Spring must’ve come early this year. My subconscious mind thinks so because I have this craving to buy a motorcycle. It happens every spring. I either want a motorcycle or a boat. (And to be honest the boat cravings don’t kick in until June anyway.)
Usually my symptoms are alleviated by just running in to a dealership and asking for a brochure. I end up leaving the store without the brochure because the salesman always tells me that they just don’t have one for my choice of the year. It seems to me that the salesman must get a lot of requests for brochures because they always seem uninterested once the request is made. Another thing that I noticed is that there are few if any female sales people at motorcycle dealership. And I’m not talking about just the grizzled Harley dealers either. I’m talking about the brands that active reach out to the female clientele. It’s odd that these dealerships wouldn’t have multiple women on hand to better communicate with female buyers.
But I digress. After the usual disheartening caused by the dealership, I’ll go through the routine of looking up various reviews of the bike-du-jour, price it at the manufacturer website, and rationalize an excuse for owning it. If I’m really feeling the pain, I’ll go all out and even buy a magazine or two to build up the romantic notion.
Then after annoying the wife for a bit, I eventually come back down to reality. The first thing is that my wife doesn’t want me on one. She’ll argue that they are just too dangerous where we live. I can’t fault her on this. Florida might be perfect for riding for the most part, except that along with texting and otherwise distracted drivers, we also have high elderly population on the road.
That might sound insulting or even bigoted, but when you see someone walking into the DMV with an oxygen tank, you get a little nervous. When you see someone in an old Grand Marquis stopping at every intersection because they can’t tell if the traffic light is red or green, you get more apprehensive. And finally when you read the report of an elderly person running their car into the broadside of a garbage truck because, “They didn’t see it.” You start to profile. I’m not saying that it’s right. I’m just saying that what happens.
Then your mind flashes back to that episode of House where he fell off his bike. Dr. Chase discovers that more asphalt has worked its way up the wound and has to be scrapped off with a wire brush. Yeow! I don’t think I’d like that too much.
Add in wearing a full helmet, riding suit, and boots during the hot, humid, months of summer and the romantic vision of owning a motorcycle melts away as quickly as it came.
So for the rest of the year, I will dream the dream and live vicariously through the pages of magazines, while the rider rides.