Tag: motorcycle

The archive is for posts that are tagged as “motorcycle”. Posts and photos that are about motorcycles in general.
I’ve Gotta Bring My Own Sunshine

I’ve Gotta Bring My Own Sunshine

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Hello, from foggy Long Island.

For the past few months I’ve followed up with doctors on some nagging issues. Yesterday, my blood work pointed out that I have a serious vitamin D deficiency. I always knew working in an office was bad for me.

One of the symptoms of vitamin D deficiency is a “down-in-the-dumps” mood. Unfortunately this is something I’ve dealt with for what seems like my whole adult life. I am often… prickly, shall we say? So me feeling out of whack hasn’t been a shock or anything. It has come and gone in cycles for as long as I can remember. But, over the last year there have been some exceptionally dark moments, maybe my low-D isn’t helping.

So, I’ve got my fingers crossed for a mild winter. Can I take in a bunch of vitamin D through my faceshield?  I think wind therapy could help my case. I’ll be stuffing my gob full of vitamins and hoping for brighter days.

I’ve gotta bring my own sunshine.
The Illusion of Safety

The Illusion of Safety

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It’s funny how you can become fixated on the potential for things to go wrong. You look at a situation and place some type of possible danger-score on it and then tread lightly.

Maybe that keeps mishap at bay. Or… maybe whatever is going to happen is beyond your control anyway.

Are there unseen forces at the helm of the ship? Who knows?

Now, I’m not afraid of this type of riding, in fact, I like it. Dirt roads grant a view of something you just can’t see from their paved brother. But to me, the Tiger doesn’t feel as sure-footed as other street bikes I’ve ridden on gravel roads. This Tiger carries its weight up high and I’m always aware of its heft. It never feels… “good,” on this type of road. It’s simply not the big girl’s wheelhouse.

While riding here, I kept thinking that if I had a whoopsie on a road like this it might be a little while until help came along. Thankfully nothing out of the ordinary happened and I was fine. I just took in the farmland and the sunshine and went about my day.

But you know? It’s when you’re on autopilot in seemingly innocuous situations that things go pear-shaped. Two days later? I tipped over in a parking lot.

The illusion of safety.
Full Tank of Gas, Wandering Heart. Pretty Dresses Will Have to Wait.

Full Tank of Gas, Wandering Heart. Pretty Dresses Will Have to Wait.

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When I left aboard the ferry on Sunday morning, I still had to shake the sleep loose from my eyes. Though I’d been awake for hours and wanted to go riding, I wasn’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Some days you just aren’t “on.”

After loading into the belly of the beast, I went up stairs and stood on the back deck of the boat. The shoreline slipped away in our wake. A man and woman stood close together at the railing. As they talked he kept reaching towards her, his hand brushed across the small of her back, his fingers moved along her arm – they shared a deep connection.

She was lovely – golden blonde hair swept back in a carefree way, loose strands dancing on the breeze. Her skin was tanned like honey and her green stripey sundress fluttered in the wind. The two of them flashed smiles at each other as though no one else in the world existed. I felt like a voyeur observing a secret held between the palms of two perfect people.

Watching them made me feel lonely. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning is way too early for those types of feelings.  That sleepy residue that was hanging around seemed to amplify everything I was feeling 10-times over.

It was hard not to want a taste of what was shared between those two people. Instead, I stood alone and staring, burdening myself with doubt. Rather than feeling like a superhero about to embark on an adventure, in my riding clothes I was dirty and man-ish and gross when I just wanted to be the beautiful girl in the stripey green dress. I believed in the green dress.

Fuck.

Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that you can’t be the girl in the dress and the girl in the dirty superhero riding suit at the same time. But as much as I lamented wanting to be that beautiful girl, I’d made my choice long ago.

Full tank of gas. Wandering heart. Pretty dresses will have to wait.

 
Sometimes Being In A Hurry Actually Slows You Down

Sometimes Being In A Hurry Actually Slows You Down

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When I woke up on Wednesday morning the ferocious rain from the night before was little more than a memory. The deluge ran its course and left a gray mist in its wake.

After re-packing my bag, gearing up and preparing to leave my hotel room I looked in the usual spot for my keys only to find that they weren’t there. Hmm. Strange. Maybe I put them in my totebag last night when I emptied my sidebag? With that I began to tear everything apart looking for my keys. And still, they were nowhere to be found.

Could I have left them in the lock of my topbox? (Again.) With that thought I took my jacket off and marched down to the front of the hotel where my bike was parked. There were no keys in the ignition, topbox lock or sidebag lock.

Could they have fallen out of my pocket when I went to my room last night? Ugh. Before heading back up the elevator, I stopped at the front desk to see if anyone had turned them in. While the clerk was on a call, I spotted my keys laying on the far counter. That red-capped Givi key is unmistakable. Once she finished up her call, the woman gave me my keys. Crisis averted.

I do carry my spare set on a lanyard around my neck for just such a circumstance. But there was no way I would leave without exhausting all avenues for finding the lost set. In that moment I made a deal with myself to slow down, think carefully about what I’m doing and try to be routine about where I put my things. It seems this “rush” that I’m always in is a habit that I’ve picked up from living where I do. I say this because when I leave, the need to hurry up subsides with time.

After repacking my bag and putting my jacket back on I was all set to roll for the day. When I got down to my bike, I tried to slow down, put what needed to be in my tankbag… in my tankbag, put my wallet in it’s spot, turned on the SPOT tracker, etc. As I was going through my mental checklist, two men walked out of the lobby doors. One smiled at me and said, “you found your keys. They were just dangling in that box last night. We gave ’em to the desk.”

I thanked them and tried to not show my shame for being such a dope. They wished me safe travels and I set off for my first stop of the day, visiting a Whispering Giant that was right up the block.

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