Girlie Motorcycle Blog

Some people are perfectly content to live their lives in the same town, in the same city. My great aunt lived on the same street her whole life. 75+ years on the same block! I on the other hand am plagued with a nagging wanderlust. I want to be moving all the time. This often presents a problem because I can’t just pick up and leave any time I want to. Perhaps those are the very things that keep small moments away on the bike feeling special. The dangling carrot is always so delicious.

Away

Living on an island, as I do means I’m always crossing the water to get away. Be it just for the day or for a week – when my wheels roll across a bridge I know I will be going to a place that I am not from. There is something exciting about that for me.

6 Bridge Photos from my Travels:

Piermont, NH	New River Gorge, WV	Grand Isle, VT
PCH, CA	San Francisco, CA	Missouri River, SD

…in a long line of One Finger Salutes.

photo courtesy of drdaytona

Choosing the correct salute is imperative. My go-to salute is often a well-timed combination of honking followed by a single finger coupled with shouting vulgar obscenities that would make a sailor blush. Sadly though, most often they can only be heard in the confines of my own helmet. Now, if I had say a pimped out megaphone helmet, indeed it would be more effective.

For small trespasses there is of course the ‘Throw Your Hands Up While Shouting WTF Are You Doing?’ but I often feel that leaves too many open ended questions. I KNOW what they’re doing. They’re being stupid.

In to each life a little rain must fall and with that sometimes you are indeed the focus of someone else’s honk. Over the years I have found the coup de grâce when you are the honk-ee is the tried and true ‘Double Finger While Laughing Maniacally’. The double finger indeed says it all but then the sweet sting of laughing in the face of the agitated honker seems to really kill them. +5 for the jerk off motion. It’s a beautiful thing.

Your mileage may vary.

The Nickwackett Garage – Pittsford,Vermont

By all accounts this shop appeared to be the home for wayward British and German iron. The proprietor didn’t seem to mind much that we strolled in to have a peek at the customer bikes that filled the floorspace.

I came away with the distinct feeling that you never know what might be sitting on that floor from one week to the next. Its definitely worth a peek through the window.