***Author’s note: Riding a motorcycle is a fairly solitary endeavor. Even with a passenger you’ll find long stretches where you’re alone in your helmet. During those hours introspection comes fairly easily. This autobiographic piece comes after a long ride where I was pondering my public image and the truth of who I think I really am.
I am a dog and that is the unfortunate truth. Back in the day I would go out on my bike looking for a fight. I had a moderately quick ride and a big attitude. I was working pretty much six days a week, fourteen to sixteen hours a day. Sunday was my day off and I would head to the hills and ride like immortal twenty-year-olds ride. I cared deeply about my speed, particularly corner speed. I rode a 550 and you had to wring its neck for any of its ponies to leave the barn. I loved finding bigger bikes, 750s, 1000s, 1100s, and try and make their lives hell by watching them pull away in the straights and then climbing up their backs in the turns. The most precious thing was to slap a pass on them when they slowed before tipping in.
It was always orgasmic for a road to tighten up and then as the big bikes slowed, pour on the coal. If felt good. Done right it was a velvet shot of macho. Muy mas macho.
Welcome to my humanity.
When we talk about ourselves we often shade the true. We embellish or diminish ourselves in an attempt to control our image. We bend truth to fit the audience, perhaps to fit in or, to not stand out, we dull our own edges so as not to cut others and expose ourselves.
I am a dog. I occasionally pee on the carpet or steal food off you plate when you’re not looking. I like to sleep on your chair and chew on your slippers.
I ride under protected.
I ride too fast.
I flip people off sometimes, but they deserve it.
I start too fast and brake too late and too hard.
I’ve used the opposing lane to increase my speed.
I’ve crossed the double yellow.
And ridden in the tiny lane between the paint.
You run? I will chase.
And I’ll do it again and again and again.
Why? Because I’m a dog, just like you. I like to be comfortable, fat and happy.
I protect my turf and family.
I bark when startled and I will bite if need be.
I enjoy speed and the sensual pleasures of launching, turning and braking.
I love sticking head out into the wind.
I generously lie to people.
I willingly let misconception become fact.
I let false facts thrive.
Why? Because I am a dog.
I want to be happy.
I want to be comfortable.
I want to eat too much.
I want to sleep too much.
I want to be loved for who I am, not what I do.
Bad breath, shedding, chewing and scratching I want to be loved
For who I am.
Not what you think I should be?