WILD & JUICY Part II

I thought about it for over a year before I finally bought my bike. I grew up as the scapegoat of my alcoholic parents, particularly my mother. My reaction was several-fold: I tried to be "invisible;" I developed very formidable defenses; and I integrated all the alcoholic rules - don't talk about anything important (because someone will discount or ridicule you), don't hope or dream, never ask for anything (you won't get it anyway), and don't feel. My parents' "deal" was that he was to bring home the bacon and she was to care for the house and kids. He fulfilled his role very well, so that my mother was well provided for when he died. When she died, it came to the three of us remaining. I am certainly not rich, but it is more money than we've ever had before. I struggled long and hard with whether I had the right to spend some of it on myself. After all, there's still one more kid to send to college. And what about my obligation to spend this money (which is not really even mine - I didn't earn it) according to my values and principles? Maybe I should just give it all away. And the biggest issue was whether I thought I was worth it. I grew up knowing that I was only as good as the last good thing I did.

I thought about what my father would think. Not what he would do, but what he might think about my decision. I suspect that there was much he didn’t do because he knew my mother would disapprove. I also suspect that his self-imposed restrictions were one of the causes of pain that he regularly drowned in scotch. Mid-summer I finally decided to talk with my spouse. I had owned a bike when I first graduated from college (certainly couldn't afford a car!). I told him that every spring since my old bike died (1974) I have wistfully watched as others took theirs out. There is a sense of freedom in riding a motorcycle that is difficult to describe if one has not had the experience. In my struggle over the last few years to free myself from my old defenses and old ways of doing things that do not serve me well at all, the motorcycle became a symbol - not only of my learning to become who I was made to be, but of valuing that. Deciding that I am worth it.

To be sure, my spouse was not particularly fond of the idea. His mom was dying, and he was, for the first time, really dealing with the concept of mortality. The idea of me doing something inherently dangerous was a difficult thing for him to accept. We talked about it and came to some agreements. He remembered that I was a conscientious rider years ago, and found that reassuring. I also took a rider safety class, and invested in some good protective clothing - a really cool jacket with body armor in it, boots, gloves, and a new helmet. I also agreed not to ride on the freeways.

Years past, I would have just squelched the thought of doing something so "wild.” My dictionary says “wild: going beyond normal or conventional bounds; indicative of strong passion, emotion or desire.” Yes. Tried conventional for way too long. Found it very restrictive. It’s time to try wild.

I now know why I ride. I can now articulate that wonderful sensation of which I was reminded every spring. When I’m riding at 35-40 mph, no other distracting traffic around, it’s just me and the wind. Me in the breath of Godde.

candy

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