2-WHEELING Ah Michigan. Shorts and flip flops in March if there is a whisper of Spring and slacks/jeans in August with a whiff of 60 degrees. I really have respect for the intrepid motorcycle contingent. Braving iffy weather for the thrill of the ride. Though not sure which is worse those monsoon-like rainstorms in summer or the sneaky patch of black ice as they tease out just a little longer season. The Police I worked with at the City hung up their Harleys on November first regardless. Funny I never got to do a ride-along with the motorcycle fuzz. No doubt due to my lack of cool knee-high Harley boots.
I tried the 2-wheeled world briefly but never got out of my neighborhood, though I was excellent circling the house in first gear. I discovered I was able to pick up my Honda 250 after it fell on me though, which is part of the initiation phase of "biking". Extremely dramatic of course which is why one wears leather and helmets and boots and gloves and... shoulder pads...chest protectors...face mask...designated driver.. but I digress. Mine was a private spectacle though a neighbor did express concern. The OH knew better than to say anything negative or of the "told you so" variety. Slide out from under, pick up traitorous machine, climb aboard and zip out in first gear once again. My brother, a Kawasaki aficionado, called it a baby bike and proceeded to show me by riding my bike with his belly stretched over the seat and his feet hanging out the back end. Real funny.
I marvel at those hoisting vehicles so big their feet cannot touch the ground unless in a hard lean which I'm guessing teaches one to make smaller and smaller circles, so you don't have to come to a complete stop. Cars just don't understand the obstacle they present to riders. I guess I am just better at the back seat position, though it is hard not to lean into turns with your host. Another tip-do not look at the speedometer from the rear seat with a careless driver. My "Polish bike (his word) brother took it up over 100 mph on a well-traveled road with me clinging like a barnacle on a ship bottom.
JACK IT UP! Speaking of speed, snowmobiles. Michigan has two seasons: winter and construction. On a mid-winter (February) trip to the Upper P-way up-Marquette for a conference, what does one do on the off hours (besides drinking and the only place in the world I sing Karaoke)? They bring their snow machines. My only experience with the snow toy was in ancient times when a little yellow ski doo was all the rage. So, when it was suggested we try out the machines, in the dark (full moon on a trail) in Marquette I was all in. Shall we say, ahem, things have changed.
Climbing into the foul weather gear, think toddler in a snowsuit, boots, hat wanting to go potty-you are trapped. Waddling out to the innocent looking machine was exercise in itself. Then imagine blasting through the woods in the dark hanging on for dear life with nothing behind you to hold you on the seat. Those suckers move! I almost got dumped during that ride but with the noise I don't think my friend would have even noticed. Not to mention similar to a turtle I doubt I could have stood back up on my own considering I was encapsulated in 20 pounds of gear. One thing that makes it safer, LOL, is the animals certainly hear you coming and get the hell out of the way. All that being said, however, IT WAS AWESOME! and valuable point, nobody died. 😮
I REALLY KNEED THIS Switching gears as I climb out of the snowmobile, I am so looking forward to my knee surgery Lamaze class, as I call it, this week. The OH has to go too as the caretaker. I am hoping it will be at least as graphic as the original Lamaze class where the immortal words were spoken "no, I'm not doing that". No, not me the OH when they showed the home birth video. Sometimes too much information is too much.
I still think so many people believe women just drop them babies, no sweat and get back on the wagon train on their way to Californ I A. Media has painted an unrealistic picture of the 1800's and beyond when it comes to birthing. They never show the bonneted woman cussing out her old man or explains why they boil the water; just no big deal and baby at the end. Nobody wants to know how they make the sausage and why the sausage needs autonomy over her own life. Peace Out....💚 💙💛
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