So yesterday Nick finally talked me into riding his father's bike. His father is coming out in August to tour the coast up to Canada, and sent money to purchase a bike. He prefers a sportier ride, so Nick found a 2005 Triumph Sprint ST. I'm a new rider and I like Lucia, so I've been fearful of getting on any other bikes. With my arm injuries I can't really support myself, either, and my arm turns in weird ways when other people's arms would be settled and comfortable. But he finally talked me into trying it. Last night we rode out to see Rock of Ages, then we came home.
The theatre we went to is in our old neighborhood, so I know the streets and I was familiar with where I was going. MUCH better choice than heading off into the unknown on an unknown bike. I was amazed by how different a feel a sport bike is to a cruiser. I felt much more engaged with the bike, and it was like I understood better how to use my body to control the movement of the machine. And it's a smooth ride. Nice and smooth and gliding and...nice. Of course, there's also the difference that it REALLY feels like you're going to just pitch over the top if you have to stop hard. That edgier, more dangerous feel gives huge rushes of adrenaline. On the ride home I just decided to keep going, to really enjoy the bike, and I skipped our exit and rode into downtown. It's about 6 miles from our exit, with an easy turnaround at the bottom. When we got back to the house Nick asked me, "Did you like it?" and I took off my helmet and just laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed. I was drunk on adrenaline and speed. I asked him what time it was, and he said, "Riding time." We gassed up and went out again. This time we went up and across and back down 805 so I could cross the bridge. Serendipitously my playlist decided that You Could Be Mine by Guns'n'Roses would be a fantastic song to play then. I was flying across the bridge on this bike, listening to an aswesome song, around midnight in a beautiful city.
It's amazing how the world comes together sometimes.
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