Motorbikes, bikes, whatever.
About six months ago a friend and I decided we were experiencing what we referred to as a pre-midlife midlife crisis (although with my health chances were it was simply a midlife crisis). Our answer was to buy a couple of motorbikes and become champion desert riders. I presented my plan to Kate and got the standard “where the hell do you come up with this crap?” look. She argued that my logic on this one was somewhat skewed, if not insane…(her argument points were 1. I have never ridden a motorbike in my life. 2. I have always professed to be afraid of the “death traps”. 3. I am so out of shape I would likely injure myself starting the thing. 4. We were in the final stages of our house (which ran considerably over budget) and really could not afford the addition of yet another ATV) 5. Every friend I have with a motorbike at that time was nursing a major injury). I saw no validity to any of her points. Besides, we had built a three car garage and only have two cars, so what did she expect me to put in the other space? She rolled her eyes and I continued to argue my case/whine/beg.
After many days of Guantanamo Bay like pressure she finally conceded to endorse my motorbike fantasy if I would first lose some weight thus ensuring a few more years of life and a better than average chance of starting the bike without coughing up a Twinkie. I eagerly agreed. I too felt it might be time to shed a few pounds. My 6’3 frame had expanded to just north of 300 lbs, my pants were painfully difficult to put on, and most of my shirts had a spandex look that I was pretty sure was not the designers intentions. I was motivated! I could feel the wind in my hair and there was nothing that could stop me….
Except lunch that very day at work where I found myself backed behind a rack of ribs and 44 ounces of Pepsi. I couldn’t resist. After 3 hours on the diet, I broke free and ate like a fat kid on fast Sunday. It was a sad day.
After the harsh reality that I could not diet, I decided to just buy the thing and deal with Kate’s wrath at a later date. I learned early on in our relationship that it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. I contacted a good friend or mine (a professional rider for KTM) and asked him what he would recommend. Being the fanatic that he was (and possibly because he had just wrecked in Utah at a race and ended his motorbike career) he suggested that me and my friend buy his two race bikes. He agreed to a complete tune up and free mechanic work for a year if we would buy them off of him (thus allowing he and his wife to eat another week). Oh yeah, what better bike could a first time rider ask for than a completely equipped KTM 525 completely decked out with every aftermarket part available to team KTM desert racing! I made sure both had an electric start to avoid the work of kick starting (and coughing up a twinkie). I was so excited…until the first ride.
My recollection of the first ride was that it was like someone had harnessed 2 tons of TNT into the bike and all I had to do to ignite the explosion was to turn the handle. The exhaust was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, and every time I tried to take off I would either kill the engine or wheelie for 100 feet (before killing the engine). I tried to act like I was having fun to my friends, promptly excused myself to change my shorts, and then found a nice quiet spot where I could curl up in the fetal position and cry. It was that bad.
Then I had to face Kate. Word had spread in the small town and she was ready when I returned home (yes, I was trying to hide the bikes at a friends house…for how long I am not sure…maybe a year of so…) I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was livid. What made it worse was that I agreed with her at that point…..she was right, what the hell was I thinking? No, I hadn’t lost a single pound like we agreed (in fact up three if I remember right…) and yes I had done this same thing before so I wasn’t really sorry! She muttered she would get even. Wow, I had no idea.
The next day when I returned home from work Kate was happy…REALLY happy. I thought that was weird but didn’t want to ask any questions. She told me it had been an extremely fun day……hmmm, I thought…. Has she had an affair or something? This was strange but I had not the courage to inquire any further. If she had found another man I probably deserved it.
Five days later I stumbled upon the source of her excitement and change of attitude. Kate had decided that if I could waste money, she could too. Armed with the high speed interned and a couple of credit cards Kate had guesstimated the total cost of the bike (multiplied that number by two as near as I can tell) and bought as many furnishings as the fleet of UPS trucks could haul. We began receiving paintings, furniture, kitchen appliances, book stands, lighting fixtures, shutters, etc. etc. etc. I stood there and watched delivery after delivery. I wanted to comment. She dared me to comment….I went downstairs to watch the basketball game.
She was having a lot more fun with her splurge than mine. The man side of me could not allow that. I knew what I must do….get back on that beast and learn to let the clutch out without killing the bike or wheelieing over and thus killing myself. I spent hours practicing in the back. Damit. I was going to have fun! I slowly got better. I was still very scared but mustered the courage to ride around the house so my wife would see me. She didn’t. She was busy hanging pictures.
In a twist of irony my wife later tricked me into a weekend at the makeshift fat farm and I finally losing a few pounds. It has made riding easier, and my shirts are a lot looser (although severely stretched out in spots…). Until two weeks ago I actually thought I was getting pretty good on that bike, that was until the ride with my son and the visit of Buster…
