"...where is the seat belt on that thing..."

   In the motoring season, we'll ride the shovelhead  to my folk's home in southern NH. Its a fun route over secondary roads that appear only on the map. Avoiding interstate, limited-access through-ways for the most of it. It takes longer that way; trolling through small towns and some timeless roads composed of twisties and sweepers with little traffic to negotiate with. A motorcyclist's delight.  Some five hours later, we'll arrive at their home with sunburned cheeks and raccoon-eyes where our goggles set upon our faces.

   My conservative parents will shake their heads, marvel at our stubborn affection for that "old skool outlaw bike" and ponder out loud how we can we possibly enjoy such a spartan machine. My father will ask, "how rough does it ride....looks like its time to trade up to a more plush motorcycle..." My mother will join in with an astonished tone in her words and wonder out loud, "...why can't you just take the car..". We'll crack smiles and stretch our legs as we pull the saddle bags off. 

  We'll visit some, ride around the lake on their luxurious pontoon boat and watch the glorious sun set at the west end of the shoreline. We'll share food, swap stories and pontificate  the why for's of the world. A nice visit, as always. The morning will come and it's time to pack the bike and travel some other way, north and westerly,  home. To be honest, it's all the bike can do to carry us, a modest tail bag and some overstuffed throw-over side bags, with my legs squarely fitted around them as I reach for the pegs. But I'm smiling, beaming in fact, as I adjust my scarf, tighten my chin strap and set my goggles just so. 

  On this bike, I sit tight to my driver; good thing we ride well together. I feel every breath he takes, every flinch he makes when he spots a hazard or takes a bug in his cheek, big or small. On the low ride, we sit "in the bike", not far removed from the heat of the engine, the rumble of the loud pipes or the bumps in the road. It's just me and him and some physics in action, keeping us on the bike. I very much like it like that.

  When my mom circled the vintage cycle and surveyed the scene on this 2Up ride, she asked sincerely, "...where is the seat belt on that thing!?" I paused only a second, "...right here.." and I placed my hands on his hips. "I lean how he leans; I go where he goes..." all with a wink. She smiled. I didn't want to tell her, I am totally helpless if he is not in front of me, I don't have handlebars to grip, only him...but that's another story. Biker wisdom will espouse , "it takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share a bed"; I agree, and that's another story. It's an intimate thing to ride 2Up, but it may not be what others would think....and that is a lot of other stories.

 a little humor from the people at Sturgis....

peace ~ resa