Arizona makes you do weird things — or at least things you probably would never do if you lived anywhere else in the world. Like wear flip-flops to work because of the heat. Or carry a gun because you can. Or learn to ride a motorcycle.
Motorcycles have always been on the list of things that scare me, right beside demons and sharks, thanks to all the horror stories about brains smashed on guardrails and legs ripped off by speeding semis.
But then I was forced to move my beau’s bike from the side of the house to the driveway after the homeowners’ association complained. The moment I sat on the seat and gripped the handlebars, a kind of magic flowed through me. I knew I had to ride.
I also knew I had to have his bike, which he was kind enough to sell me at a massive discount after he found one he liked even better. So I had the bike, and I had the magic. Next up was the gear.
A kick-butt Department of Transportation-approved German helmet was first on the list, followed by a brand-new pair of properly heeled riding boots in a somewhat putrid peacock green. Safety glasses are another must. Since the cheap goggles that fit over my regular glasses made a total stranger in the motorcycle-gear store guffaw loudly and proclaim, “You look like a f-ing bumblebee!” I knew I had to go for something a bit more stylish. Non-bumblebee prescription safety glasses fit the bill.
Insurance, five-year registration and the ridiculously priced vanity plates rounded out the preparations, bringing the cost before I even changed a gear to some $800. And that’s only because I already own at least three leather motorcycle jackets.
