DECEMBER 18, 2008 9:18PM

Motorcycle Sex

Rate: 20 Flag



              

With a little luck, I’ll try to finish this story for you today. It’s gone on too long and I’m tired. While writing I find, as with my life, that I can be easily side tracked. Like electricity seeking the least resistance, I’ll be on course, only to shoot toward another direction with no obvious plot, plan or reason in mind. Just floating around the pond like one of  those “Pick a Duck, Win a Prize” yellow rubber ducks you see at the carnivals and county fairs.

As a refresher for those who missed the first few episodes of the story, I’ll try to get you up to speed. A few weeks back, I had a week where some things didn’t quit go as planned. I’d broke down twice on the highway in three days and woke up to discover two flat tires on another day. It’s all there in the links below. I helped my elderly neighbor Peggy fix her garage door she likes to run into all the time and explained how I smashed the tip of my middle finger on my right hand and how it remains numb to this day. I also mentioned how it seems that whenever I take a ride on my motorcycle it rains, regardless of how nice the forecast may be. So now, let’s try to finish the story….

It’s a beautiful day. A Chamber of Commerce Day is what they like to call it around here. I’m in the garage ready to take a Friday afternoon motorcycle ride. Check the fuel. Half a tank. That's enough to get me out of town. Turn the fuel valve on, two full turns on the throttle grip to prime the carburetor, lift the choke lever and hit the starter button.
The motor fires up with a roar. God I love that sound.

 I ease off the choke and set the throttle to a high idle to let the motor warm up. If you want a motor to last a long time, you should let it get up near operating temperature before hitting the road.  Kind of like an athelete does. Most feel they don’t have the time for this, but I feel it’s important, so it’s just part of the ritual.

Florida has a no helmet law for motorcycles. I wear mine since I found out, while showing off with no one around one day, that the pavement is harder than my head, and that three cracked ribs will take about eight months before they heal enough to take a deep breath without them hurting.


I pop my helmet on to protect the valuable gray matter and pull the chin strap tight. Put on my best, look at me now, mirrored, wrap around shades and throw my right leg over the saddle. I’m freakin’ John Wayne on an Iron Horse with eighty-five ponies under the seat. It thrills me every time. I back the throttle down to an idle and the familiar thumpity thump of eighty-eight cubic inches reminds me of a thoroughbred waiting at the gate.

With an easy boost I back out of the garage, down the drive far enough to turn the front wheel and get pointed in the right direction.
When I perform this maneuver I’m always facing Peggy’s house. I like to see her car parked in the garage before I leave. It somehow makes me feel a little safer even though there are thousands of Peggy’s going to the Doctor or the Winn Dixie or the Bingo on the west coast of Florida.

Check for cars, pull in the clutch, drop the foot shifter into first gear, give it a little gas and release the clutch. The beast lurches out of the gate. I shift into second gear as the wind picks up speed as it goes by and begins to rattle in my ears a bit. This is what I live for. Sweet freedom.

It’s about five miles to get to the expressway from home. I have to go by the new Cop Shop to get there. North Port’s finest have a reputation of being just a little too gung ho. Now before you jump on me, I already know. They serve a valuable need in the community, and we need them just like everybody else. I don't have anything against cops. Hell, my sister’s been dating a cop for a couple years and he’s one of the coolest guys I know. (I don't hear any Chapel Bells, but who knows.) He even has his own blues band. But our local boys lean a bit too much on the side of aggressive.

All the cop cars have the windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see inside if you had to, but they ticket everyone else who’s tint is a shade too dark. Don't play your car radio too loud. They have a law against that, too.They also call in every license tag of who ever they happen to be behind in traffic.

When I bought my van I got pulled over two days in a row because the plate transfer hadn’t past the State computer system yet. When I asked the second cop why he pulled me over on the second day he said my plate didn’t match the vehicle. I said, “I know, your buddy told me yesterday.” Plus they’re so darn young. I swear the guy hadn’t outgrown his skateboard yet and probably won’t start shaving for another year or two.

They ticketed a city worker for driving one of those golf cart like things on the side walk. He was picking up the garbage like his boss told him to. And about a month ago they ticketed a single mother right in front of the kid drop off at the elementary school. Apparently Mom’s seven year old removed her seat belt a little too soon when they pulled up to the drop zone.
 
There’s an article in the paper every month or so about stuff like that. All I’m saying, is I behave myself around town and if you ever come through our little slice of Mayberry Heaven, I recommend you do the same. In defense of the patrolmen, they were just doing what they were told. We just got a new police chief and he said he wants a friendlier type of police force. That will be a good thing for people like me.

Not that I’m a bad sort. I'm not. It’s just that when I was a younger man, I wouldn't always conform to the recommended behavioral standards set down by civilized society. I used to think if I bought stock in Anheiser- Busch and Exxon Mobile, I’d be able to drink and drive my way to prosperity. It didn’t take very long to find out that my retirement plan had a major flaw in it. Something that I had failed to recognize at the time. A night in jail was all it took to educate me about the finer points of higher finance and the subtleties of road side sobriety tests.

Sorry, I'll get back to the story. Some of the fun of riding a motorcycle is hard acceleration and leaning into the turns and riding up and down hills. Florida is flat, so forget the hills, and the roads are so straight you can ride for miles without any hands on the handle bars. Now, I don’t recommend that for anyone. Ever. But I do it all the time. I never said I was a good example. It’s just the way I roll.

 The point of all this, is that there aren’t a lot of places you can legally be an asshole on the highway. The on ramp of the expressway is one of those places that you can. You roll into the ramp kind of aggressive like and when your half way though  the turn, you crank on the throttle and bang a couple gears. Before you know it, your up to the seventy MPH traffic speed.  Or a hundred MPH if you accidentally don’t pay attention to much.

I don’t like riding on the expressway that much. People drive like idiots down here. It’s like their ass is on fire and the nearest water is fifty miles down the road, so I try to stay out of the way for the most part. It’s about fifteen miles to the exit I want, so I can head toward the sticks and some nice winding country roads. I check my mirrors often when I ride. If someone’s going to kill me from behind, I want to see what they look like so I can haunt ’em in the after life for ruining my day.

I check the mirror and here comes some redneck in a way to big diesel pick up truck , cowboy hat and all, getting right up on my license plate.  All I can see in my mirrors are headlights and a big chromed out grill. I wave him to back off, but I must be invisible again. A word pops into my head…..Asshole!

Junior finally manages to get into the passing lane by cutting into another car like he’s the only swinging dick on the highway and his ass is still on fire. I show him where I smashed my middle finger about a year ago and how the tip is still numb as he goes by.

Skippy decides to floor it in an act of deviance and revenge and dusts me out in a cloud of stinky black diesel smoke as he rolls on past. He is the exact reason ignorant people should not be allowed to breed.

I decide to put an old gypsy curse on Diesel Dan that was taught to me when I was a kid by an half crazy old man that lived down the street in a single wide trailer with an out house in the back. Diesel Dan don’t know it yet, but if the curse works, his legs will be grown together when he wakes up in the morning.

Now I know a lot of you are wondering about when we get to the part about the motorcycle sex. I don’t know. Maybe next chapter. You know you wouldn't have made it this far if I put it in the first paragraph.
This is all taking way longer than I thought it would. So until next time, remember to watch out for motorcycles, they’re everywhere.

Links to the other chapters if you need a refresher or a nap:

http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=50827

http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=52633

http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=56962

http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=59713

Author tags:

humor, sex, motorcycles

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Comments

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Damnit, Michael! Where is the sex!?! Can you please teach me that curse? I want to make legs grow together....not fair.
Did I just get punk'd?

No smut?

In the name of everything sacred, you cannot have THAT in the title and leave us hanging . . . . .
"I like to see her car parked in the garage before I leave." Oh I hear you on that one!
so, are you gonna teach us that curse?
You dom the same thing every damn time. leave me hanging and promise more. I got all dressed up for sex in the title here and you did not deliver again. scoundrel you!!!
You are great at motorcycle sex foreplay. You just better deliver next time I visit. Whose installment plan is this anyway? Rated for the breezy feeling of your writing and for recognizing every one of your characters; their cousins live and patrol over here on this side of the state.
Be careful. Be very careful.
I do like this series as I have said before. You just end 'em too soon.
Crap! Is all anybody ever think about around this place is sex?!!!
Krissi, Didn't you just get back from Vegas with the Mister? What an appetite. Slow down girl, It don't go bad ya know.

Miko, your married aren't you? Hell, I'm single and broke. If this recession doesn't break soon I may never get laid again.

Hyblaean, Damn I have a hard time spelling that every time. I made up the part about the curse. But I can still wish it if I want to, and so an you!

Brakajima, I just kind of ran out of space. I'm not sure you really want to hear about my escapades. I'd have to dredge something up from the past and that wouldn't be fair.

Suzy, I'm just a rubber duck with no direction, remember? And I'm working as hard as I can.

Cartouche, You know I can be at your house in about two hours, but you have to wear the famous ass pants if I show up.

Elektra, I think I told you I live on Electra before, and I'm always careful.
I like your style. Your story has made me reminiscent. I'll have to write another motorcycle themed blog, someday soon.
We should talk, I can teach you more about curses and hexes. :P

You know, some guy once tried to hit me with his car door when I was on my old bike. And I was wearing a red dress (over my pants) so I know if he saw me at all he knew I was a girl. Some people are such bastards!
I like half-crazy old men. I aspire to be one someday.
I don't know what your career is but, you better find a publisher because you need to get paid for this gig! The 'Junior' paragraph said it all but, I really want to know more about the gypsy curse! Great writing, you're gifted!!!
LBOS, Some people don't believe in sharing, I'm out to have a little fun. That's why I head for the country. I just don't want to die getting there. I know a couple girls up the comment road would like to know some hexes.
MTN, Trust me dude, You'll make it in fine fashion. The good part about getting older is your skin might sag a little, but it just fits so much better. If that doesn't make sense now, it will one day. You are so far ahead of the game. Hang on to that "edge", It's golden.

JP, You say the kindest things, though I'm not sure I'm worthy of your praise.
Michael, this post was sex. For me, anyway. It had the Chamber of Commerce day, the 85 ponies, the Winn Dixie, the tint cops. That's sex for a writer (which is not to say that there are not many other kinds of sex). Um, have I complimented you before on your writing? Not enough, I suspect. Maybe I was complacent and it took you writing about something I love to knock it out of me. Thank you kind sir, she said. I love to ride - though I am only pillion but there is freedom and danger and excitement and anarchy on the bike and I love it. Thanks for sharing your reasons for loving it too.

*I do have a moped but that hardly counts, there is very little lean into the turn w/ a moped and I could beat myself up hill in a footrace.
There is nothing like thinking about an open ride on the highway... breeze blowing about your face, heading to where the road takes you... got to love that. Eagerly awaiting the next installment.... :):):)
Sandra Miller likes my story? You have no idea how happy I am to hear that! That's OS crede I can live with. I'm a big fan and I thank you for your kind words.
I've had many passions over my lifetime and riding has been with me the longest. And Yes! Mopeds DO count!

Mama, You are a sweetheart. I love the winters here. Great for riding, no doubt. A weekend on the road can really clear your head, plus chicks dig it!
I have a new insight into why people like to ride. It almost sounds fun if it didn't scare me so much!
"He is the exact reason ignorant people should not be allowed to breed."

AMEN Brother! Amen.

Very nice series, man. You've got a mixture of "Zen and the art..." mixed in with some Carlin and just a dash of Bill Hicks. And that last one was one of my idols so it's a definite compliment.

Keep on ridin!
MB, The fear is part of the appeal if you can believe that. Similar to skydiving and checkers.

Thanks Mung, You always say the nicest things. Carlin's definitely A hero of mine, too!
Michael, I would love to know what that Gypsy curse is. If we would used that in the school systems we might just lower the teen pregnancy rate.
And as for the motorcycle sex, isn't that redundant? Isn't your motorcycle just an extension of your sex? Maybe our vehicles are just a metaphor for our sexual organs, or at least we are living vicariously through them. As for Diesel Dan, we have a nem for him, we call him, "the Compensator". It's kind of the Napoleanic Complex to say to people, "no seriously guys! I have a huuuuuge cock!" when they have to use the sissy step just to mount their massive schlong.
Good onya, looking forward to the next installment.
Rose, Yes the "Compensator" indeed. Adds new symbolism to the Hummer.
Riding isn't quite orgasmic, but it's close. You and Sandra Miller are the ones who caught that one. More symbolism.
Again Michael, a wonderful engaging post about something ordinary.
My husband has exposed me to the wonders of motorcycle riding. When I first him and he told me he had one, I said, "That's terrible and risky". It is risky but there is so much pleasure I get in riding in back of him, wrapping my arms around his waist, as he so competently manages himself and the road. It's a turn on that can't be matched.

I'm glad you wear your helmet!
Oh God, now Sandra Miller has joined your fan club (and confessed to being a closet Motorcycle Mama...just a ploy to impress you, I bet). I feel like I did the day the Homecoming Queen suddenly set her sites on MY boyfriend.

Just don't let it go to your valuable gray matter.
Mary,
It is cathartic (there's that word again) in many ways. A very different perspective than driving or riding in a car. Very exposed with a feel for your surroundings. I would so love to visit Colorado, The summer riding season must be really something. I'm so glad you understand the feeling. Hard to describe unless you've been there.

Laurel,
There's no need for concern, Sandra and I are just friends. Heck, we just met. Really. It's just you and me.
Though I am surprised at how many riders and enthusiasts are here. Plus I tamed my ego years ago. I like to say, I'm not half the man I used to think I was.
You are just a damn tease... aren't you?
Michael, my brother, we have matching Ric Tresa original pimped out blog Tops. He needs to start charging us, huh?

VERY NICE!
Ric, Thanks.......I think?

Greg, Ric, will have to charge you twice, I'm broke!
MR:

Yeah, I'm claimed . . I even have doggy tags (just kidding) Dh likes everyone to "think" he's all serious and quiet . . . but he's nothing like that.

Hell, he's watching old episodes of RoadRunner right now, wearing his green Grinch slippers . . .how serious can a man really be doing stuff like that?

Cheers!
Another fun installment! I love where you write, "If someone’s going to kill me from behind, I want to see what they look like so I can haunt ’em in the after life for ruining my day." So true. Then they'll be sorry! Great post even without the sex.
Lady M,
We men are all really puppies on the inside. Just don't steal our Milk-bones.

Thank you Lisa,
If I can get a couple giggles out of you and the others then my post is a success. A little appreciation goes a long way with me, so I thank you immensely.
Awright, dammit. I was just about to shut down the )(*#$ computer when I stumbled across this *(&^#$ post. Now I'm stuck here for awhile longer, rereading. Dratted OS.

Anyway, it's very good writing. And motorcycles ARE sex, no? Glad you wear a helmet: Riding without one is soooo Darwinian.

Must be nice to have a riding season that doesn't involve 10 months of winter and two months of road reconstruction. But I see it DOES involve the New Centurions. Humourless lot, they are.

Looking forward to your next installment....
OS is evil. And it must be Punished!
Laurel, the bf has an on-off road KLR 650. My helmet has daisy and butterfly stickers on it. None of this, I suspect, impresses Michael. However, if he keeps writing lines like "I'm not half the man I used to think I was", well, I might set my (writerly) sights on him after all.

I am not the Homecoming Queen type. Don't hold my nice-girl midwestern face against me! I have a black heart!
Glad you are here, Mike, to help me get the point across to the uninitiated and maybe make a few converts. We don't say that we "ride" motorcycles and we "drive" cars for nothing. If anyone tells me about a "motorcycle driver" they know, well...........

So, knowing that, clan, you can figure out the meaning of
"motorcycle sex," right?

The ride IS the sex.

Several here commenting do get that and, wow, that is so many more than the people I usually run into!

The rich say that if you have to ask how much it costs, then you can't afford it. Well, if you have to ask why Mike and me ride you can afford it, but you have to do it to know what its like. It is a cross between heaven and sex. That is the ride.

Mike, I do wish I could share these Appalachian hills around here with you. We have 800' elevation steep rises from this valley to the top of the 1500' hills that push the valley in on all sides. I could take you on a dozen rides of two or three hours that never have even one mile of straight road. It is one of the best riding areas in the country. Some people think that the mountains are best, but tall hills and valleys are much better: up and down and round and around over and over. Can't beat it.

Great. Really great post. Kudos.

Monte
(rated)

PS: I did read this yesterday and I have no idea why I didn't comment. Maybe my shriveling little gray cells had a short last night.
Everyone knows that motorcycles are all women...and they need just as much warming up if you care about her as much as you should.

(Rated)
Umbrella,
I call them road bullies. They are reckless, agressive, insensitive, uncaring and dangerous. They get the numb finger all the time!
Sandra! I'm shocked and just a little bit flushed. If you want to continue that kind of talk, I'll meet you under the bleachers in ten minutes!

Monte,
You've got my attention! Where do I sign up!
Yes, the ride is the sex. Sandra got it. I think someone else also mentioned it. I'll surely write more about that aspect in a later installment. (did I use installment right?)
My knee kept hurting all the time I was reading this -- it must have been remembering when it got blown out when I plowed my Honda into the side of that '57 Buick.

And just to make you totally envious, I live at the debarkation point of the Cherohala Skyway -- google it. And you've probably heard of The Tail of the Dragon right around the corner from me. Now if I only had a bike!