The Beast

 

Okay, so not really a beast. In the world of motorcycles, it's actually quite tame. Though, I'm sure to my mother, there is no such thing as a 'tame' motorcycle.

My husband (then boyfriend) first taught me to ride 3 years ago. He put me on the back of his bike and it was exhilarating. There was no way he was going to have all the fun.

There was a period in recent history when I was banished from the bike due to my 'condition.' Meaning I was pregnant and could not fit into my makes-you-ten-times-cooler-when-wearing-it leather jacket. And a strange thing happens when you don't ride a bike for a long stretch of time - you start to doubt your abilities. I was thoroughly convinced that I had forgotten what all the levers and buttons on my bike did, and I was most certainly going to ride idiotically into a storefront, legs flailing, with an audience, to boot. 

After months of sitting with these feelings I finally decided just to bite the bullet. Over-thinking would kill me. My husband was riding home from work and I met him as he pulled in- baby under one arm, helmet under the other. The transfer of goods was made and I was ready to ride. 

There is something about riding a motorcycle that gets under your skin. You can't shake it. My body, from fingers to toes, knew exactly what to do.

Now that I'm back at work (post maternity leave), the motorcycle is my main means of transportation to and from. Not because it is cheaper (which it is). Not because it is faster (which it is). Not because I feel like a hardcore b.a. (which I do). But because leaving my daughter to go to work makes my heart hurt and it is impossible to cry while riding a motorcycle.

Speaking of the little lovely......

(Hint, she's peaking through a tutu)