Well, weather has been good and that means weekends have been busy. Two weekends ago the Dam Tour riders had a picnic at a campground about 4 hrs away. So, we rented a camper and headed off. (The little Misses rode her bike and I drove the family mobile with camper in tow).
This weekend we found ourselves visiting friends sans kids. Nice break. Having a set of g'parents nearby is a blessing.
So, ya'll may have heard the back seat of a motorcycle referred to as the "beeeyotch" seat. Not a flattering term and one we don't use but jokingly in our home. Anyway, I'm aware of the stereotype that a dude shouldn't ever ride back there; except in a valid and verifiable emergency. Even read an editorial / article addressing the topic in a popular motorcycle magazine not long ago.
However, I am not one that feels one's masculinity is determined by where one rides on a motorcycle...or so I thought. In fact, I even replied to the editor of the article in the magazine stating that I often ride on the back of my wife's scoot. I then challenged the author to contradict my manliness but only after I informed him that I've been a SWAT team member, am retired military, have led an anti-terrorist team, etc. (I've yet to hear back from him). In fact, I said, riding on the back of a woman's motorcycle is a great way for a guy to cop a feel. (hee hee.)
All my haughtiness and pride about how I was a liberated, modern man who was secure in his manhood and could ride on the back of his wife's bike without psychological issue (damaged ego) ended abrubtly at approx. 1900 hours (PST) on 14 July 2007.
We were heading home from visiting our friends (remember I mentioned this above...we were sans kids). My bike was in the shop for service and we rode my wife's to our friends' house Friday eve. Nice ride. No worries. Stopped to eat along the way. Very pleasant. Saturday, the 14th, was equally pleasant. Good weather. Fabulous visit. Then we began our trek home. Again, I was riding passenger and kind of enjoying just being able to sit back and relax and watch the scenery go by. I even "moooed" at some cows as we passed a field full of bovine. (I can never resist that urge).
Anyway, we approached the ferry dock. It was about 7 pm. Motorcycles get head of line and board first on the ferry boats. Since the ferry wasn't scheduled to leave until 7:15 we'd have to wait a few minutes. The toll was paid and we were directed to the staging area. This is when my ego crashed. As we approached, I saw about a dozen bikes. Big Harleys most of them. Big, burly dudes riding those big Harleys. Rough looking characters too. A few had their biker chicks riding passenger (I refrain from calling it the nasty term out of respect for ladies).
My wife rides up and parks right in the center of the group. Heads turn. My balls have just been lopped off, put in a jar and are sitting on a shelf. Here I am wearing a Harley jacket sitting on the back of a Yamaha that's being piloted by a woman. One taboo after another. No one said anything. And I'm sure all my angst is for not and just my own crazy imagination.
Plus, my wife defended me (and my ego) whenever the topic came up. She would quickly point out that we both ride and that my bike was in the shop. The few who we struck up conversation with would approving nod and say, "ohhhh. what's it in the shop for?" (Like, why or how does that matter). Anyway, my wife is awesome! She knew I was taking it a bit hard so when we got home, she helped restore some of my perceived lost manliness: she asked me to open a pickle jar and squish a bug.
Arrr, arrr, arrr! (beating on chest). I am MAN!!!!
