dallas and thus, I do not have any negative name associations. Anyway, we spent a fair chunk of time this past Sunday cruising on his Harley and I feel like I've been bitten by a stange, exotic bug.

We began the morning on the golf course trying to squeeze in nine holes before the heat became unbearable. Unfortunately, Dallas's clubs were forged during the bronze age so he struggled a bit and I got to see another side of him. I had a friend tell me that I should conduct at least one date on the golf course because performance anxiety in front of a new friend combined with the inherent frustrations of golf would allow me to get an immediate look at the anger management capabilities of any suitor. Well, in spite of the fact that Dallas and his clubs weren't on speaking terms, the worst epithet of the morning didn't come from his lips. I won that contest. Shocking, I know. He merely became quiet. His friend, Brandon, says that Dallas isn't coy and doesn't do subtle well because he was tragically deprived of American spy movies in his formulative years. I agree that Dallas is easily read but he's so even tempered that this comes off more like strong and silent than bleeding heart.

We ended up leaving early because the heat was suffocating and every time I drove the ball, my hand felt like I had stuck my fingers into a light socket. I had lightly mentioned to Dallas that perhaps a good Christmas gift for him might be a new set of clubs, which he took in stride at the time but later, at Starbucks, he couldn't keep his true thoughts to himself. As he was handing me my latte, he begged me not to spend a penny on golf equipment for him.

He was clearly tortured.

Instead, he suggested that I might want to peruse the local Harley Davidson shop in December......for something he might actually use. Oh well, he did agree to suffer through the occasional round of golf when the weather cooled.

So back to the ride. Dallas had changed into motorcycle gear and the whole look (jeans, shirt and boots) captured my attention. I had tried to dress appropriately but I couldn't bear the thought of jeans in 200 degree weather and I do not have one article of clothing that is authentic HD. For shame. I did make an effort by switching purses to a black leather with silver studs Prada and Dallas inexplicably, found this highly amusing. The point is that the Harley Davidson store is emitting this siren call and my resistance is wearing. There is this whole slightly naughty sub culture that appeals to me on a level worthy of psychoanalysis but the bottom line is that I want to learn how to ride and I am eager to shop for some cool new gear.

I have also been flirting with the idea of getting a tattoo.

I know that I now appear to be a neon, blinking, poster child for mid life crisis but I've been thinking about this for a bit and I may just go and do it if I can find a doctor who will prescribe a morphine drip. I have to face the truth. There is a leather-clad, do rag-wearing, tattoo-sporting biker chick inside of me who is trying to claw her way out.

I casually mentioned to my ten year old son that I was thinking about getting a tat and he looked at me, snapped his fingers in my face and said,

"Who are you and what have you done with my mother?"