So you know how everyone has those weird thoughts every once in a while, the ones where you think, I wonder what would happen if I just didn't stop at this stoplight and plowed straight into the back of that car? Or like when you're on a roller coaster and you have this flash of oh-my-god-i'm-pretty-100%-sure-my-lap-bar-is-missing-a-screw and then you spend the whole eight minutes frozen in fear of either flying off the ride or actually making it through but then having to walk through the park after peeing yourself? OR (this is my favorite) you glaze over while someone is talking to you and you wish to God that you had an egg to smack over his/her head right then. Just to see the look on their face. Since Brian brought the hog down to Austin (just kidding, I would never say that...except in super professional situations), this kind of stuff is all I think about. I don't want to say it takes the fun out of riding, because it doesn't. But you kind of have to stop and wonder if it's worth enjoying the wind and sun and freedom when you're mental reel keeps looping these scenes in which you get sideswiped by a car and go flying off the bike and slam into {insert nearest object}. Sunday it was a concrete sidewall, a cliff, a lightpost. Yesterday I decided the best place to get thrown off would be the bridges crossing Town Lake, because you'd totally just fall into the water! Of course they have those concrete supports that might cause some problems on the way down. But you have no idea how excited I was to realize that for those 35 seconds on S 1st, I was totally in the clear. That bridge is my new binky.
I know, I know, these are horrible thoughts and why the hell am I making you read them. I think I'm secretly (or now, very publicly) hoping that if I put them on paper or make someone else think them, then maybe they'll be out of my head. Expunging, if you will.
After a few eye-opening highway rides—one in which Brian was certain that at any second the wind would rip right through the one open snap on his shirt and his button-down would turn into a black cape—we've decided those are just bad bad bad. When we're just riding on normal city streets, I rarely envision my body as a twirling Gumby flipping through the air (in my imagination, I'm super acrobatic. Because it's not really worth becoming paralyzed if you don't execute a perfect 3 1/2 on the way down, right?). Seriously though, I know it's dangerous, and I'm being careful, and I only get to ride it a few times a week, if that. Plus, my dad rode for well over 20 years and never got hurt, so I'm hoping its hereditary...
Fortunately, I'm about to get a three-day break from my mental morbidness while I stick to a different mode of transportation in San Fran called feet.
3 comments:
didn't you used to "lecture" (prob too strong a word) katie about riding on brian's vespa?? were you not scarred like i was in the late 90s watching that oprah episode where the woman was thrown from the motorcycle, caught on fire (so her skin had to be grafted onto her face), and lost an arm and a leg??
Oh yeah, I was so scared for her, but I am scared for me too sometimes, hence the post...so that's not really calling the pot calling the kettle black (my life would be so much harder to articulate without cliches). And I've heard worse motorcycle stories than that from Jess, ICU nurse. But if you're not riding on the highway or driving like an idiot around neighborhoods and stuff, it's not scary at all...it's like riding your bicycle. You just have to drive as if everyone else is a total asshole.
You can mention my hog in your blog anytime.
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