I Write The Story of My Life From the Seat of My Motorcycle
So often I think… I write the story of my life from the seat of my motorcycle.
That isn’t to say that I do all of my “living” on the bike. Far from it. What I mean is something more along the lines of – because I am at my most open and seemingly real self, I tend to think more clearly about the goings-on of my days.
When I am riding my thinking is so lucid, so uncluttered. I seem to be able to channel my thoughts in a way that I don’t at any other time. And let me tell you, I’m pretty funny, too. At least that’s what the voices inside my helmet say. More often than what might be deemed “healthy”, I’ll be cruising along thinking about something ridiculous and find myself chuckling out loud. Thank goodness no one else can hear what’s going on.
During my rides, I fashion my inner fantasy life into something that resembles a quirky chick-lit book. In the story, I play the goofy yet endearing protagonist who clumsily trips her way through life. Along the way I get mixed up in hair-brained schemes, have unlikely serendipitous meetings, go on absurd adventures and mingle with a cast of weird but lovable supporting characters. Each chapter is served up with a heap of laughter and a hug or two thrown in for good measure.
What? Oh, right. That is my life.
It would be impossible for me to estimate just how many times I’ve thought to myself, “I need to write that down when I get home”. Countless times. But as soon as I turn the key off, with the dim of the lights so too goes my story.
I wish I could find a way to keep it with me all the time but it seems to only live there behind the handlebars. Trying to call it back is like trying to remember a dream …just one step out of reach.