Biker Kiss

Morning came, the rain had stopped, we had a plan and while I wasn't certain it was a good plan it was a plan none-the-less. 83 miles away in Orem, UT, give or take, we would find out the fate of our trip.

Our plan was simple, simple enough that we were able to come up with it in the motel room over a couple of beers that we bought at the state run liquor store. I would ride "bitch" on my buddies bike; we'd leave ahead of the rest of the group and head to the Harley Dealer in Orem, where I would try to deal for a used ride to get us to Sturgis and home again. While we had left early - the others would ride out after breakfast and join up with us mid-morning. Two of the wives had met a lady the night before(who sold lingerie out of a van) that had to go to Provo in the morning and had offered to give them a ride so that the entire group could all be at the dealers early enough that we could get on our way without having to shuttle the 83 miles back to Price to pick-up passengers and then head out. The plan was cast - everyone had a ride to Orem, we'd make the purchase and be gone by noon. Once again back on the road to Sturgis.

I'm a good rider as long as my hands are the ones attached to the handlebars. I'm, unfortunately, not a good passenger - I've never had to be a passenger. I don't know how and honestly - I don't want to learn. Those were the longest 83 miles of my life. I almost would have rather walked them. Once the dread of my new position (back seat) had set in I wasn't sure what to do with myself so my mind started to work in it's utmost twisted ways. As the miles through town passed I had noticed that we were getting very curious looks from people going the opposite way. I can't imagine why, two guy's, clad in leather, tattoo'd from hither to dale (ok that's just me - my buddy ... mmmm, not so much, in fact only one) bandana's on, wrap-arounds in place and me, holding on tightly to my buddy. I think I'm beginning to understand why we were getting the looks we were getting.

Okay, let's have some fun. I wave, they wave back. I change the wave to the princess style - just a bit more "fem", they're not so willing to wave back. I blow kisses, they turn away. Cars beside us, well, they get special treatment. They stare in bewilderment; I notice; they keep staring; I start rubbing my buddies chest and lay my head on his back - shazamm! the stares stop, sadly, they won't even look at me again. I feel rejected. Now the entire time I was doing this my buddy started to play along which really freaked people out. When we hit the mountains my ability to focus on "playing" with our passing neighbors was greatly diminished by my instinct to hold on for dear life so all the antics stopped and I no longer noticed passing cars. I simply prayed for time to go by quickly.

I truly hate being the passenger.

Technorati Tags: Harley Dealer, motorcycle, lingerie Motorcycle traveling