First, it is my very best friend's birthday, so happy day to her down in Mexico! I can't be there to celebrate just yet, but I'll be visiting her soon (and I'll share our roaming adventures when I do!).
Secondly, it is my dear college friend's wedding anniversary -- 25 great years together -- so congratulations to them on their silver anniversary, and I look forward to congratulating them again on their golden one!
Finally, and most importantly as far as this blog is concerned, today marks two years of owning my bike! So, let me tell you a little about it. First, here is a photo of it taken today.
Isn't it a beauty?! It's a Dyna Super Glide Limited Edition 110th Anniversary model. There were 1,450 of them made in 2013, and I have number 0336 as you can sort of see in the following photo.
In the two years I've owned it, I've only put on a little over 4,000 miles, which I'm sure is laughable to serious riders out there, but it's a number I'm proud of because all those miles represent how far I've come these past couple of years, not only as a rider but also as a person.
When I was sixteen, I got my first bike. It was just a small Yamaha 250 street bike, but it was the perfect size for a young girl in a medium-sized town. I moved up to a 550 a few years later, but I ended up selling that one after I married and settled down. At the time, the plan was to get another better bike when I had the money.
Well, because of the type of person to whom I was married, I never had the money. All I ever had was debt and more debt. Years went by as I attempted to make the best of a bad situation, but I never lost my desire to own another bike -- there just were too many complications standing in my way, and I'm not going to get into those here.
Finally, I got tired enough of the hell in which I was living, and I filed for a divorce. That took about a year and added a heck of a lot more debt to my already overflowing pile, so I really didn't see how I could wisely add the purchase of a bike to my problems. But then that voice in me started whispering to me "if you don't do it now, you'll never do it; you're not getting any younger; stop making excuses; you know you want one; do something for yourself, for pete's sake." Pretty soon that voice wasn't whispering anymore -- she was downright yelling at me and nagging up a storm. So, to shut her up, I bought a bike.
It wasn't quite on that much of a whim, though. I did first just go looking, and this bike spoke to me from the moment I laid eyes on it. It was pricey, though, and I knew I had all that divorce debt to worry about, so I left the store empty-handed. I spent a few months crunching numbers and calculating all sorts of things until, finally, I realized that I could do it, but it would be a stretch, so I'd better make damn sure I wanted a bike. The thing was, though, I didn't just want any old bike; I wanted this bike, and I wanted it badly. Love at first sight? Yes, I do believe it was.
Again, months had passed by then. I had first seen the bike in April. Now it was June. What were the odds it would still be there? Well, not only was it still there, it was the bike the store had positioned front and center when you first walked in the door, so if that wasn't fate, then I don't know what is. With its prominent store placement a lot of people were looking at it. I put an end to that bullshit right away when I found the first sales associate available and said, "I want that bike."
I should mention that this was at the Frontier Harley-Davidson store in Lincoln, Nebraska. I should also mention that I did something that would be considered stupid by most people but that worked out fine for me -- I hadn't ridden a bike since I was about 22, and here I was at double that age buying a bike that was much bigger than the one I'd sold all those years ago, and I was scared to make a fool of myself there at the store, so I didn't even attempt to ride it until I got it home!
They installed the bags for me, so when I left the store, the bike remained behind for a bit. They later delivered it to my house. That first moment I stood there contemplating the bike all alone in my driveway was a moment I'll never forget. The smart smart-ass in me started mocking me with things like "now what, you idiot?; do you even remember how to ride one of these?; you're going to drop it, and I'm going to laugh! . . ."
I needed to shut that bitch up, so I took a few deep breaths and got on. I'll gladly admit that my first ride was very short and very shaky, but, and it's an important BUT, I did it. It all came back to me. I did struggle with the weight of the bike at first, and I have dropped it twice -- so far. I've been told by riders much more experienced than I can ever hope to become that dropping a bike is pretty damn common, so even though I'm not happy that I've scuffed it a bit, I'm o.k. with the fact that I've dropped it.
That first summer, I only took it out a few times because I was, in fact, scared to go far by myself, and I barely took it out on the highway. However, later that winter I joined the American Legion Riders, and my riding life, along with my actual life, changed forever.
Through that group, I've gained friends who have ridden with me and made me feel protected as I gained experience and knowledge on my bike. My confidence has grown immensely, and now, even though I still don't prefer to ride alone, I'm able to take off down the highway by myself.
That's what I did today, in fact. I rode alone for about 50 miles to a neighboring town to stand a flag line for a military funeral. I joined other Legion Riders when I got there, of course, but most of them had traveled alone from their homes and towns to be there, too. It was a scorcher of a day, hitting well over 90 degrees by the time I returned home and literally peeled off my sweaty clothes. But, when you're riding on the bike, you don't really notice the heat at all.
My bike and my membership in the Riders also led me to my love. He's a fellow Legion Rider from a different chapter, and we met at a ride almost a year ago now. Many of those 4,000+ miles are ones I've ridden with him. When we ride, he lets me lead and ride on the outside of the lane as I prefer to do while he rides on the inside and keeps a watchful eye on me to make sure I'm o.k. when I hit a nasty bump, or when it's raining, or when a bird dive-bombs me as they strangely like to do.
When I bought the bike, so many people tried to make me feel bad for doing it. They all assumed it was a mid-life crisis purchase or a post-divorce whim I'd soon regret, and most of them thought it was more bike than I could handle alone. Two years later, they aren't singing those tunes now. In fact, the ones who aren't telling me I'll kill myself are now expressing their admiration, mostly because I'm a Legion Rider, and that alone brings respect with it. However, their admiration is also for the fact that I did it -- I bought a bike, a Harley-Davidson even; amid all those telling me not to do it, I did it.
And, who, in reality, doesn't love a rebel?
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