Well am I Cursed or What?

... so last night I was feeling ok and decided to let the motorcycle get some air when I noticed two of my four custom mods were missing from the bike ... yep, sure enough, someone had to have manually removed them ... anyone else wanna take a kick? ... because when I get back up ...

(One Motorcycle Without a Key) + (One Holter Monitor) = 0 Ride For a While

All week I've been looking forward to an annual motorcycle ride of over 100 riders. All the mods on my bike that I had planned were finished and I was ready to go. I knew I had to take it easy due to my current health issues but had carefully planned my diet and woke up this morning to eat plenty and hydrate myself enough. Even if I could ride only half the ride then I would be glad but then there was the walk from my apartment to my vehicle and that's when it all started going downhill.

I became short of breath with minor chest pain so I let the Holter do it's thing and when I got to where I keep my bike I phoned in the cardio results. I knew it wasn't good when they asked me to take more recordings but when the call was over I went about my business and pumped up my pre-ride jams. About five minutes later, I receive a phone call from a doctor informing me that a sinus tachycardia of 150-160 is not good and went on to interrogate me. My rate was down by then but I was told to lay down for the rest of the day and if I have any more such incidents then to go to the ER while he consults with my primary doc.

No way was this going to destroy my ride so I thought that AT LEAST I could ride the few miles to the rendezvous point and see everyone off and maybe meet them at the end later, right? Well, when I went to get gas, my motorcycle key broke in the tank. Yep, there I was with my sick holter monitor and a 400-pound locked Ninja with no key.

In the end, it took two flatbed trucks (don't ask) to haul that beast back to the house while the neighbors came out to watch and snicker at the tiny Ninja girl who can't get her shit right and should be on a tiny scooter instead.

And now I have no clue what is wrong with me and I have to make a plan as to how I am going to fake insurance again if I have to go to the ER (I'm still awaiting COBRA from my previous job because my employer is still struggling with the HMOs).

Freedom

At first I told myself that I would just try it out ... what harm could it do? Way too practical, surely I would never become one of those addicts zooming around on speed. However, as usage has become more frequent and as my skill has increased, so has the needle on my speedometer .

I crave turns so low that my pegs scrape the pavement splaying sparks. Back roads through the countryside beg me to pull the throttle wide open. Lying on the tank of my rocket I can't help but to feel fused with this machine. Even the air cannot rip through my kinesthetic fusion and for a short time I am free - flying - zooming - with no intent on destination. There is no better way to perish than to be doing something you love.

Leave 'Em In The Dust

I was cruising to the pool on my Ninja late Sunday afternoon. Warm but no humidity and the wind was light and fresh. There was not much traffic as I pulled up to a stop at the red light and then went about my way once the light changed green.

It was soon after that a beat-up Chevy Cavalier rolled up aside me and a female reached her hand out to give me the finger. "Hmmm..." I thought. "What did I do, did I cut this car off? ...there was no one around and I was quite alert....damn that makes me ... ANGRY."

Kicking my machinery into higher gears, I pulled back the throttle and ruthlessly raced up alongside the Chevy. We rode side by side as I kept a hard glare on the woman. It wasn't long before the Chevy started to slow down and pull behind me in avoidance but then we both hit a red light.

Unavoidable, the Chevy pulled up next to me and the man in the driver's side waved at me. I continued my glare. I was ruthless. I know what this woman was probably thinking that I was some spoiled punk on a fancy bike getting in her way and my bitterness rose to the back of my eyes. Via my eyes, these are the thoughts I pierced her with:

"Do you think that your finger means anything to me? Do you know what my life and trials have been? Do you think that I am any different than you. No, to all the above. Look me in the eyes! SEE MY EYES! SEE ME! SEE WHO I AM! I AM LOOKING AT YOU! The bike's not paid for and I work my ass off at work and at life. I don't settle."

When the light turned I rolled in the throttle and left the Chevy in my dust. Sometimes you have to do that.

Girls On Motorcycles

I can gauge allot about a person by just mentioning that I ride a motorcycle. Perhaps because I come across as being more on the feminine side of female, I have come across no one who would ever guess that I am commando of my own crotch-rocket. In any event, the reactions from others basically reveal two types of people:

1. Someone who gets defensive and/or critical. If male: penis and manhood issues are evident. If female: lack of own personal freedom.
2. Someone who thinks it's cool. If male: "I love to ride" or "Girls who ride motorcycles ARE HOT." If female: "I love to ride" or "I want to ride" or "That's NOT for me.

It's really has been a long and rocky road to owning my own bike. I've wanted some sort of motorbike since I was about five but was repeatedly denied because of danger and being a girl. My father actually bought me a "broken" three-wheeler at one point and claimed that he would "fix it up" for me. It sat in the tool shed for over a year before he informed me that it was junk and sold it to someone. It's amazing how the bike went from completely broken down one day to happily being ridden by a boy (half my age at the time) across town the following day. In any event, I had allot of good imaginary rides on that bike.

When I did finally decide to take a motorcycle class a couple of years ago, I provided those around me with my usual type of amusement. However, it was when I actually went out and bought a motorcycle that the craziness ensued. Everyone who had been previously amused was then loudly vocalizing their disapproval of my decision. Sample comments:

• "You are too tiny to ride a motorcycle."
• "Motorcycles are too dangerous for you."
• "You are going to get yourself killed."
• "You are a girl and are not supposed to be on a motorcycle."
• "You are crazy."
• "Why, it just goes against nature!"
  

Two years later, most of the negative comments have disappeared but people remained preoccupied with it. Instead of "How are you doing?" questions, I get asked "Are you still riding your motorcycle?" To a couple of people who are really silly-obsessed over it, I have started making up stuff like: "Yeah, I've turned the blocks around the mall into my own personal racetrack" or "Yeah, I actually scraped some sparks off my footpegs going around Big Bend the other day." or "Yeah, I cut thirty-minutes off my commute yesterday by passing on the curb on 270." (When people hear "motorcycle," they incorrectly assume that I am a careless speed-demon who weaves in and out of traffic at 150mph.)

Life is too hard to not do what you enjoy in order to please the expectations of others. I had more to say on the subject but blogspot lost the original version of this post so I had to revert to a back-up. I'll just end with some quotes from the late racecar driver Dale Earnhardt Sr.:

"Finishing races is important, but racing is more important. "
“You can't let one bad moment spoil a bunch of good ones.”
"The winner ain't the one with the fastest car its the one who refuses to lose”