Bitsy Gets on the Bike

I'm the last person you would ever expect to find on a motorcycle.  Allow me to explain: My friends call me Bitsy.  I went to prep school.  My luggage is monogrammed.  I wear pearls and seersucker, skirts and heels.  I practice yoga and row.   I love the outdoors; I rock climb and camp and hike and sail. But I'm a bit risk averse and no one would expect me to be placing my life in someone else's hands at 60 plus miles per hour.

So what made me decide to climb on the back of a 1,100 pound motorcycle? Well, I fell for a biker.  Not a weekend rider who only goes out when the weather's nice and drives a BMW the rest of the time. Nope, Daddy's little debutante fell in love with an honest-to-God, jeans-and-leather jacket wearing, ride-to-live, corporate-job-doesn't-disguise-it biker. Who'd have thought it?

After visiting with a former coach/old friend and her husband (both bikers) while on vacation, I came to the uncomfortable realization that the biker and the bike are a package deal. Asking a biker to give up his bike would be like asking him to stop breathing.  Recognizing that, I knew that I had to find out if I could embrace the bike if our budding relationship was to continue.  So, I plucked up my courage and instructed my beau to pick me up for our first post-vacation dinner date.  

"Sure thing sweetie, I'll meet you at your place and we'll take your car."
"No, honey, I meant that you should pick me up."  
"On the bike?" was his incredulous response.
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." 
"You don't have to do this."
"I know.  Just pick me up, ok?"

The appointed hour arrived.  My internal pep talk: "It's a short ride to the restaurant and back, that's all.  You can do that.  You can handle anything for ten minutes.  He's worth it, and you have to KNOW that you can do this. Just get on the bike."  Praying for courage and strength, wearing Sperrys and go-to-hell green chinos (no jeans or biker boots in this WASP's closet), I got on the back of a motorcycle for the first time.  

Terrified that I would fall forward and knock both of us off the bike, instantly becoming greasy spots on the road, I held on very tightly to the frame of the seat.  And somewhere out on 360, overlooking the St. Stephen's campus (my alma mater), that terror faded and I let go.  We arrived for dinner unscathed, though both a bit flushed.  Me because I'd overcome my fear of the bike, him because it sparked a hope that maybe, just maybe, this girl he was unexpectedly falling for would understand the part of him that lives for the freedom of a bike on an open road.