My Past, My Present

Here are three stories from my weekend...

To grasp their significance, it's helpful to know that I was a shy child.  Someone who rarely attracted attention.  My parents complained that I "always had my nose in a book."  My childhood was uneventful.  An avid comic-book reader, I suspected I had several superpowers but lacked the chance to deploy them.

Flash forward to today.  On weekends now, I switch from my trusted steed (BMW) to my fleet stallion (the speedy Yamaha).  On my racehorse, I push the limits of physics and prudence.  I accelerate like a rocket and lean so low in turns I can chew the grass.  I gobble daredevil adventure in big gulps.

On Saturday night, I rode to a friend's BBQ.  The Yamaha announced my arrival with a throaty exhaust-note and quickly garnered the attention of a bevy of boys.  They ran from the pool and ogled my bike.  Their excitement was palpable.  "Wow, man!  Cool bike!"  I laughed.  Forty years ago, such adulation would have meant the world to me; now, it's entirely unimportant.  I ride for what riding offers me -- visceral thrills; the impression others have of my passion are besides the point.

Second anecdote: Yesterday was a beautiful day in New York.  I decided to ride to an arts & crafts fair in Long Beach.  On the way there, I pulled alongside another motorcyclist.  I knew at a glance that this dude was the real deal and not a poser.  His confident demeanor and distinctive gear told his tale.  Closing up on him, I noticed he was rocking outlaw colors.  Authentic ones, not the faux-badboy look embraced by suburban imposters.  This biker was a genuine tough guy. 

I pull up next to him.  He turns to me and flashes a two-finger salute.  I return the gesture.  We ride together for a while.  We synch into perfect harmony.  Our bikes move as if they were connected.  We both savor the warmth of the sun on our bare arms.  For a memorable moment, our differences dissolve and our commonalities seam.  Finally, with a wave goodbye, my new companion splinters off and heads down an exit.  I proceed on to my destination, the fair at the beach.

Third anecdote: I'm walking through vendor-booths on the boardwalk.  I spy a cute halter-top dress under a sign saying, "All Dresses $10."  I stop, shop and haul away my prize.  It's bright purple; you'll see it later this week.

In the past, I've been too intimidated to shop publicly for women's clothes, especially in a crowded scene like this.  But I faced that fear, drained it of power, and now comfortably enjoy filling my closet.  Like decreasing-radius turns and outlaw bikers, social opprobrium doesn't scare me any more.

What did you do this weekend?