I bought a motorcycle. Her name is Lucille.
Despite having wanted one when, at twenty, a girl I was dating mentioned in passing that they were cool, I never got around to learning how to ride a motorcycle. It was a fun fantasy but I could never drive, let alone own, something so laughably impractical and notoriously dangerous.
And yet here we are.
To be fair, it was inevitable. There are a number of places I’m dying to explore by motorcycle, but I first have to learn how to ride one. And there’s no way in hell I’d wanna learn on the streets of Cebu or Delhi or Hanoi, so it made sense to learn and get some practice time in while I was still in the States. And to do that I’d need a bike.
I’ve been easing into it. Doing lots of drills, parking lot practicing, and local rides to get as much experience under my belt as quickly as possible, as safely as possible, before I leave the States. I’m eternally grateful I waited until I was 40 (and had outgrown my sense of immortality) before taking up riding; 20-year-old me would’ve wrecked his bike in the first week. As it is, I’m taking it very carefully. Never before have I so gladly driven well within the speed limit.
I’ve started a little “Hog Log” on my tumblr, for people that are into that sort of thing. I’ll try to keep it updated with photos, adventures, and maybe the occasional video. I’ll also try not to die.
I’ll be working especially hard on that last one.