Don't Tell My Wife

Apr 19, 2010

Call me determined, persistent, stubborn, pig-headed, foolish, crazy, or just plain dumb, but I finally took my motorcycle out for a spin. After suffering two motorcycle-related accidents within six months, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous out there -- and nearly getting T-boned at the very first intersection didn't help any -- but I kept things slow and tried to be extra cautious. (I'd say I was overly cautious, but if I'd been overly cautious, I suppose I wouldn't have gotten on the motorcycle at all.)

To be honest, I haven't been kept off the road entirely for all these months. I've managed to stay in touch with the rhythm of the streets by engaging in an equally addictive and arguably even riskier endeavor than riding a motorcycle: riding my bicycle. But variety is the spice of life, and I was excited to have my motorcycle back on the road.

It was overdue for an inspection, so my first stop was to a repair shop for a new sticker.

I made small talk with the shop's owner, whom I hadn't seen since before my first accident, and told her about my adventures. She knew about my broken foot, but hadn't heard about my broken arm.

"Glad to see you're all healed up," she said. "I mean, you look good, I assume you're all healed."

"Yeah, pretty much," I said, twirling my arm in circles. "It still gets sore and tired from time to time, but it's only mildly annoying."

"I nearly had an accident myself the other day," she said. "On the Williamburg Bridge. I hit something -- I didn't even see what it was, a pot hole, a dip, a bump, I don't know -- but it nearly bounced me off my bike. I flew off my seat for a second. Scary."

"The roads around here suck," I said. "No argument there."

"Let's go see your bike," she said.

She inspected the tires, checked the lights and horn, and all that business. "Are you sure you like the brake set up that way?" she asked after depressing the brake pedal a couple of times.

"Yes."

"You can adjust them, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you know what this thing is?" she said, reaching down to turn the nut that adjusts the brake pedal travel.

"Yes."

"You can turn it like this..."

"I know."

She set the rear brake up to her liking. "Try that," she said.

I put my foot on the pedal and hit the brake, then reached down and turned the nut to where it had been. She is at least a foot shorter than I am, with small feet to match. A silly exercise.

"Are we done?"

"Okay," she said, pulling a sticker out of a box and placing it on the fork. "You're good to go. Be careful out there."

"You too."

The sky was gray and threatening rain, and there was a slight chill in the air, but I wasn't ready for an all-day ride anyway, so I didn't care. I hopped on, kicked the bike to life, and headed out for an aimless cruise.

Hello stop-and-go streets, hi construction debris, howdy cars, trucks, backhoes and bicycles, hello pedestrians who don't bother to look before sauntering into the street. Did you miss me?